Captain James C. Byrd
1st Newfoundland Regiment
July 1, 1916 -- France
My leg throbs.
I cannot staunch the blood that flows from this tattered thigh.
The bullet that pierced my shoulder went straight through me.
German lead thuds into this mass of dead and dying men
and we writhe like maggots as the very earth moans for us.
Yea though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death...
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners
now at this hour of our death...
It is still July’s sweet summer morning, mother
and not fifty yards from our own wire we are reduced to this.
No one stands.
No one can stand in this abattoir where man meat lays
exposed to sun and mud and flies are everywhere.
Even standing water in this rank field is stained scarlet.
The mortars cough beyond the German lines and I wait
the infinity it takes them to reach their apogee in that blue sky
until they crumpf amongst us and our living and dead
dance in their dread blossoming.
Christ Jesus, are there none of us still whole?
When we left our trenches two hours past
there were two hundred of us.
We cling like lichen to this ruined field and drain
Newfoundland into France’s over-sated soil.
Home in St. John's, they are still sleeping:
the policeman’s wife and the postman’s,
the telegraph clerk’s and the sweetheart
of our own newsboy.
Here they are made widows, their lovers
butchered this fine day in summer
with mechanical proficiency, mathematical precision
and this day will not end, has just begun
and I am held witness to this slaughter.
Angel of Death, receive my soul in the next barrage of artillery.
Sainted sniper, take me in your sights and lay me down.
Let the next machine gun’s rattle render me insensible.
Finish me and let me lead my fine, young men to flowers
and to green fields far away from here.
Were I a bird instead of Byrd,
I should fly home to Newfoundland.
Author notes
On the morning that began the Battle of the Somme in 1916, the Newfoundland Regiment went "over the top", advanced some fifty yards beyond their trenches
and were torn apart by German artillery, snipers and machine guns. The regiment suffered 80% casualties that day; all officers were killed or wounded. The month-long Battle of the Somme would claim 1.5 million lives.
The officer characterized in the above poem is fictional.
A contest entry
- a little fun with characterisation by aeolia.
500 points, ended January 5, 12 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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this feels so authentic... the details and the language. it must have taken a lot of reading and then, beyond that, getting into the character's skin. you did that beautifully.
congratulations on the gold
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Thank you for your comments on my little poem. Alas, it only merited gold. The authenticity comes from my being a wounded combat veteran, probably. I tried to make it as honest as possible.
Thanks again,
Mac -
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"Finish me and let me lead my fine, young men to flowers
and to green fields far away from here"
like i said, the fact that you've experienced something similar changed everything.
this is a brilliant poem. -
omg! you are a soldier! that changes everything. have to go back and read (:
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"and we writhe like maggots as the very earth moans for us."
This is SUCH a loaded line, as is the rest of the poem. It feels so detached, so... I don't even know how to describe it. But it's good.
For some reason the end didn't feel like the end, if that makes any sense, but it is clever with the play on Byrd/bird. If I think of anything else critical to say, I'll come back and say it (need to go to class now). For now, good stuff & thanks for the entry!
-malvolio
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a very gripping write that depicts the horror of the battle and the agonizing thoughts that must have passed through the minds of the dying men that lay there. An excellent write.
Rory
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I have lain wounded while machine guns and mortar shells roared around me, still I don't know near the hell that those kids in WWI knew. The carnage was stupefying. What i depicted really did happen to the 1st Newfoundland Regiment on the day noted in the poem.
I'm glad you appreciated the poem.
Mac
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First-rate poetry, "celticwarrior"!
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Thank you, Dogfish for reading my poem. I am a warrior -- and the descendant of many generations of warriors; I try to write from that authenticity in a way that ennobles the spirit without glorifying the sad, grim business of war.
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Powerful, authentic, sad. Poetically wonderful work.
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"authentic"
...that is a key word here. It seems to have come from the hand of an eye witness. Not only in the discription of war's suffering and desolation but in the voice of "Captain Byrd". We hear a man from a generation unstained by cynicism, resolved to do their duty at all costs and yet still clear eyed enough to understand that the world was now standing on its head. -
Thank you, sweet Mercedes.
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