first and second world wars

More than 100 gay men have been detained in concentration camp-style prisons in the Russian region of Chechnya, according to reports by local newspapers and human rights organisations.

The arrests are being made as part of a widespread anti-LGBT purge in the area. The prison camps are the first to be established for LGBT people since the Second World War.

The information was first published by the Novaya Gazeta, an independent Russian newspaper, which reported that men were being arrested and kept in concentration camp prisons where violence and abuse is commonplace.

Repressions against the LGBT communitybegan after an application for a gay rights march in the Chechen capital of Grozny.

A prison camp has reportedly been established in the town of Argun, according to eyewitness testimonies.

The report was published on the 1 April, prompting the spokesperson for Chechnya’s Interior Ministry to dismiss the claims as an “April Fools’ joke”.

The press secretary for Ramzan Kadyrov, the head of the Chechen Republic, described the report as “lies” and stated there were no gay people in Chechnya.

****“If there were such people in Chechnya, law-enforcement agencies wouldn’t need to have anything to do with them because their relatives would send them somewhere from which there is no returning,” he said.****

Human rights organisations have corroborated the information published by Novaya Gazeta.

“For several weeks now, a brutal campaign against LGBT people has been sweeping through Chechnya. Law enforcement and security agency officials under control of the ruthless head of the Chechen Republic, Ramzan Kadyrov, have rounded up dozens of men on suspicion of being gay, torturing and humiliating the victims,” a report by Human Rights Watch states.

“Some of the men have forcibly disappeared. Others were returned to their families barely alive from beatings. At least three men apparently have died since this brutal campaign began.”

Source: http://www.ibtimes.co.uk/chechnya-detains-100-gay-men-first-concentration-camps-since-holocaust-1616363

Take care of my Babies or you’ll die - Wonder Woman x Reader

Summary : Diana has a deep distrust of Men’s World’s doctors, and have trouble letting them handle her pregnant girlfriend. 

I lost the original message but this story is for @freethecagedeggs. Also, Imma indulge @loverandomness2 because she’s been asking for this for a long time and I’m finally writing it :-). 

My masterlist blog : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com

_________________________________________________

You couldn’t wait for all of this to be over. 

For the baby to finally arrive. 

Not because pregnancy was displeasing, in fact, you were one of those lucky women that had a smooth one. 

You only had a few morning sickness, you weren’t too tired, it didn’t hurt much (yet)…The only thing you had was your weird cravings but, then again, pickles and ice cream was a thing you ate together even before being pregnant. 

Nope. You don’t want all of this to be over because it’s difficult and tiring…But because your damn girlfriend cannot give you or anyone approaching you of a few feet a single break ! 

“(Y/N), don’t do this it could hurt the baby !”, “(Y/N) eat this it’s good for the baby”, “(Y/N), please babe, do this exercice it’s good for our little one”…The worst was how annoying she became whenever you had a doctor appointment. 

Oh. My. God.

************

When you and Diana decided to become parents, you settled for a sperm donor instead of adoption, because it was just easier, it would take less time and trouble…You also decided that you should be the one bearing the child, kind of unsure how things would work with Diana (after all, she had been made out of clay and given life by Zeus…). 

At first, everything went smoothly. 

You were both just too damn excited. And all your friends were extremely supportive. Of course they were. 

Your older brother, Bruce, helped you through so many hard times in your life, he definitely wasn’t about to give up on you (no matter what some stuck up rich people thought about him for doing so…damn you guys lived in the XXIst century, what was the problem of a same sex couple adopting ?!), and he would never admit it because he wasn’t the cheesy type of man but…He already loved his future nephew/niece deeply. 

