He punches at a name in stone
as if the warmth of knuckle and fist
could penetrate the cold,
a brother’s arm plunge deep
beyond the gilt
to find its home
curled up in sleep
upon an ocean bed
connect with flesh and bone.
Well timed piece Isobel. I was having a conversation with a friend recently about the dignity of the WW1 and WW2 veterans who despite all that had happened, just came back and took up their lives, brought children up and continued living. Compared to this younger generation who get injured in these bloody stupid skirmishes in Afghanistan and Iraq who now become paralympic athletes and do olympian challenges etc etc.
I can only imagine how I would feel if I had lost anyone in any sort of conflict.
It is always good to remember these people.
...and another thing!
Nice to meet up again last Thurs.
If I get across again soon we might do a duet together? I have in mind my rip-off of "Ah Yes! I Remember It Well".
Oops!
Forgot to pass on my thanks for your commenting on my Ape Shit poem (which, too, was quite sad).
Enjoyed this Isobel (if enjoy is the right word). Powerful and pointed.
I think I have a few years on so so I recall the parades of yesteryear being about the old men (WW1 vets) and the young men (WW2).
It's sad that we don't have those old men anymore but sadder still that we keep replenishing the parades with young men.
Powerful poem, Izz. Nothing to apologise for in it at all. The emotions locked up in the way that the military typically feel about their buddies are very strong, and you have caught that just right - it's all in the one gesture.
Thanks Greg. Like yours, mine could have done with a bit of an intro to explain what it was about and where it came from....
This was a bit of a quick write, after watching some remembrance day clips and interviews. Two were with veterans from the Falkland war. What struck me was their sadness at leaving those colleagues behind, one buried in the Falklands, the other at sea. What impressed itself upon me was the way one of them punched the stone - like you would punch the shoulder of a friend you loved. It was a familiar gesture - but against a stone memorial, resonant, for me at least. Being a poet makes you view the whole world through different eyes, I think. You see the depth of meaning in simple gestures that others might not notice - and them you exploit them for art - or perhaps you just open a few eyes - I'd like to think the latter :)
I'm sticking with plunge cos it is supposed to hang with the verb 'could' as in 'could plunge'. If I'd spent more time on this, I could probably have expressed myself better - but I wanted just to capture a moment and not agonise over it for a change.
Thanks again.
Fine Remembrance poem, Isobel. Like your last one, brevity assists its cause. The violence of words like "punches", "knuckle" and "fist" are contrasted with "sleep"; anger and stillness. I just wondered whether plunge should be "plunges", or even "plunging"? Greg
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Ray Miller
Thu 15th Nov 2012 22:15
Nice poem, I like the opening line best. Of course, the shorter the poem the more things get noticed and for me the last line doesn't add anything that's not already there.