Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE PROPHET, by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: It is a country Last Line: This sometime seer, crass but cassandra-like. Alternate Author Name(s): Blunden, Edmund Subject(s): World War I; First World War | ||||||||
IT is a country, Says this old guide-book to the Netherlands, -- Written when Waterloo was hardly over, And justified "a warmer interest In English travellers" -- Flanders is a country Which, boasting not "so many natural beauties" As others, yet has history enough. I like the book; it flaunts the polished phrase Which our forefathers practised equally To bury admirals or sell beaver hats; Let me go on, and note you here and there Words with a difference to the likes of us. The author "will not dwell on the temptations Which many parts of Belgium offer"; he "Will not insist on the salubrity Of the air." I thank you, sir, for those few words. With which we find ourselves in sympathy. And here are others: "here the unrivalled skill Of British generals, and the British soldier's Unconquerable valour..." no, not us. Proceed. "The necessary cautions on the road"... Gas helmets at the alert, no daylight movement? "But lately much attention has been paid To the coal mines." Amen, roars many a fosse Down south, and slag-heap unto slag-heap calls. "The Flemish farmers are likewise distinguished For their attention to manure." Perchance. First make your mixen, then about it raise Your tenements; let the house and sheds and sties And arch triumphal opening on the mud Inclose that Mecca in a square. The fields, Our witness saith, are for the most part small, And "leases are unfortunately short." In this again perceive veracity; At Zillebeke the cultivator found That it was so; and Fritz, who thought to settle Down by Verbrandenmolen, came with spades, And dropped his spades, and ran more dead than alive. Nor, to disclose a secret, do I languish For lack of a long lease on Pilkem Ridge. While in these local hints, I cannot wait But track the author on familiar ground. He comes from Menin, names the village names That since rang round the world, leaves Zillebeke, Crosses a river (so he calls that blood-leat Bassevillebeek), a hill (a hideous hill), And reaches Ypres, "pleasant, well-built town." My Belgian Traveller, did no threatening whisper Sigh to you from the hid profound of fate Ere you passed thence, and noted "Poperinghe. Traffic in serge and hops"? (The words might still Convey sound fact. Perhaps some dim hush envoy Entered your spirit when at Furnes you wrote, "The air is reckoned unhealthy here for strangers." I find your pen, as driven by irony's fingers, Defend the incorrectness of your map With this: it was not fitting to delay, Though "in a few weeks a new treaty of Paris Would render it useless." Good calm worthy man, I leave you changing horses, and I wish you Good blanc at Nieuport. -- Truth did not disdain This sometime seer, crass but Cassandra-like. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...D'ANNUNZIO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY 1915: THE TRENCHES by CONRAD AIKEN TO OUR PRESIDENT by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE HORSES by KATHARINE LEE BATES CHILDREN OF THE WAR by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE U-BOAT CREWS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE RED CROSS NURSE by KATHARINE LEE BATES WAR PROFITS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE UNCHANGEABLE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ALMSWOMEN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |
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