The day he brought you a teddy bear that looked astonishingly like the one you had when you were a kid, that exact teddy bear your dad gave you to “help you through any difficult times” (and it really did…whenever you were sad, for example missing your parents dearly, you’d hug the hell out of that bear and it would make you feel so much better), and when Bruce told you it was difficult to find the same one you had as a kid and it took him a lot of time and effort to do so, but you and your future child were definitely worth it…You teared up. You lied by saying your hormones were messing around with your emotions, and acted like it was not a big deal but…It meant the world that your beloved older brother would go through all that trouble just for a teddy bear for your baby.  

Keep reading

Dear followers,

I know this has nothing to do with cuddling pets, but I really wanted to share with you this amazing reading about gay men who served in the first and second world wars. I was a little bit fearing it would be all about hiding, fearing and self-questioning but I was amazed to discover some extraordinary stories about gay couples and gay love like you would like to see more on the big screen. There are for example these very touching letters from Ralf to the older Monty, who remained his lover until they die from old age. He writes to him from the WWII front :

My darling,

How can you forgive me for forgetting your birthday you know I wish you all the best in the world my darling. […] Darling you don’t know how I miss you darling. I might as well tell you the truth. I have been letting myself go and I have been crying over you Darling and calling out for you. […] please forgive me darling for what I have done darling and forgot your birthday darling, you know I love you darling ALWAYS DARLING Goodnight my love and I will be with you for ever and ever you old Darling and the one and only”

Isn’t that the cutest thing? We can conclude that one shall not forget his significant other’s birthday, even in time of war :D

Anyway, thank you for following me and I wish you all the best, darlings :)

August 20, 1917 - French Offensive at Verdun

Pictured - France keeps watch on the Meuse.

On August 20, 1917, French troops attacked at Verdun along an 18-km front. Like their British allies fighting at Passchendaele, France’s offensive was not aimed at a grand breakthrough but an attempt to progressively wear down the Germans, the strategy favored by their commander, General Henri Pétain. After heavy artillery bombardment and weeks of poring over aerial photos, the Second Army went over the top. The battle lasted into mid-September. Although the fight was not on the scale of the first Battle of Verdun, by the end French troops had reclaimed the old front-lines they had occupied in February 1916.

Amy Johnson (1903-1941) was a pioneering English aviator. After being the first woman to obtain a C license, she bought her own aircraft. Shortly after she became the first female pilot to fly solo from Britain to Australia; this was only the first of her numerous long-distance records.

She flew in the Second World War as a part of the Air Transport Auxiliary and became a First Officer. She died when her aircraft crashed while flying for the ATA.

Dievča z Hlinkovej mládeže na propagačnom plagáte, na ktorom stojí: “Zdravá mládež zárukou brannosti národa.”

Female member of the Slovak Hlinka Youth on a promotional poster,  on which is written: “A healthy youth is a guarantee of the nation’s defense capacity.”

ibtimes.co.uk
Chechnya detains 100 gay men in first concentration camps since the Holocaust

More than 100 gay men have been detained in concentration camp-style prisons in the Russian region of Chechnya, according to reports by local newspapers and human rights organisations.
Repressions against the LGBT community began after an application for a gay rights march in the Chechen capital of Grozny.
The press secretary for Ramzan Kadyrov, the head of the Chechen Republic, described the report as “lies” and stated there were no gay people in Chechnya.
The prison camps are the first to be established for LGBT people since the Second World War.
The report was published on the 1 April, prompting the spokesperson for Chechnya’s Interior Ministry to dismiss the claims as an “April Fools’ joke”.


I am a bot written by a Mathematician

Posted at Mon Apr 10 17:10:12 2017

1055. Voldemort never truly hated muggleborns more than anyone else with magical blood. He hated everyone equally. He simply used the purebloods’ hatred of muggleborns to his advantage. Just another way to manipulate people into rallying behind and following him.
Today 100 years ago the second battle of Arras started

The Battle of Arras (also known as the Second Battle of Arras) was a British offensive on the Western Front during World War I. From 9 April to 16 May 1917, British troops attacked German defences near the French city of Arras on the Western Front. The British achieved the longest advance since trench warfare had begun, surpassing the record set by the French Sixth Army on 1 July 1916. The British advance slowed in the next few days and the German defence recovered. The battle became a costly stalemate for both sides and by the end of the battle the British Third and First armies had suffered about 160,000 casualties and the German 6th Army 125,000 casualties.

