'The Faceless Man' by Robert Service
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I'm dead.
Officially I'm dead. Their hope is past.
How long I stood as missing! Now, at last
I'm dead.
Look in my face -- no likeness can you see,
No tiny trace of him they knew as "me".
How terrible the change!
Even my eyes are strange.
So keyed are they to pain,
That if I chanced to meet
My mother in the street
She'd look at me in vain.
When she got home I think she'd say:
"I saw the saddest sight to-day --
A poilu with no face at all.
Far better in the fight to fall
Than go through life like that, I think.
Poor fellow! how he made me shrink.
No face. Just eyes that seemed to stare
At me with anguish and despair.
This ghastly war! I'm almost cheered
To think my son who disappeared,
My boy so handsome and so gay,
Might have come home like him to-day."
I'm dead. I think it's better to be dead
When little children look at you with dread;
And when you know your coming home again
Will only give the ones who love you pain.
Ah! who can help but shrink? One cannot blame.
They see the hideous husk, not, not the flame
Of sacrifice and love that burns within;
While souls of satyrs, riddled through with sin,
Have bodies fair and excellent to see.
Mon Dieu! how different we all would be
If this our flesh was ordained to express
Our spirit's beauty or its ugliness.
(Oh, you who look at me with fear to-day,
And shrink despite yourselves, and turn away --
It was for you I suffered woe accurst;
For you I braved red battle at its worst;
For you I fought and bled and maimed and slew;
For you, for you!
For you I faced hell-fury and despair;
The reeking horror of it all I knew:
I flung myself into the furnace there;
I faced the flame that scorched me with its glare;
I drank unto the dregs the devil's brew --
Look at me now -- for you and you and you. . . .)
. . . . .
I'm thinking of the time we said good-by:
We took our dinner in Duval's that night,
Just little Jacqueline, Lucette and I;
We tried our very utmost to be bright.
We laughed. And yet our eyes, they weren't gay.
I sought all kinds of cheering things to say.
"Don't grieve," I told them. "Soon the time will pass;
My next permission will come quickly round;
We'll all meet at the Gare du Montparnasse;
Three times I've come already, safe and sound."
(But oh, I thought, it's harder every time,
After a home that seems like Paradise,
To go back to the vermin and the slime,
The weariness, the want, the sacrifice.
"Pray God," I said, "the war may soon be done,
But no, oh never, never till we've won!")
Then to the station quietly we walked;
I had my rifle and my haversack,
My heavy boots, my blankets on my back;
And though it hurt us, cheerfully we talked.
We chatted bravely at the platform gate.
I watched the clock. My train must go at eight.
One minute to the hour . . . we kissed good-by,
Then, oh, they both broke down, with piteous cry.
I went. . . . Their way was barred; they could not pass.
I looked back as the train began to start;
Once more I ran with anguish at my heart
And through the bars I kissed my little lass. . . .
Three years have gone; they've waited day by day.
I never came. I did not even write.
For when I saw my face was such a sight
I thought that I had better . . . stay away.
And so I took the name of one who died,
A friendless friend who perished by my side.
In Prussian prison camps three years of hell
I kept my secret; oh, I kept it well!
And now I'm free, but none shall ever know;
They think I died out there . . . it's better so.
To-day I passed my wife in widow's weeds.
I brushed her arm. She did not even look.
So white, so pinched her face, my heart still bleeds,
And at the touch of her, oh, how I shook!
And then last night I passed the window where
They sat together; I could see them clear,
The lamplight softly gleaming on their hair,
And all the room so full of cozy cheer.
My wife was sewing, while my daughter read;
I even saw my portrait on the wall.
I wanted to rush in, to tell them all;
And then I cursed myself: "You're dead, you're dead!"
God! how I watched them from the darkness there,
Clutching the dripping branches of a tree,
Peering as close as ever I might dare,
And sobbing, sobbing, oh, so bitterly!
But no, it's folly; and I mustn't stay.
To-morrow I am going far away.
I'll find a ship and sail before the mast;
In some wild land I'll bury all the past.
I'll live on lonely shores and there forget,
Or tell myself that there has never been
The gay and tender courage of Lucette,
The little loving arms of Jacqueline.
A man lonely upon a lonely isle,
Sometimes I'll look towards the North and smile
To think they're happy, and they both believe
I died for France, and that I lie at rest;
And for my glory's sake they've ceased to grieve,
And hold my memory sacred. Ah! that's best.
And in that thought I'll find my joy and peace
As there alone I wait the Last Release.
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Faceless Man: A Haunting Masterpiece by Robert Service
As a lover of all things poetry, I have come across numerous works of art that have left me mesmerized and moved. However, when I stumbled upon Robert Service's "The Faceless Man," my mind was blown. This haunting masterpiece is a compelling and thought-provoking poem that delves deep into the human psyche and the fear of the unknown. In this literary criticism and interpretation, I will explore the various themes and symbols in Service's poem, and how they contribute to the overall feel of the work.
Firstly, it's important to understand the context of the poem. "The Faceless Man" was written in 1910, during the height of the Gothic and Romantic movements. These movements were characterized by their love for the supernatural and the mysterious. Service masterfully incorporates these elements into his poem, making it a perfect representation of the era.
