A sad and impactful poem. It really makes you think about the survivors of WWII, as someone else said. You convey so much with so little, it's quite impressive. 'And almost wished to bleed if but to shed / The guilt of living' flows in a way that's so evocative. Thanks Thomas.
Thank you for reading Isaiah, that particular image of survivors guilt is one that has always struck me as an unseen burden of war that many would have borne. Having never experienced these things I can only hope to capture a fragment of the experience, I'm glad it had an impact.
I really like this poem, and I hope to visit Europe and see the lands once torn by WW1 and WW2. Thanks for sharing it!
Your poem reminds me of a section from book VIII of the Iliad where Homer meditates on the tragedy of youth cut down in war:
“Teukros spoke and shot another arrow from his string directly toward Hector, and his heart was eager to smite him. But he missed him again, and his arrow struck the chest of noble Gorgythion, Priam’s good son, with beauty like the gods. Just as in a garden a poppy, heavy with fruit and the spring rains, drops its head to one side, in the same way Gorgythion’s head, heavy with his helmet, dropped down.”
This reminded me of a long talk with my Pop only a few months ago, about his father's participation in WWII and the Kakoda Trail. His father lost three of his brothers to the war, including the youngest, Aidan.
After Kakoda, great-granddad Perry was sent back to Australia on hospital leave, but he ran away, back to his home, all he would tell his family is that they couldn't send him back, he would never go back to that living hell. He was court-martialled and struck from his regiment. The poor man never slept through a night without waking up screaming.
At some point during the telling of all this, Pop just shook his head and stopped, tears in his eyes, unable to speak anymore. It really struck me, that even for the *children* of the men who suffered, those wars are still a grief too big and great for them to grasp - let alone for those who suffered through it. Only something like poetry can express the inexpressible, as you've done here.
Thanks for sharing that Jess 🙏 I recently went to an Anzac Day concert at the Sydney Opera House and they had three WWII vets there, all over 100 yrs old, which really drove home the fact that the opportunity to hear these stories is almost gone.
I was feeling a bit of a buildup as I read these lines, Tom; like we were headed toward a deep and insightful destination. Didn’t disappoint; I think the resolution shared here is far more appropriate than anything I was anticipating.
I think it may be my proclivity for sonnets, but I often can't help building a poem to a hard hitting moment at the end. I was also hoping that the end would send the reader back to the beginning to make sense of the initial “if”, and realise that the conversation never actually happened and was only an interpretation of the soldier's silence. Thanks for reading James 🙏
Your work always has a lyrical softness and a dreamy quality to it.
The line "you might have said
To those who ask a boy of seventeen" sounds like the narrator of the poem talking, when it should really be the soldier, since he's still answering the "you" of the poem.
"You might have said nothing at all, and merely shook your head."
Thanks Robert 🙏 I was a little concerned with that line that it may confuse the reader. Although I did want to suggest in that moment that although the soldier is talking to the narrator (or more specifically, the narrator is imagining what the soldier would have said had he asked him) that the reader is placed in the position of the narrator, and should ask himself what he would have said, if anything at all. I've made a few edits, particularly to the punctuation, let me know if that clears things up a little. I like the reference to his age in the war, so I won't change that line if I don't have to.
Wow..... The survivors of WW II - which is the war that comes to mind in your poem - came back with unspeakable memories and the deepest wells of bravery ever seen, I believe.
You've captured the depth of the experience in a remarkable way, Thomas, as usual. And the images are vividly communicated--so powerful!
Thank you Jody, I think I had WWI in mind, but probably because Wilfred Owen is my biggest influence when it comes to war poetry, but it could apply to any conflict. I think what I was trying to communicate is that for those who can't put their suffering into words, sometimes it's better not to ask. And the idea of war making its indelible mark on a kid (for many of them were, and lied about their age just to enlist) is something that has always affected me.
Thanks Adam, I've tried this technique before with a constant rhyme scheme and it does give it a slight trance like quality that keeps the reader engaged. I'm glad it worked, thanks as always for reading and commenting!🙏
It's one of my favorite effects. It also helps when the two rhymes are close to each other. This was the case for one of my older sonnets, where I slightly broke form and kept only 2 rhymes for all of it (besides the final couplet).
A sad and impactful poem. It really makes you think about the survivors of WWII, as someone else said. You convey so much with so little, it's quite impressive. 'And almost wished to bleed if but to shed / The guilt of living' flows in a way that's so evocative. Thanks Thomas.
