Shuffle off this mortal coil you cunt. It's nothing you wouldn't do to us.
The words of Alexander Blackman before he shot a Taliban insurgent. Blackman was subsequently convicted of murder before this verdict was overturned and downgraded to manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility. Blackman was a Royal Marine serving in a combat role in Afghanistan. The video of the incident exists in edited form and the entire incident caused an uproar. There were those who came out in defense of Blackman and those who wanted to throw him under the bus. He was either a total villain, a failure of the system or he was as much a victim as anything else. In our militaries we define our moral position in large part through taking the high ground. We tend not to kill prisoners out of hand both out of practical reason and moral reasons. Blackman represents both a failure in that sense but in another sense with his very words of rage in the moment he seems to represent that Warrior Poet ideal.
After all he is erudite enough to be quoting the Bard himself. The giant of England. He whose plays and poems remain with us to this day. They are monuments to the age and remain a core part of the wider English identity. It is somehow incredibly fitting that Blackman in his moment of madness, or calculated fury, chose to quote the Bard. It displays a knowledge of Shakespeare combined with the coldness of battle. A heart steeled at what he will do. Don’t misunderstand me executing prisoners is not glorious in the same way actual battle is - but if we are being honest with ourselves a willingness to enact violence is at least part and parcel of being a warrior.
In running Atop The Cliffs I aimed to bring poetry back to the fore. To me poetry had always been masculine but like many things in modernity it had become feminized over time. It might be thought of as a written art but it is as much a spoken one. Evidence of memory and oratory skill. The Skalds had to be able to recite not just write. The issue is though we are all still trapped in modernity and its frame. The most popular film that has poetry at the front and center for late Gen Xers or early Millennials is the trash "Dead Poets Society” which is an exercise in self worship by the prostituting acting class. It cements poetry as something effeminate and gay - the realm of weak and the self absorbed. Robin Williams character is in eternal whiggish rebellion against the structure and forms. A dreadful film with a dreadful impact.
Unfortunately despite everything poetry remains of marginal interest. The way to try and shed that is to bring back the notion of the Warrior Poet, or his cousin: The Cultured Thug. This isn’t easy to do however because in most peoples minds the separation is too well established. Martial men do not read poetry and poets do not fight. It doesn’t help that the chivalry of the Knight is also mocked, not just by the feminists but also by the redpillers. Chivalry as white knighting is frowned upon (with good reason must be said) but like many things it has robbed men of something in this world. There is no more of the defense of women in a world where honor is itself a sacrilegious value to hold. The Warrior Poet has origins in that world of Knightly chivalry, where his prowess was matched by a tenderness.
This can also be represented by an in group preference. To the outside world there is an expectation of duty and hardness but nearly all men will still be tender with their daughters. The Warrior Poet then could be seen as the duality of man as he faces those outside his group and those he faces within. We train the warrior virtues so that we may defend our clan but we must also cultivate the poetic to preserve the beauty within the clan. Conceptually many people instinctively get this but like anything it takes more than words online to live this lifestyle. To even reach towards being a Warrior Poet it requires some kind of martial interest and practice. I don’t mean to sound harsh or arrogant here but every man has a duty to engage in martial practice throughout life. Naturally it will wax and wane but it is through fighting that this virtue is reached. The temple of iron with its weights is subservient to the martial ring. Lifting weights will never be the same as wrestling or boxing.
Getting men to actually fight isn’t easy either. Maybe a bit easier than having them read and engage with poetry but in a very similar way most men fear fighting as much as they fear poetry. It is just fear of the unknown. Fighting has been frowned upon for most young men. In their youth they have been threatened with expulsion from school or chastised by over zealous women should they have attempted it. There is a whole other set of men as well - those who believe they know how to fight without ever actually having fought or trained. Those men are truly lost causes, they just think getting mad will be enough. Physical discomfort is one thing but many can overcome this - the gym and endurance sport are the safe entry route. It takes something else to start actually fighting against other men on a weekly basis. It doesn’t just require you to take being defeated it requires to to actually enjoy and pursue domination. To seek the physical ruin of someone opposing you - within the sporting confines of the art of course, but still that requirement to dominate has to be present.
This vulnerability towards conquest is present for the poet and artist as well. As soon as your work enters the public arena there is the opportunity for humiliation. It may not be having your back taken and being choked out but there is risk nonetheless. Sometimes that momentary fear caught me in my own editorial decisioning when selecting poems. Doubt is the killer. Even in a technical combat sport will and purpose - intent - matters most. You have to bite the bullet and commit to the shot in the ring in the same way you commit your pen to paper or publish. When these two elements combine you end up closer to that ideal of the Warrior Poet. The man capable of violence and tenderness. Of hate and love. That is what is lost in our time - actual emotion has been degenerated and pissed away. We have performative empty rage of the pussy hats and their hissy fits. Even their professed hatred of us, the whites, is hollow upon examination. It is hollow because they have no real love for themselves.
You can’t create Warrior Poets by running an online journal for poetry anymore than reading a book about how to ride a bicycle will get you on a bicycle. It is only in the real world that you forge these skills. The martial gym, the ring, the mat are where men today should be. These are not political activities they are simply the basis of cultivating and forging yourself. If you do care about poetry be bold enough to read it aloud to other men, men who respect the warrior in you. Men I’ve fought with have listened rapt as I have read Leo Yankveich poems around the fire out in the wilds. Those around the campfire loyal to each other and ready to face those outside the circle.
I know not if Blackman himself had ever written poetry. It doesn’t matter. Those words he spoke still strike me. That Shakespeare’s words imbued him at a moment of madness tell us he was in that moment an archetype of the cultured thug. Our civilization was not always worthless and shame faced. It had a boldness to it but that boldness came from the blood and the people. Iron sharpens iron. You must live as you preach and if you want your sons to vanquish enemies without succumbing to madness then the only path is that of the Warrior Poet. Not in fanciful terms in cold hard deeds and words.