For much of the war, the opposing armies on the Western Front were at a stalemate, with a continuous line of trenches from the Belgian coast to the Swiss border. The Allied objective from early 1915 was to break through the German defences into the open ground beyond and engage the numerically inferior German Army (Westheer) in a war of movement. The British attack at Arras was part of the French Nivelle Offensive, the main part of which was to take place on the Aisne 50 miles (80 km) to the south. The aim of the French offensive was to break through the German defences in forty-eight hours.[4] At Arras the British were to re-capture Vimy Ridge, dominating the plain of Douai to the east, advance towards Cambrai and divert German reserves from the French front.

The British effort was a relatively broad front assault between Vimy in the north-west and Bullecourt to the south-east. After a long preparatory bombardment, the Canadian Corps of the First Army in the north fought Battle of Vimy Ridge and took the ridge. The Third Army in the centre advanced astride the Scarpe River and in the south, the Fifth Army attacked the Hindenburg Line (Siegfreidstellung) but was frustrated by the defence in depth and made few gains. The British armies then engaged in a series of small-scale operations to consolidate the new positions. Although these battles were generally successful in achieving limited aims, they were costly successes.

When the battle officially ended on 16 May, British Empire troops had made significant advances but had been unable to achieve a breakthrough. New tactics and the equipment to exploit them had been used, showing that the British had absorbed the lessons of the Battle of the Somme and could mount set-piece attacks against fortified field defences. After the Second Battle of Bullecourt (3–17 May), the Arras sector then returned to the stalemate that typified most of the war on the Western Front, except for attacks on the Hindenburg Line and around Lens, culminating in the Canadian Battle of Hill 70 (15–25 August).

Poker

A/N: so this was supposed to go up on Friday in honour of our super soldier’s 100th birthday but I was away for a wedding and had no time to put this up. Hope you enjoy this fluffy piece I put together xx

Summary: It’s Bucky’s 100th, there’s a poker game going on, and you’re stuck in Spain with a marmot. 

Word count: 2,242

Warnings: a couple swear words

You were late. You  were so late. You planned to be back at the compound almost five hours ago now, but a storm had ripped your plans to shreds and you had been forced to wait in the quinjet in the midst of the Pyrenees mountains along the border of Spain and France. You were alone except for the marmot that seemed to be following you around but niether you nor the marmot were enough of an expert pilot to navigate the jet through a storm this sizable. With a dying phone, you had managed to contact Clint and let him  know that you were safe but also forced to wait out the heavy wind and rain. 

You were lucky that your mission hadn’t resulted in you getting too scuffed up; after some file retrieval, you simply had some difficulty getting back to the quinjet thanks to the start of the storm so the only damage was that you were starting to sweat despite the cold temperature of the mountain. 

You were beyond pissed at yourself and this weather - tonight was poker night. You usually played on Thursdays but since Bucky loved it and today was his birthday, there was a huge poker session going on at the compound. 

Right.

It was also your boyfriend’s birthday. 


Tony sighed sharply as he tossed the watch that evolved into the protective glove onto the growing pile of poker chips in the centre of the coffee table. He was met with confused eyes.

‘I’m out of chips,’ he argued and Clint and Steve snickered at the emptiness in front of him.

‘That means you’re out of the game,’ Natasha corrected. ‘You can’t even call, Stark.’

‘Let him play,’ Bucky smirked, meeting Tony’s eye. ‘That watch’ll come in handy. Maybe I’ll have Steve hit it around a little with his shield.’

Tony glared at him. ‘You’re pretty confident, Robocop.’

