Stephen Crane the last child of 14 of a methodist minister who died in his 9th year came from the new york area.....after just one term at university he left to pursue a life as an often penniless poet and journalist social commentator and realist Much of his work reflects his obsession with war and the darker side of human nature......He is perhaps best remembered these days for his epic war novel "The red badge of courage" which earned him international acclaim at the age of 24....

After settling in London and befriending many of the resident literary luminaies of the time such as H G Wells and Henry James he was to die a young victim of tubercolosis whilst in Germany in 1900...

This beautiful tragic poem comes from a collection of his works of the same title and surely by contradicting its very title makes the point that war is anything but kind...perhaps "War is cruel" might have been too blandly obvious a theme and title.....To listen to this online sound poem please go to the following link..
War is kind by Stephen Crane( online sound poem set to music)


Regards.

Jim Clark..
PS..Dont forget you can if you prefer listen to my sound poems at my Yahoo "sound poetry" web group (look in "files") heres that link
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bloozman_uk/


All rights are reserved on this sound recording/copyright/patent Jim Clark 2003)

War is kind

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom --
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.