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The Wound In Time
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Carol Ann Duffy, the Poet Laureate, has today released a sonnet commemorating the centenary of Armistice Day, 11thNovember 1918.
She was invited by film director Danny Boyle to write the poem as part of his 14-18 NOW commissioned piece, Pages of the Sea, which will see thousands gathering on beaches as a national gesture of remembrance. The title is taken from the sonnet’s last line.
THE WOUND IN TIME
It is the wound in Time. The century’s tides,
chanting their bitter psalms, cannot heal it.
Not the war to end all wars; death’s birthing place;
the earth nursing its ticking metal eggs, hatching
new carnage. But how could you know, brave
as belief as you boarded the boats, singing?
The end of God in the poisonous, shrapneled air.
Poetry gargling its own blood. We sense it was love
you gave your world for; the town squares silent,
awaiting their cenotaphs. What happened next?
War. And after that? War. And now? War. War.
History might as well be water, chastising this shore;
for we learn nothing from your endless sacrifice.
Your faces drowning in the pages of the sea.
I just wanted to share this.
She was invited by film director Danny Boyle to write the poem as part of his 14-18 NOW commissioned piece, Pages of the Sea, which will see thousands gathering on beaches as a national gesture of remembrance. The title is taken from the sonnet’s last line.
THE WOUND IN TIME
It is the wound in Time. The century’s tides,
chanting their bitter psalms, cannot heal it.
Not the war to end all wars; death’s birthing place;
the earth nursing its ticking metal eggs, hatching
new carnage. But how could you know, brave
as belief as you boarded the boats, singing?
The end of God in the poisonous, shrapneled air.
Poetry gargling its own blood. We sense it was love
you gave your world for; the town squares silent,
awaiting their cenotaphs. What happened next?
War. And after that? War. And now? War. War.
History might as well be water, chastising this shore;
for we learn nothing from your endless sacrifice.
Your faces drowning in the pages of the sea.
I just wanted to share this.
Answers
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// But how could you know, brave
as belief as you boarded the boats, singing?
The end of God in the poisonous, shrapneled air.
Poetry gargling its own blood.//
Those few lines resonate for me Tills. The kernel of the composition.
I feel that they did know. These were not stupid men, but men that could hide their dread behind hopes of home or at least remembrance. We that can discern this must always pay quiet homage, and ignore the shallow of belief, regard, and civility.
as belief as you boarded the boats, singing?
The end of God in the poisonous, shrapneled air.
Poetry gargling its own blood.//
Those few lines resonate for me Tills. The kernel of the composition.
I feel that they did know. These were not stupid men, but men that could hide their dread behind hopes of home or at least remembrance. We that can discern this must always pay quiet homage, and ignore the shallow of belief, regard, and civility.
1 to 14 of 14