‘Says the man with no chips left,’ Bucky countered, and Tony’s eyes drifted to the columns of colourful poker chips that surrounded the soldier like a small fortress. 

‘Why does everyone think it’s a good idea to give shit to the man who shelters you?’

Sam reached behind him to the bookshelf; he brought and held out a glass jar to Tony who sighed and dug around in his pockets, only to pull out an expensive fountain pen which he then put into the jar.

‘You guys think I just carry around cash?’

‘We use the swear jar to pay for our annual dinner at Masa. We can’t pay with a pen,’ Steve argued. 

‘Someone remind me why Steve’s even part of that?’ Clint piped up. ‘’s far as I’m aware, it’s only Sam, Nat, Tony, Barnes and I who even contribute enough to earn that dinner.’

‘Cap’s put in more than you think,’ Nat reasoned, a taunting smile playing across her lips as she tossed twenty dollars worth of chips on the coffee table to stay in the game. ‘First time, he put ten bucks instead of one, he felt so bad.’

How do you know that?’ Steve cried, as Clint fell back cackling. 

Bucky watched with bright eyes the people around him, taking the scene in as a break from the game. The remnants of his birthday cake (which were the parts that had been covered in candle wax thanks to Natasha’s brilliant idea of stuffing exactly one hundred candles on the surface) lay forgotten in the kitchen. Packaging from the take out from Bucky’s favourite diner lay scattered around them as they played. The lights were dim, the background music was nostalgic, the food was good (there was still another bag of burgers left to get through) and Bucky was holding a full house (three queens, two jacks) in his hand. Plus, this June would mark his first ever Swear Jar Dinner at New York’s most expensive restaurant, a tradition that had only started two years ago.

When Bucky had first come back into the world, his birthday was the last thing on his mind. He had confronted his mortality in many ways other than celebrating a year past. And then, to his surprise, this was the night he was met with. For some reason, he hadn’t thought birthdays were on the Avengers’ agendas but he realised that he appreciated the sentiment. After a moment of bashfulness when the cake was presented to him with Sam recording his reaction, Bucky found himself melting into the custom.

There was no existential crisis; there was no breakdown. Bucky knew he was older than time should have allowed, in a world much different to the one he used to be rooted in, but he had confronted these worries and discomforts on so many other occasions.

It should have been perfect. Poker, food, the prospect of winning Tony’s mechanical glove. Except you were missing. The last contact he had had with you was before you had left on your mission; the last word he heard was from Clint who said you were waiting out a storm. Bucky knew you would be alright - at least, he hoped and convinced himself - but in simple terms, he wished you were with him.

‘I checked the forecast,’ Steve muttered, as if reading Bucky’s mind. ‘The storm’s clearing, I’m sure she’s left by now.’ 

After another twenty minutes of game play (Tony having thrown in another watch and his glasses), the round had come to an end when Clint lay down his hand, showing four aces and a king.

Sam groaned loudly, almost like a battle cry, and threw his arm through the bettings, making them scatter all over the table. 

‘This fucking close,’ he grumbled, throwing his cards down to show a full house with tens and jacks. 

Bucky grinned sheepishly, completely unwavered by Clint’s win, or Sam’s frustration. ‘Not quite, Pigeon Toes,’ he smirked, laying his own cards down for him to see. The icing on the cake had been Tony’s junk of a hand - a melting pot of threes, twos, and fives. 

‘There you go, birthday boy,’ Clint succumbed, sloppily tossing Tony’s mechanical watch to Bucky, who smoothly caught it and grinned, as Sam stuffed a dollar bill into the jar. ‘I’ll let you keep that. Give ‘im hell.’

Bucky held the watch up as if toasting him. 


By the time you reached the compound, it was nearing two o’clock in the morning and you had managed to leave the marmot behind in the mountains. A heavy weight rested in your stomach; this was Bucky’s first birthday he would actually celebrate since before the Second World War and you missed it. You knew Bucky was in good hands while you were away and you knew that Bucky wouldn’t actually be upset with you because it wasn’t like him to get upset over something like this. But that only made you want to be there more because Bucky deserved the small pockets of happiness amongst the big ones. 

