Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, –
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

- Wilfred Owen

Denne formel skal du fatte
som din sterkeste befrier:
Du har valgt din sti i krattet.
Ikke skjel mot andre stier!

Også smerten er din tjener.
Lammet, sønderknust, elendig
ser du at den gjenforener
deg med det som er nødvendig.

Også fallet, også sviket
hjelper deg som dine venner.
Dine nederlag er rike
gaver, lagt i dine hender.

Engang skal du, tilfredsstillet
av å bli din skjebne verdig
vite: Dette har jeg villet.
Alt som skjer meg skjer rettferdig.

Si da, når din levegledes
grønne skog er gjennomvandret:
Intet vil jeg anderledes.
Intet ønsker jeg forandret.

- André Bjerke

-Gaius Valerius Cattulus

-Gaius Valerius Cattulus

And the shut shops, the bleached
Established names on the sunblinds,
The farthings and sovereigns,
And dark-clothed children at play
Called after kings and queens,
The tin advertisements
For cocoa and twist, and the pubs
Wide open all day–

And the countryside not caring:
The place names all hazed over
With flowering grasses, and fields
Shadowing Domesday lines
Under wheat’s restless silence;
The differently-dressed servants
With tiny rooms in huge houses,
The dust behind limousines;

Never such innocence,
Never before or since,
As changed itself to past
Without a word–the men
Leaving the gardens tidy,
The thousands of marriages,
Lasting a little while longer:
Never such innocence again.

-Philip Larkin

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-’alls,
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ «Tommy, wait outside»;
But it’s «Special train for Atkins» when the trooper’s on the tide,
The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide,
O it’s «Special train for Atkins» when the trooper’s on the tide.

Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ «Tommy, ‘ow’s yer soul?»
But it’s «Thin red line of ‘eroes» when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it’s «Thin red line of ‘eroes» when the drums begin to roll.

We aren’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;
While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ «Tommy, fall be’ind»,
But it’s «Please to walk in front, sir», when there’s trouble in the wind,
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind,
O it’s «Please to walk in front, sir», when there’s trouble in the wind.

You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all:
We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace.
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ «Chuck him out, the brute!»
But it’s «Saviour of ‘is country» when the guns begin to shoot;
An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please;
An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool — you bet that Tommy sees!

-Rudyard Kipling

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

-Wilfred Owen

Ikke mot noe ideal
som svulmer i store bokstaver
uten å røre ved ditt hjerte.

Ikke mot noe bud
som gjør deg til en utlending
i ditt eget legeme.

Ikke mot noen drøm
du ikke selv har drømt….

Når var du tro?

Var du tro
når du knelte i skyggen
av andres avgudsbilder? Var du tro
når dine handlinger overdøvet
lyden av ditt hjertesalg?

Var du tro
når du ikke bedro
den du ikke elsket?

Var du tro
når din feighet forkledde seg
og kalte seg samvittighet?

Nei.

Men når det som rører ved deg
gav tone.
Når din egen puls
gav rytme til handling.
Når du var ett med det
som sitret i deg
da var du tro!

Andrè Bjerke

God aften, venn, jeg ser du kommer atter!
Du ville tale litt med mig ikveld?
Du ville høre mine fottrinn og min latter,
og se om allting gikk mig riktig vel?

Du vet så godt at jeg alltid er trofast,
og du kan komme når du vil til mig.
I mine tanker er du evig bofast;
der har jeg bygget opp et hus til dig.

Det hender når jeg sitter ensom inne
at jeg blir næsten lykkelig, fordi
en stor og stille fred går gjennem sindet.
Da vet jeg hvem det er som drar forbi.

Du går forbi og kaller sakte på mig,
og det gjør godt å vite at det er du.
I disse dager kan din stemme nå mig;
den er det eneste som når mig nu.

Ja, du kan være sikker: Jeg skal komme!”
En aften når du søker mig igjen,
da skal jeg legge sammen alle bøker
og reise mig og følge dig, min venn!

Jens Bjørneboe Den store by (1958)

I brist derpå beundrad.
I brist derpå fruktad.
I brist derpå avskydd och föraktad
Man vil inge människor nogon slags känsla.

Själen ryser inför tomrummet och vill kontakt
till vad pris som helst.

-Hjalmar Søderberg