ravenotation

My LibriVox recordings & my reading journal (solo Litblog).

The Army of Death by Captain Charles Hamilton Sorley, Suffolk Regiment; killed in action, October 3rd 1915

LibriVox Weekly PoemBritish Legion PoppyLibriVox volunteers bring you 22 recordings of:
“The Army of Death” by Charles Hamilton Sorley (1895-1915)

This was the (extended) weekly poetry project for October 27th November 10th, 2013.

Captain Sorley was among 16 Great War poets commemorated in Westminster Abbey’s Poets’ Corner. The inscription was written by Wilfred Owen. It reads: “My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.”

This is regarded as one of Sorley’s finest poems, and was discovered in his kit after his death.
(Summary by Ruth Golding)

This project is catalogued at:
LibriVox and Internet Archive.
The poem text can also be found at this address.

My recording of this week’s poem has a running time of 1m 22s.
You can listen to it now, by clicking the following play button;
http://www.archive.org/download/armyofdeath_1311.poem_librivox/armyofdeath_sorley_rn_64kb.mp3″

or feel free to download it in a choice of 3 formats:
mp3 128kb : mp3 64kb : ogg vorbis

The entire project, featuring all readers of this week’s poem, is also available at this link.
The zip file size is 14MB with a total running time of 31m 2s.
All the files contained inside the zip are mp3, all with a bitrate of 64kb.

Book Coordinator:Ruth Golding
Meta Coordinator:Ruth Golding
Proof Listener:Ruth Golding

The Army of Death

When you see millions of the mouthless dead
Across your dreams in pale battalions go,
Say not soft things as other men have said,
That you’ll remember. For you need not so.
Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know
It is not curses heaped on each gashed head ?
Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow.
Nor honour. It is easy to be dead.
Say only this, “They are dead.” Then add thereto,
“Yet many a better one has died before.”
Then, scanning all the o’ercrowded mass, should you
Perceive one face that you loved heretofore,
It is a spook. None wears the face you knew.
Great death has made all his for evermore.

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Author: raven

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