You landed the quinjet in the hangar; your tactical suit was unzipped halfway so that its torso hung around your hips revealing the full-sleeved black t-shirt you wore underneath. Your boots were caked in melting snow-covered mud; consciously, you ran your fingers through your hair to tame it after having it attacked by the rough winds and went to see if Bucky was still awake.

Poker tournaments tended to last a while so you figured he was. 

When you exited the lift, however, you were met with minimal sound. You walked through the corridor and saw Steve leave the kitchen; he turned when he heard your footsteps.

‘Nice to see you in once piece,’ he grinned amusingly, but you could see relief in his eyes. The guy had so worried about you while you were gone. 

‘You guys finished?’ you asked quietly. 

‘Yeah, not long ago.’ Steve didn’t look pissed; his eyebrows weren’t creasing in the disappointed father style they tended to do. Good signs. 

You groaned. ‘I can’t believe I missed it,’ you grumbled self-deprecatingly. ‘How was it?’

‘Tony went bankrupt and then started using his actual possessions to stay in the game; he was bluffing the whole time and lost anyway. Sam threw a tantrum.’

‘Sounds like the best time,’ you smirked. ‘Did Bucky have fun?’

‘He did,’ Steve replied. ‘It was nice to see actually. He’s still awake I think, he’ll be happy you’re back.’

You smiled at him, making your way to Bucky’s room; you caught a glimpse of the living room - leftover poker chips and a deck of cards messily packed up and the scent of burgers from the diner you had been to a few times with Bucky lingered in the air. You could tell you missed a good night. 

Bucky’s door was ajar, you pushed it open further and knocked on the door frame, standing in the entrance to his room. 

‘Hey, Soldier.’ 

Bucky, who had been sitting on the edge of his bed reading a book, looked up, seeming thrown for a moment before he regarded you with the same warmth he always had done. Light blue eyes blanketed in familiar comfort. 

He smiled and stood up, walking towards you and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close to him despite the dirt on your clothes. You instinctively reciprocated, your arms going around his waist and head buried in his chest, the material of his t-shirt soft (much softer than the tree trunk you had fallen into earlier in the mountains, but that was another story). 

It was quiet for a moment, Bucky’s face buried in your hair before he spoke.

‘Hey,’ he murmured, the simplicity making you snicker.  

‘Happy -’ You glanced at the clock on his wall ‘- belated birthday, Bucky.’

He kissed your forehead and lead you to sit down on his bed with him. 

‘Are you okay?’ he asked, hands running over you arms like he was checking for wounds. 

You smirked at his worry. ‘I’m fine, Bucky, I promise.’

‘I missed you,’ he said just as quietly but you detected no disappointment in his voice. 

You nuzzled his neck and pulled his arm around your shoulders, completely unable to tear yourself away form him. He was so warm and soft. 

‘I would say the same but,’ you sighed, ‘the marmot I ran into was much more interesting so …’ 

Bucky nudged your ribs making you squeal lightly and jolt in his arms at the contact. 

‘Bucky, ‘m so sorry I wasn’t here,’ you groaned quietly. 

‘’s okay, I’m not mad,’ he murmured back. ‘I knew you wanted to be here; I get the job, doll, I do the same one,’ he joked. 

You leaned down to untie your boots. 

‘Steve said you all had a good time. You owe me a game, Solider.’

‘Clint kicked our asses and we didn’t even see it coming. Sam took it hard.’

‘He can be such a brat when he loses,’ you giggled, already coming up with ways to tease him for when you saw him next. ‘He’s great though.’

‘Is Sam as great as the marmot?’

‘Nothing will ever be as great as the marmot.’

You rested a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, toying softly with his hair. He hummed appreciatively, leaning into your touch.

