In Distant Lands

[Hawkman]

Just for the hell of it, and with my tongue firmly in my cheek, I’ve decided to post this unholy fusion of J Milton Hayes, Henry Newbolt, (with maybe just a dash of Kipling) as a tribute to the spirit of Boy’s Own and the memory of Empire. Enjoy it for what it is (or not, as the case may be).


In distant lands, their horses fled,
They lay upon the sand and bled.
No battle honours were bestowed
On those who gave the lives they owed—
They rotted while the vultures fed.

The spirit of adventure led
These men to this, their final bed,
Beneath the setting sun that glowed
In distant lands.

They could have walked a course instead
Dictated by a wiser head,
A path which didn’t heed the goad
That led them on that foolish road,
Paved with false promises and dread
In distant lands.

[AuntShecky]

A rondeau!
Formal poetry lives! (At least on the LitNet.)


The content of this piece is universal and timeless. Its statement can apply to any number of armed conflicts which sadly and perpetually flare up around the globe, a never-ending tragedy of human civilization.

[Haunted]

Despite the old world reference with the horses, as Auntie so aptly puts it, it is a timeless piece. War is tragic to those who fought at any given point in time, and you hit it where it counts. A soldier's salute to Hawk for this heartfelt piece.

[Hawkman]

Auntie: thanks for perusing my poem and giving it the thumbs up.

You too haunted. Sorry this reply is so short. Battery failing. Will say more when I'm fully charged.

Live and be well - H

[Hawkman]

Haunt and Auntie: Being sufficiently recharged I can now give your responses the attention they deserve. I guess this is probably a case of a true word spoken in jest. Whilst the form of the rondeau is particularly suited to this sort of poem, especially when one thinks of John McRae's "In Flanders Fields," which has always been one of my favourites, I couldn't really help thinking that it was a bit "easy" to take a shot at an anti-war poem. It makes it a bit difficult for me to take it seriously, which is why I put the 'disclaimer' at the top. It does feel to me as if it resonates with Newbolt's "Vitai Lampada":

"The sand of the desert is sodden red,—
Red with the wreck of a square that broke;—
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke."

and the line, "play up, play up and play the game."

is really a bit laughable to modern sensibilities - or is it, I wonder?

Then again I also had in my mind the spirit of the treasure-seeking adventurer. Maybe there's a nod towards Mad Carew or even Peachy Carnahan and Daniel Dravot hinted at in the poem by the mention of folly. But at the same time, having stood on the ground at Isandhlwana and gazed upon the whitewashed cairns covering the bones of some 1,300 officers and men of the 24th regiment of foot, who were killed and disembowelled by Zulus and whose bodies were left to dry in the sun, the poem does kind of fit, except in the reference to sand. And then, of course, there is always Afghanistan.

It's true, song and story relating to the fate of the soldier is timeless and universal. There is an old folk song which has the chorus:

"What makes you go abroad fighting for strangers?
You could be safe at home, free from all dangers."

Anyway, thanks again for reading.

Live and be well - H

[blank|verse]

Another good effort, Hawk, writing in form suits you very well.

I don't think the apologetic preface is necessary; although the tone is rather 'Boy's Own' as you say - and of course, the comparison with 'Flanders Field' is inevitable. I'm even willing to overlook the penultimate line, which stretches the elastic a bit...

It reminded me a bit of Paul Muldoon's sonnet sequence at the start of Horse Latitudes, which recounts various battles involving horses (I think; I'm never 100% sure with Muldoon!). And, speaking of Muldoon, also this section from his 'Lunch with Pancho Villa' where the Irish poet-narrator finds himself buttonholed:


'Look son. Just look around you.
People are getting themselves killed
Left, right and centre
While you do what? Write rondeaux?


If you're interested in some more recent war poetry, Owen Sheers's Pink Mist (http://www.owensheers.co.uk/pinkmist.htm) (Faber, 2013) - a drama in free verse about three young soldiers sent to fight in Afghanistan - is highly rated. I've read an extract published in Poetry Review and found it very good...

[Hawkman]

Hi b/v and thanks, once again, for casting an eye over one of my poems. Actually, I don't feel that the penultimate line stretches too much elastic; it's quite fitting in a number of ways...

One of my chief pleasures in reading your responses comes from the references to other poets and their works. I think I may be vaguely aware of Pink Mist, the title certainly impinges on my consciousness. I did a little digging on the subject and intend to try and get hold of a copy in the near future. Muldoon is certainly worth investigating in depth. I've only read a handful of his poems to date.

Thanks again.

Live and be well - H