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‘Spring In Camp, 1941’

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‘Spring In Camp, 1941’ War becomes time, and long logic On buried premises; spring supervenes With the circle as badge which, pun and profundity, Vast, appears line and logical, But, small, shows travel returning. Circle is circle, proves nothing, makes nothing, Swallows up process and end in no argument, Brings new picture of old time. Here in barracks is intake of birds, The sun holds early his ordered room, The pale company clerk is uneasy As spring brings odour of other springs. The truckdriver sings, free of the war, The load of winter and war becomes Embarrassing as a younger self. Words disintegrate; war is words.


Read more poetry:
‘Girl’  |  ‘Spring In Camp, 1941’  |  ‘That The Earth Rose Out of a Vast Basin of Electric Sea’  |  ‘The Lowdown on Art’  |  ‘In This Spinning Room’  |  From ‘The Nose Song’  |  From ‘Byrne’  |  Back to main Poetry menu
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