‘Tony put a pen in the Swear Jar.’

‘Doesn’t he just carry out cash at all times?’

‘Apparently not. We’ll treat it like a placeholder, I guess.’

‘Was it one of his fountain pens? Those things can be like two hundred dollars a piece.’ 

Bucky traced patterns along your shoulder, playing with your hair and brushing it aside, making goosebumps rise all over your skin. 

‘I can’t believe you’re a hundred years old,’ you admitted. ‘We joked about it but now it’s actually true.’

can’t believe I’m a hundred years old,’ Bucky murmured. ‘It’s kind of the same feeling I got when I turned twenty-five - that I was finally getting old. Now I am old.’

‘Did you have an existential crisis over the passing of time and age?’ you asked, your tone slightly teasing. 

‘I actually didn’t,’ Bucky admitted. ‘I just … I’m one hundred years old.’ 

You snickered at the tone of wonder in his voice. 

Bucky was quiet for a while, fingers still tracing patterns on your skin; leaning into his chest, you could feel him relaxing into your touch.

‘You know, when I was in college, I said that the maximum age gap I would accept between me and the guy I would end up with would be, like, four years or something.’

‘I think I’ve exceeded that, doll.’

‘Only a little,’ you reasoned humorously.

‘A couple years,’ Bucky bargained, pretending to be completely serious. ‘’m glad you could make an exception for me,’ he snickered.

‘A couple years,’ you agreed fondly. ‘For what it’s worth, you don’t look a day over eighty-four.’

Doll,’ Bucky sighed with feigned sentiment, ‘that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.’

You chuckled at him. ‘You’re such a loser,’ you muttered. ‘But before I forget, I need to give you your birthday present.’

‘[Y/N], you di-’

‘I swear, James, I will ban you from our Masa dinners.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Bucky chuckled, still not letting go of your hand. ‘Just, later, yeah?’

You smiled questioningly at him but allowed him to pull you back onto the bed anyway. 

‘What are you doing, Buchanan?’ 

‘I love you,’ he murmured as though that offered an explanation, pulling you to his chest where you nuzzled comfortably. ‘Just wanna lie here.’

‘Bucky, I smell like a forest,’ you groaned tiredly. 

‘Shh, ‘s fine.’

You felt him draw the blanket at the foot of his bed over you, the two of you getting lost in the hazy warmth of his room and each other’s comfortable body heat. Bucky’s fingers were trailing through your hair.  

‘What even is a marmot?’ he asked after some time.

You blinked. ‘’m not even sure. It kind of looked like a beaver. Maybe they’re snow beavers.’ 

‘You must be a scientist or somethin’, doll,’ Bucky murmured sardonically, snickering when you flicked the back of his head sharply. 

‘For all you know, I could be. Part of day I’m an Avenger. Other part of day, I’m a  zoologist.’

He smirked lazily.

‘Bucky?’ Your tired tone paralleled his.

‘[Y/N]?’

‘I don’t want to keep you up if you’re tired.’

‘What is it, baby?’

‘I get the sentiment,’ you mumbled, ‘but ‘m really hungry.’

‘Burgers?’

‘Oh my God, yes. Can we play poker, too?’

2

“I’m inspired by women every day who are doing different things. One of my inspirations is Lee Miller, the New York model turned photographer turned war correspondent. I didn’t base my character on her in any way, but she’s an inspiration to me. She was the first female embedded war correspondent who shot and wrote during the second World War and was there for the liberation of Paris. I’ve always loved Lee Miller’s photography. I love women like that who are ahead of the curve and fighting for something they believe in.” 

the red planet

6. things you said under the stars and in the grass 

pairing: Mark (Got7) x reader

genre: dystopia!au, outerspace!au

word count: 2,325

The sound of someone pounding upon your metal apartment door ripped you from your slumber. Inspections had been completed last week and you had passed with flying colors so there should be no reason as to why someone would be knocking at your door at 3:30 in the morning. Especially on a Sunday.

