Quote:
Originally Posted by Bookworm_Girl
|
Thank you for that article, Bookworm Girl! I have a print volume of his poetry and have managed to get some ebook versions too from Internet Archive.
Yes he was haunted by the terrible experience of the Great War and that experience seemed to permeate his poetry even when he did not seem to have that memory specifically in mind. One of my favourite poems by him exemplifies this.
Midnight Skaters by Edmund Blunden
The hop-poles stand in cones,
The icy pond lurks under,
The pole-tops steeple to the thrones
Of stars, sound gulfs of wonder;
But not the tallest there, 'tis said,
Could fathom to this pond's black bed.
Then is not death at watch
Within those secret waters?
What wants he but to catch
Earth's heedless sons and daughters?
With but a crystal parapet
Between, he has his engines set.
Then on, blood shouts, on, on,
Twirl, wheel and whip above him,
Dance on this ball-floor thin and wan,
Use him as though you love him;
Court him, elude him, reel and pass,
And let him hate you through the glass.