The Infinite Echo

B. Thomas Cooper is a freelance journalist, photographer, blogger and historian. Topics include Political Commentary, Satire and History

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Monday, November 09, 2009

The War Prayer

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor




"O Lord our Father,
our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle –
be Thou near them! With them – in spirit – we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe.

O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with hurricanes of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it – for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts.
Amen."

Mark Twain 1905

Dedicated to the victims of the Fort Hood massacre.



B. Thomas Cooper - Editor


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Friday, November 28, 2008

The War Prayer

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor




"O Lord our Father,
our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle –
be Thou near them! With them – in spirit – we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe.

O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with hurricanes of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it – for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen."

Mark Twain 1905

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor


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Monday, July 14, 2008

William Faulkner, American Literary Icon

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor



William Faulkner is without question, one of the most unique and influential American literary voices of the last century. His works have influenced many of the giants, including literary legends John Steinbeck and Ernest Hemingway. Still, no-one would be taken aback more by all the fuss than William Faulkner himself, who wrote to live, and lived to write.

Typewriter
Underwood Universal Portable typewriter,
similar to those used by William Faulkner.

Faulkner, Born William Cuthbert Falkner, September 25th, 1897, cranked out literally hundreds of short stories, novels and novellas during the 1920s and 30s. He was a tireless writer, wearing out countless Underwood Universal Portable typewriters, which he purchased second hand. Still, he remained virtually unknown until 1949, when he was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature. Although his real last name was spelled without the u', a misprint (typo) by his first publisher led him to adopt the new spelling. Faulkner wasn't one for formality. For William Faulkner, it was all about the characters and the story line. Let the critics say what they may.

Just as John Steinbeck wrote of the west during the depression era, Faulkner preferred to write about his home of Mississippi, whose people and culture he understood all too well. His tales of the south's soft underbelly, the hapless pursuits of the poor and the poorly educated, are piqued together through pride and prejudice. They leave behind haunting and perhaps painful shadows with which the reader must cope. Faulkner stands tall alongside other monumental writers of the south, including Tennessee Williams, Flannery O'Connor, and Mark Twain. Faulkner's legacy is one for the ages.

Faulkner is perhaps best known for his novel, Sanctuary, a classic tale of betrayal and tragedy, steeped in a surly broth. Violence seems not so much tolerated in this story, as accepted, almost as a form of currency. And human life, or any form thereof, is rendered incidental, as is exemplified by the child behind the stove. Some things cannot be explained, so much as indemnified. These were dark days for the south. Dark days, indeed!

"Better for her if she were dead tonight, Horace thought, walking on. For me too. He thought of her, Popeye, the woman, the child, Goodwin, all put into a single chamber, bare, lethal, immediate and profound: a single blotting instant between the indignation and the surprise."

William Faulkner died July, 6th, 1962 at age 64. He was buried in Byhalia Mississippi. His works are too numerous to list here. See Wikipedia for a more complete listing of his works.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor


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