Blurry sleep filled eyes made it hard for you to see who the figure on the other side of the door was, but they were impatient. You could see their shape pacing, activating even more nerves in your system.

“Babe, I can hear you breathing,” Mark whines, turning the identify of the stranger into your boyfriend.

“What are you doing?” you ask with lungs still asleep.

A devilish grin, one you had seen too many times, spread across his face, “Get dressed, I want to show you something.”

Keep reading

My own personal history tumblr drinking game, take a shot:

- Every time Braveheart appears in the Scottish history tags. Also fanposts for Reign or Outlander though that’s hardly as embarrassing.

- Every time someone mixes up the first and second world wars

- Every time the Wars of the Roses begins again over… something

- Every time historians start handing out truth in the ‘white dreadlocks’ argument

- Every time a new American founding father you’ve never heard of suddenly pops up (like we all know the usual few, but then there’s the arguable ones and apparently the list is endless)

- Every time archaeologists talk about testing old stuff with their mouths (including mature alcohol)

- Every time the rest of us are enjoying a nice post about Norse stuff or German history or really any European country’s history and then a nazi reblogs it (nope, sorry arsehole, that’s not for you, put it back)

- Every time the British Empire screwed up

- Every time the French empire screwed up (this is a bonus round)

- Every time a picture of a historical place you’ve been pops up

- Every time the Romans and their phallic obsession resurface

- In general every time Classicists somehow keep coming back to sex.

- Every time a warrior snail appears

- Every time an overly detailed “This Game of Thrones character is this historical figure exactly and no-one else ever and this how we can predict what will happen down to the last second” post appears (I like to speculate too but some are very hardcore)

- Every time somebody’s historical costume or reenactment is astounding

- Every time Byron or one of the Shelleys does something Extra

- Archery Discourse

- Every time an American historical post is illustrated with art but where the figures look like their Hamilton actors even though the post wasn’t about the musical (great musical, not the same thing as actual history)

- Doubly so if it makes Thomas Jefferson’s actions seem cuter/funnier than reality

- Every time a culture gets described in a cutesy way as ‘pagan’ despite that culture still being a living, breathing, complex structure that may have had a pagan period but is not by definition interchangeable with the word pagan. 

- “Celtic Runes” (what)

Feel free to add

Polish Literature: The Survivor by Tadeusz Różewicz (1921 - 2014)

I am twenty-four
led to slaughter
I survived.

The following are empty synonyms:
man and beast
love and hate
friend and foe
darkness and light.

The way of killing men and beasts is the same
I’ve seen it:
truckfuls of chopped-up men
who will not be saved.

Ideas are mere words:
virtue and crime
truth and lies
beauty and ugliness
courage and cowardice.

Virtue and crime weigh the same
I’ve seen it:
in a man who was both
criminal and virtuous.

I seek a teacher and a master
may he restore my sight hearing and speech
may he again name objects and ideas
may he separate darkness from light.

I am twenty-four
led to slaughter
I survived.

Tadeusz Różewicz (9 October 1921 – 24 April 2014) was a Polish poet, dramatist and writer. Różewicz belonged to the first generation of Polish writers born after Poland regained its independence in 1918 following the century of foreign partitions. He was born in Radomsko near Łódź. His first poems were published in 1938. During the Second World War, like his brother Janusz (also a poet), he was a soldier of the Polish underground Home Army. His other brother Stanisław was a noted film director.

Unlike his elder brother Janusz, also a highly promising poet, who was executed by the Gestapo in 1944 for serving in the Resistance, Tadeusz survived the war. On finishing high-school, he enrolled at the Jagiellonian University of Kraków, and then in the late 1940s moved to Gliwice where he lived for the next thirty years. In 1968 he moved to Wrocław where he lived for the rest of his life. Różewicz died in Wrocław on 24 April 2014 from natural causes. He was 92.