Rhyme and Reason Raymond OMalley

ISBN: 9780701006266

Published: May 8th 1974


224 pages


Rhyme and Reason  by  Raymond OMalley

Rhyme and Reason by Raymond OMalley
May 8th 1974 | Hardcover | PDF, EPUB, FB2, DjVu, AUDIO, mp3, RTF | 224 pages | ISBN: 9780701006266 | 9.55 Mb

Im very happy to have found this textbook via Amazon. Thanks to Catherine Wood, 5W, January 15th 1979. I think we were contemporaries, but your handwriting was much nicer, and your notes far more legible. You took better care of this collection, too. Im pretty sure my copy came apart at the spine. I dont imagine anyone would want to buy it 30 years later.I suspect these poems are no longer popular. But they engage me just as much as they did then. And some things havent changed a bit.A Played-Out GameSuccess is a played-out game, success, success!because what have you got when youve got it?The young arent vitally interested in it anymore.Only third-rate swabs are pushing to get on, nowadays.Getting the better of other people!

Who cares?-Getting the better of them! Which better, what better,anyhow?Our poor old daddies got on,and then could never get off again.If only we could make life a bit more justso that we could all get along gailyinstead of getting on and not being able to get off again.DH Lawrence(1885-1930)Dulce et Decorum estBent double. like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Til on the haunting flares we turned our backs,And towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep.

Many had lost their boots,But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind-Drunk with fatigue- deaf even to the hootsOf gas-shells dropping softly behind.Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!- An ecstasy of fumblingFitting the clumsy helmets just in time,But someone still was yelling out and stumblingAnd floundering like a man in fire or lime.-Dim through the misty panes and thick green lightAs under a green sea, I saw him drowning.In all my dreams before my helpless sightHe plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.If in some smothering dreams, you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devils sick of sin,If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungsBitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

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