John McCrae was niet de enige militair die zich door de weelderig in het kapotgeschoten frontlandschap bloeiende klaprozen liet inspireren. De Duitse auteur Erich Maria Remarque - die in Vlaanderen gewond raakte - beschreef na de oorlog in zijn bekende anti-oorlogsroman  'Im Westen nichts Neues' het bloed dat op de slagvelden was vergoten als ' Rot wie die Klatschmohne in Flandern'.  En in de Belgische 'Legerbode' verscheen op 9 september '15 - dus nog voor McCrae's 'In Flanders Fields' op 8 december '15 in 'Punch' werd gepubliceerd -  het gedicht 'Die kollen...' van Fritz Franken. 'Kollen' is de oude West-Vlaamse benaming voor klaprozen:

'Zoo vleezig en rood als een open wond / aan 't ronnen, ter borst van den moedergrond / staan hier die levende kollen / staan hier die levende kollen in 't rond ; / bloed in hun vezels te stollen !

Ze staan er, die kollen, zoo vloekend rood, / op de akkers waarover de vijand vlood / dol en bedacht om de slagen, / ze staan er,  die kollen, naast berm en sloot / ten pronk sinds dagen en dagen...

En waar er niets meer dan wat onkruid groeit, / bij nacht en bij dag, slechts de weergalm loeit / der vlammende batterijen, / daar staan ze, bedonderd, verlept, verschroeid; / vereenzaamd te spelemeien !'

McCrae's gedicht werd in korte tijd bijzonder populair. In de jaren na de publicatie van 'In Flanders Fields' verscheen een hele resem aan zgn. 'reply-poems', waarin vooral Noord-Amerikaanse dichters antwoordden op McCrae. Ik geef een paar van de bekendste:

Wonderful poppies of Flanders door William Kelly:

There’s a land across the ocean /  where the scarlet poppies grow /  and the bird’s sweet song is saddened, /  as if they really know. /  There’s a place where countless heroes /  for their country nobly died /  though I’m sad and lonely now / I often think with pride :
 
Wonderful poppies of Flanders /  Flowers of brilliant hue. /   Flowers that the angels /  have washed with their tears./  They bring me comfort, / through long, lonely years.

I’ve read a story of love divine /  in your petals of brilliant red./  God, in his goodness, has sent you to mark /  the graves of our glorious dead.

Wonderful poppies of Flanders /  Flowers of brilliant hue. /   Flowers that the angels /  have washed with their tears./  They bring me comfort, / through long, lonely years.

There is love, devotion, honour /  in each little scarlet flower. /  I’d kiss each one so fondly /  If I had but the power./  May the angels always tend you /  is my constant hope and prayer./  For I know that God remembers /  all the heroes sleeping there.'

In Flanders Now door Edna Jaques (1919)

We have kept faith, ye Flanders’ dead, /  Sleep well beneath those poppies red, /  That mark your place. /  The torch your dying hands did throw, /  We’ve held it high before the foe, /  And answered bitter blow for blow,/ In Flanders’ fields.

And where your heroes’ blood was spilled,/  The guns are now forever stilled,/  And silent grown./ There is no moaning of the slain, /  There is no cry of tortured pain, / And blood will never flow again / In Flanders’ fields.

Forever holy in our sight, /  Shall be those crosses gleaming white, /  That guard your sleep./  Rest you in peace, the task is done, /  The fight you left us we have won./  And ‘Peace on Earth’ has just begun, /  In Flanders now.

In Flanders Fields door C. B. Gambreath

In Flanders Fields the cannon boom,/ And fitful flashes light the gloom,/ While up above; like eagles, fly / The fierce destroyers in the sky;/ With stains, the earth wherein you lie,/ Is redder than the poppy bloom,/ In Flanders Fields.

Sleep on, ye brave, the shrieking shell,/  The quaking trench, the startled yell,/  The fury of the battle hell,/ Shall wake you not, for all is well./  Sleep peacefully, for all is well.

Your flaming torch aloft we bear,/ With burning heart, an oath we swear/ To keep the faith, to fight it through,/ To crush the foe, or sleep with you, / In Flanders Fields.

America's Answer door R. W. Lillard

Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead / The fight that you so bravely led / We’ve taken up. And we will keep / True faith with you who lie asleep, /  With each a cross to mark his bed, / And poppies blowing overhead,
When once his own life-blood ran red /  So let your rest be sweet and deep /  In Flanders Fields.

Fear not that ye have died for naught;/ The torch ye threw to us we caught,/  Ten million hands will hold it high,/ And freedom’s light shall never die!
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught /  In Flanders’ fields.

Als laatste gedicht breng ik 'We shall Keep the Faith 'van Moina Michael uit november '18. In mijn volgende blog ga ik verder in op deze Amerikaanse en haar werk:

Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,/Sleep sweet – to rise anew!/We caught the torch you threw/ And holding high, we keep the Faith/ With All who died.

We cherish, too, the poppy red / That grows on fields where valor led;/ It seems to signal to the skies/ That blood of heroes never dies,/But lends a lustre to the red/ Of the flower that blooms above the dead/ In Flanders Fields.

And now the Torch and Poppy Red / We wear in honor of our dead./ Fear not that ye have died for naught;/ We’ll teach the lesson that ye wrought / In Flanders Fields./ In Flanders Fields we fought