Five thousand brave men armed with spear and shield
Victorious from Isandlawana's field,
Bare feet beat on the ground. They chant and sing,
Sent to repel invaders by the king.
The foe, too few, their ramparts to defend
Have no more future, just a bitter end.
Behind their makeshift barricades, they wait
As brave as ever hundred men that fate
Has sentenced to defend a hopeless post
As, wave on wave, storms in the charging host.
Before the British rifles, hundreds fall
But, wave on wave, again they breast the wall.
As daylight fades, and brings the moonless night
A burning roof provides the only light.
Brave men within are fighting for their lives.
As brave without, the Zulus charge and die.
They storm across the bodies of their dead
And skid and slip in pools their friends have bled.
At last, the darkest hour, before dawn's glow,
The impis, beaten, take their shields and go.
They thought they fought a hundred - they were blind
To sweatshops and to factories ranged behind
To ships, logistics and to Britain’s might:
Implacable, but hidden out of sight.
They fought the tide of empire at its flood
The war was lost before they spilt their blood
In arsenal and commissariat
The workers laboured for an outcome that
Was settled far away and long before
This pointless battle in a pointless war.
Author notes
This poem is a response to an invitation from Harlequin to address this topic. I try to take a traditional epic form, written in heroic couplets, but with hindsight, to set it in tha broader historical context, using the form of heroic war poetry to shine a critical light on one of the iconic Imperial set pieces.
I'm not sure how well this works. It feels to me as if the discipline of the form has taken over. Any comments would be very welcome.
vic
Written January 24th, 2006
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Well Done
Vic --- I am not familiar with the history, but you relate it well. I certainly did not feel any awkward tugs from the rhyme at all.
Question: Have you ever hear of a British poet named Richard A. George? He was knighted and was known for his military poetry. Here in the US, back in 50's, he was my high school English teacher and it was he who inspired me to write. He still writes everything out long hand and his editor handles the rest. That's why you'll not find him on the Internet. I hust thought I'd ask.
Norm -
I need to say more because I have re-read and re-read and this has perfect metre. You are very very good. And love the red you chose for the background - charged with meaning as only colour can be. Speak soon. x Debs
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How have I missed this???
Vic - I know almost nothing about Rourke's Drift. But the picture I will carry away from this is one of 'skid and slip in pools their friends have bled' because this line of bloodshed crosses every conflict and asks too much of men. And it goes on to spend their dream currency in nightmares for them until they die. In a way, whatever the battle and its politics, the basic grist is the same - men who have more asked of them than they should. My gramp was in the battle of the Somme and he never forgot - neither will I because he could cry. -
Strangely enough, I actually felt more constrained by the meter than the rhyme in this. It seemed to be steering me towards a particular interpretation and feeling of inevitable action, so that I had to think consciously about breaking the iambic patterns. The rhyme is only words, after all, and there are lots of those about.
vic -
I'd have to say that I felt the discipline did intervene in places ..rather that it roped your ability to say things in a stronger manner. I'd like to see what you might do with this using only meter, in free verse without the chains end rhymes can wrap things in. As for the voice, it's excellent.. it tells the tale without straying and would be one of those things many people would do well to read..
Liza -
You are what we call in the biz- an amazing writer-
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