The darkness crumbles away–
It is the same old druid Time as ever.
Only a live thing leaps my hand–
A queer sardonic rat–
As I pull the parapet’s poppy
To stick behind my ear.
Droll rat, they would shoot you if they knew
Your cosmopolitan sympathies.
Now you have touched this English hand
You will do the same to a German–
Soon, no doubt, if it be your pleasure
To cross the sleeping green between.
It seems you inwardly grin as you pass
Strong eyes, fine limbs, haughty athletes
Less chanced than you for life,
Bonds to the whims of murder,
Sprawled in the bowels of the earth,
The torn fields of France.
What do you see in our eyes
At the shrieking iron and flame
Hurled through still heavens?
What quaver– what heart aghast?
Poppies whose roots are in man’s veins
Drop, and we are ever dropping;
But mine in my ear is safe,
Just a little white with dust.
Header image: Self portrait 1915, Isaac Rosenberg
Isaac Rosenberg was one of six children born to Russian Jewish immigrants in London in November of 1890. He is known as an English poet, a Jewish poet, a war poet and a poet-painter. His career was cut short by The Great War and his body of work is thus thin. Many scholars believe the work he left behind was flawed but showed great promise had he been able to continue. Rosenberg fought in the war and was killed on April 1, 1918 in the Battle of Arras. His final poems written during his time in the fields of France have shown the potential for greatness which he was never able to fully realize.
“The tragedy of war gave [his] affinities full expression in his later poems, and as war became the universe of his poetry, the power of his Jewish roots and the classical themes became the sources of his moral vision as well as his poetic achievement.” – Thomas Staley, Dictionary of Literary Biography.