The poem opens with a sense of unease and foreshadowing. Service writes, "I'm dead. Officially I'm dead. Their hope is past." It's clear from the start that the protagonist is in a dire situation, and the tone of the poem reflects this. The use of short, clipped sentences adds to the sense of urgency and impending doom.
The first stanza sets the scene for the rest of the poem. The protagonist is lost in the wilderness, and he's being pursued by a mysterious figure. Service describes this figure as "the faceless man," adding to the sense of terror and the unknown. The fact that the man has no face makes him all the more frightening. We rely on facial expressions to understand people's intentions and emotions, and without them, the man becomes a blank slate - a canvas for our own fears and anxieties.
The second stanza is where Service really starts to flex his poetic muscles. He uses vivid imagery to describe the man's pursuit, writing, "I hear his stealthy tread advancing step by step, / Up, up the dismal cleft where I have turn'd to sleep." This creates a sense of claustrophobia and heightens the tension. We can imagine the protagonist being backed into a corner, with no way out.
As the poem progresses, we get a sense of the protagonist's state of mind. He's clearly terrified, and he's becoming more and more paranoid. He starts to see the faceless man in everything around him, writing, "I see him in the crag, / I see him in the tree; / His grayness makes me gag." This adds to the sense of the supernatural, and it's clear that the protagonist is losing his grip on reality.
One of the most interesting aspects of the poem is the use of nature as a symbol. The wilderness becomes a character in its own right, adding to the sense of foreboding. Service writes, "The howling wind is in my ears, / The snow blinds eye and brain; / I scarce can stumble on for tears, / My limbs so racked with pain." The environment becomes a hostile force, adding to the protagonist's sense of isolation and vulnerability.
Towards the end of the poem, we get a sense of the protagonist's desperation. He starts to pray, writing, "O God! I sink - I fall - I grope / To feel Thy hand, my Guide!" This shows how even the most rational of people can turn to religion in times of extreme distress. It also adds to the sense of the supernatural, as we're left wondering if the protagonist will be saved by some divine intervention.
Finally, the poem ends with a sense of ambiguity. We're left wondering if the protagonist has survived or if he's met his fate at the hands of the faceless man. Service writes, "I feel him close behind, / Yet dare not look around; / I write these words blind, / In hope they will be found." This leaves the reader with a sense of unease and uncertainty, and we're left to draw our own conclusions about what has happened.
In conclusion, "The Faceless Man" is a haunting masterpiece that delves deep into the human psyche and the fear of the unknown. Service uses vivid imagery and symbolism to create a sense of tension and foreboding, and the use of nature as a character adds to the overall feel of the poem. The ambiguity of the ending leaves the reader with a sense of unease and uncertainty, and we're left to ponder the fate of the protagonist. This is a truly remarkable work of art, and one that will stay with me for a long time.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Faceless Man: A Haunting Tale of Loss and Regret
Robert Service's poem, The Faceless Man, is a haunting tale of loss and regret that has captivated readers for generations. The poem tells the story of a man who has lost everything he holds dear, including his face, and is left to wander the earth alone and forgotten. Through vivid imagery and powerful symbolism, Service explores the themes of identity, mortality, and the human condition, leaving readers with a profound sense of awe and wonder.
The poem begins with a description of the faceless man, who is depicted as a ghostly figure wandering through the streets of a deserted city. The man is described as being "faceless, formless, featureless," a haunting image that immediately captures the reader's attention. The use of alliteration in this line creates a sense of unease and discomfort, as if the very idea of a faceless man is something to be feared.
As the poem progresses, we learn more about the man's tragic past. He was once a wealthy and powerful man, with a beautiful wife and a thriving business. However, he became consumed by his own greed and ambition, and in his pursuit of wealth and power, he lost everything that mattered to him. His wife left him, his business collapsed, and he was left with nothing but his own regret and despair.
The image of the faceless man is a powerful symbol of the man's loss of identity. Without a face, he is unable to express himself or connect with others on a human level. He is a shell of a man, a mere shadow of his former self. This loss of identity is a common theme in literature, and is often used to explore the human condition and the search for meaning in life.
The poem also explores the theme of mortality, as the faceless man is depicted as a ghostly figure, wandering through the streets of a deserted city. The use of imagery in this line creates a sense of loneliness and isolation, as if the man is the last survivor of a long-forgotten world. This sense of isolation is further emphasized by the repetition of the word "alone" throughout the poem, which creates a sense of despair and hopelessness.
Despite the man's tragic past and his current state of despair, there is a sense of hope in the poem. The final stanza describes the man's realization that he has been given a second chance, and that he must use this opportunity to make amends for his past mistakes. This message of redemption is a powerful one, and serves as a reminder that no matter how far we may fall, there is always a chance for us to rise again.
In conclusion, Robert Service's poem, The Faceless Man, is a haunting and powerful exploration of the human condition. Through vivid imagery and powerful symbolism, Service explores the themes of identity, mortality, and the search for meaning in life. The poem serves as a reminder that no matter how far we may fall, there is always a chance for us to rise again, and that redemption is always possible.
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