Thank you for reading Isaiah, that particular image of survivors guilt is one that has always struck me as an unseen burden of war that many would have borne. Having never experienced these things I can only hope to capture a fragment of the experience, I'm glad it had an impact.
I can hear the Wilfred Owen influence here.
Owen was the master of the war poem...one can only imagine what he would have achieved had he lived through the war.
I really like this poem, and I hope to visit Europe and see the lands once torn by WW1 and WW2. Thanks for sharing it!
Your poem reminds me of a section from book VIII of the Iliad where Homer meditates on the tragedy of youth cut down in war:
“Teukros spoke and shot another arrow from his string directly toward Hector, and his heart was eager to smite him. But he missed him again, and his arrow struck the chest of noble Gorgythion, Priam’s good son, with beauty like the gods. Just as in a garden a poppy, heavy with fruit and the spring rains, drops its head to one side, in the same way Gorgythion’s head, heavy with his helmet, dropped down.”
They flower of youth being cut down in its prime will never cease to be source of poetry. I hope to see some more of your writing soon Micah 😊
This reminded me of a long talk with my Pop only a few months ago, about his father's participation in WWII and the Kakoda Trail. His father lost three of his brothers to the war, including the youngest, Aidan.
After Kakoda, great-granddad Perry was sent back to Australia on hospital leave, but he ran away, back to his home, all he would tell his family is that they couldn't send him back, he would never go back to that living hell. He was court-martialled and struck from his regiment. The poor man never slept through a night without waking up screaming.
At some point during the telling of all this, Pop just shook his head and stopped, tears in his eyes, unable to speak anymore. It really struck me, that even for the *children* of the men who suffered, those wars are still a grief too big and great for them to grasp - let alone for those who suffered through it. Only something like poetry can express the inexpressible, as you've done here.
Thanks for sharing that Jess 🙏 I recently went to an Anzac Day concert at the Sydney Opera House and they had three WWII vets there, all over 100 yrs old, which really drove home the fact that the opportunity to hear these stories is almost gone.
I was feeling a bit of a buildup as I read these lines, Tom; like we were headed toward a deep and insightful destination. Didn’t disappoint; I think the resolution shared here is far more appropriate than anything I was anticipating.
I think it may be my proclivity for sonnets, but I often can't help building a poem to a hard hitting moment at the end. I was also hoping that the end would send the reader back to the beginning to make sense of the initial “if”, and realise that the conversation never actually happened and was only an interpretation of the soldier's silence. Thanks for reading James 🙏
Your work always has a lyrical softness and a dreamy quality to it.
The line "you might have said
To those who ask a boy of seventeen" sounds like the narrator of the poem talking, when it should really be the soldier, since he's still answering the "you" of the poem.
"You might have said nothing at all, and merely shook your head."
Thanks Robert 🙏 I was a little concerned with that line that it may confuse the reader. Although I did want to suggest in that moment that although the soldier is talking to the narrator (or more specifically, the narrator is imagining what the soldier would have said had he asked him) that the reader is placed in the position of the narrator, and should ask himself what he would have said, if anything at all. I've made a few edits, particularly to the punctuation, let me know if that clears things up a little. I like the reference to his age in the war, so I won't change that line if I don't have to.
Wow..... The survivors of WW II - which is the war that comes to mind in your poem - came back with unspeakable memories and the deepest wells of bravery ever seen, I believe.
You've captured the depth of the experience in a remarkable way, Thomas, as usual. And the images are vividly communicated--so powerful!
Thank you Jody, I think I had WWI in mind, but probably because Wilfred Owen is my biggest influence when it comes to war poetry, but it could apply to any conflict. I think what I was trying to communicate is that for those who can't put their suffering into words, sometimes it's better not to ask. And the idea of war making its indelible mark on a kid (for many of them were, and lied about their age just to enlist) is something that has always affected me.
What a beautiful sound. The restriction of the poem to only 2 rhymes makes it wonderfully sonorous. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks Adam, I've tried this technique before with a constant rhyme scheme and it does give it a slight trance like quality that keeps the reader engaged. I'm glad it worked, thanks as always for reading and commenting!🙏
It's one of my favorite effects. It also helps when the two rhymes are close to each other. This was the case for one of my older sonnets, where I slightly broke form and kept only 2 rhymes for all of it (besides the final couplet).
https://whomadetheeyes.substack.com/p/holy-war
This is gorgeous!
Thank you Alane ☺️
Wow, love this 😱😍
I'm glad you liked it Filly 😊