Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HERE IS MUSIC: FIRE GUARD AREA OFFICER: 1, by AUSTIN PHILIPS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HERE IS MUSIC: FIRE GUARD AREA OFFICER: 1, by                    
First Line: What time, day long, from house to house, from door
Last Line: "honour be yours, strong, brave, true, steadfast countrymen."
Subject(s): Aviation & Aviators; Courage; Fights; Firefighters; Guard Duty; Honor; Patriotism; Valor; Bravery


WHAT time, day long, from house to house, from door
To door, from street to street, from lane to square,
Where duty drives, as Grand Inquisitor
I go a-foot, full fain to make repair
For inquisition ... what time aim to bring
The human touch to forced intrusion, fling
Formality to the Four Winds, make play
To ask—and win as favour—that I may
Command ... what time swims kindness to my ken. ...
What time I win quick, gen'rous help ... I say,
"Honour be yours, strong, brave, true, steadfast countrymen."

What time some toiler—torn by twelve hours' dour,
Faithful, unceasing, soul-destroying care
Of intricate machine or task which wore
His force and fibres thin, at length laid bare
His nerves themselves—spews forth long-smouldering,
Up-welling wrath and fierce, heart-issuing
Anger, turns obstinate, instant to inveigh
Against injustice, vows to disobey,
Swears he is "through with fire-watching", and when
He smiles, sees reason ... chants my heart this lay,
"Honour be yours, strong, brave, true, steadfast countrymen."

What time, fresh back from work, scarce free to devour
Food long o'erdue, scant leisure to prepare
Yourself, to cleanse o'erlaid exterior
Of mingled dust and sweat whose mask you wear
Not as concealment but as covering
That tells your task, stands to reveal, to cling,

Proof of that 'Portland'-called cement which day
By day chokes ears, eyes, lungs like cankering clay. ...
What time you throng to listen once again
To lecturing me, I think, sans let, sans stay,
"Honour be yours, strong, brave, true, steadfast countrymen."

What time, from loved allotment filched, devoir
You do, devoted, stand to see and hear
Me show 'dry drill' with stirrup-pump an hour
On summer eve, with patience proud and rare,
Indulgent watch me, mentor, down-lying
On sun-scorch'd pavement for your monishing,
Teach you appointed and appropriate way
To fight fire-bombs slow-fused with foul delay,
Dropped by imaginary, alien
Aircraft ... what time I order, you obey,
"Honour be yours, strong, brave, true, steadfast countrymen."

What time, when Hunter's Moon and Harvest dow'r,
In midnight watch, blest beams, make naked, clear,
Building and roadway ... what time, brilliant, hoar,
December pavements glister 'neath full glare. ...
What time the Siren shrieks and sees me spring
Forth from warm sheets, finds me, fast-hurrying
From point to point, meet, greet, be greeted, pay
Brief word of tribute, gaze at search-light's ray,
Catch sight of raider—lone, but foretoken
Of fellow-murderers—I pass on and pray,
"Honour be yours, strong, brave, true, steadfast countrymen."

Envoi

But most, what time Hells' devils, duelling
In dire and dreadful earnest, rioting
In obscene, infamous ecstasy o'er-lay
The night, the day with death, strike down and slay,
First with fierce blast, foul fragmentation, then
Fuel those fires you fight with fierce essay,
"Honour be yours, strong, brave, true, steadfast countrymen."





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