Copyright © 2009 Ernest Bloom.
At Bull Run
We thought it was a lark, but
To our everlasting, grievous surprise we learned
This life's a brief, sweet dream
Where the young fall into death with
No less difficulty than the graybeards
When the cannon fell silent
No birdsongs remained to lull the air
And frost filled in the furrows of
Stiffened clothing and the hardened flesh of
Lifeless faces turned down in
Green swards of grass and muddy reeds
Sweet dew of the morning mingling with
Patriotic blood and wicked quarrels
Inseparable from our angry tears
Every last soul calling out: Thy will be done!
We saw hazel eyes
Glazed over in stark surprise with
No time left to recall
The tender glances of sweethearts
Bidding prayers for quick and happy returns
And glory
At Bull Run
That is very good control here and the self-same beginning and end contributes to the overall effect. Somewhere in the second half my psyche utterly submerged itself in the echoing visions and images as they percolated beyond that bleak level of conscious reasoning. I was floating, swimming, so to speak, in poetics. I could smell the gunpowder, the swampy vapors of human bitterness and useless hostility intermingled with sorrow, fear and bereavement. These feelings were flowing from every seemingly lifeless object in the literary world. The only criticism I could have is that there are a lot of propositions to burden the ending of lines, especially the 'of'. Not a major hurdle but I believe they take away a fraction of the impression and strength of the individual verses.
ReplyDelete