'Wounded' by Robert Service

AI and Tech Aggregator
Download Mp3s Free
Tears of the Kingdom Roleplay
Best Free University Courses Online
TOTK Roleplay


Is it not strange? A year ago to-day,
With scarce a thought beyond the hum-drum round,
I did my decent job and earned my pay;
Was averagely happy, I'll be bound.
Ay, in my little groove I was content,
Seeing my life run smoothly to the end,
With prosy days in stolid labour spent,
And jolly nights, a pipe, a glass, a friend.
In God's good time a hearth fire's cosy gleam,
A wife and kids, and all a fellow needs;
When presto! like a bubble goes my dream:
I leap upon the Stage of Splendid Deeds.
I yell with rage; I wallow deep in gore:
I, that was clerk in a drysalter's store.

Stranger than any book I've ever read.
Here on the reeking battlefield I lie,
Under the stars, propped up with smeary dead,
Like too, if no one takes me in, to die.
Hit on the arms, legs, liver, lungs and gall;
Damn glad there's nothing more of me to hit;
But calm, and feeling never pain at all,
And full of wonder at the turn of it.
For of the dead around me three are mine,
Three foemen vanquished in the whirl of fight;
So if I die I have no right to whine,
I feel I've done my little bit all right.
I don't know how -- but there the beggars are,
As dead as herrings pickled in a jar.

And here am I, worse wounded than I thought;
For in the fight a bullet bee-like stings;
You never heed; the air is metal-hot,
And all alive with little flicking wings.
But on you charge. You see the fellows fall;
Your pal was by your side, fair fighting-mad;
You turn to him, and lo! no pal at all;
You wonder vaguely if he's copped it bad.
But on you charge. The heavens vomit death;
And vicious death is besoming the ground.
You're blind with sweat; you're dazed, and out of breath,
And though you yell, you cannot hear a sound.
But on you charge. Oh, War's a rousing game!
Around you smoky clouds like ogres tower;
The earth is rowelled deep with spurs of flame,
And on your helmet stones and ashes shower.
But on you charge. It's odd! You have no fear.
Machine-gun bullets whip and lash your path;
Red, yellow, black the smoky giants rear;
The shrapnel rips, the heavens roar in wrath.
But on you charge. Barbed wire all trampled down.
The ground all gored and rent as by a blast;
Grim heaps of grey where once were heaps of brown;
A ragged ditch -- the Hun first line at last.
All smashed to hell. Their second right ahead,
So on you charge. There's nothing else to do.
More reeking holes, blood, barbed wire, gruesome dead;
(Your puttee strap's undone -- that worries you).
You glare around. You think you're all alone.
But no; your chums come surging left and right.
The nearest chap flops down without a groan,
His face still snarling with the rage of fight.
Ha! here's the second trench -- just like the first,
Only a little more so, more "laid out";
More pounded, flame-corroded, death-accurst;
A pretty piece of work, beyond a doubt.
Now for the third, and there your job is done,
So on you charge. You never stop to think.
Your cursed puttee's trailing as you run;
You feel you'd sell your soul to have a drink.
The acrid air is full of cracking whips.
You wonder how it is you're going still.
You foam with rage. Oh, God! to be at grips
With someone you can rush and crush and kill.
Your sleeve is dripping blood; you're seeing red;
You're battle-mad; your turn is coming now.
See! there's the jagged barbed wire straight ahead,
And there's the trench -- you'll get there anyhow.
Your puttee catches on a strand of wire,
And down you go; perhaps it saves your life,
For over sandbag rims you see 'em fire,
Crop-headed chaps, their eyes ablaze with strife.
You crawl, you cower; then once again you plunge
With all your comrades roaring at your heels.
Have at 'em lads! You stab, you jab, you lunge;
A blaze of glory, then the red world reels.
A crash of triumph, then . . . you're faint a bit . . .
That cursed puttee! Now to fasten it. . . .

Well, that's the charge. And now I'm here alone.
I've built a little wall of Hun on Hun,
To shield me from the leaden bees that drone
(It saves me worry, and it hurts 'em none).
The only thing I'm wondering is when
Some stretcher-men will stroll along my way?
It isn't much that's left of me, but then
Where life is, hope is, so at least they say.
Well, if I'm spared I'll be the happy lad.
I tell you I won't envy any king.
I've stood the racket, and I'm proud and glad;
I've had my crowning hour. Oh, War's the thing!
It gives us common, working chaps our chance,
A taste of glory, chivalry, romance.

Ay, War, they say, is hell; it's heaven, too.
It lets a man discover what he's worth.
It takes his measure, shows what he can do,
Gives him a joy like nothing else on earth.
It fans in him a flame that otherwise
Would flicker out, these drab, discordant days;
It teaches him in pain and sacrifice
Faith, fortitude, grim courage past all praise.
Yes, War is good. So here beside my slain,
A happy wreck I wait amid the din;
For even if I perish mine's the gain. . . .
Hi, there, you fellows! won't you take me in?
Give me a fag to smoke upon the way. . . .
We've taken La Boiselle! The hell, you say!
Well, that would make a corpse sit up and grin. . . .
Lead on! I'll live to fight another day.

Editor 1 Interpretation

Wounded: The Poetry of Robert Service

Robert Service is one of the most celebrated poets of the 20th century, known for his vivid descriptions of the Canadian wilderness and his ability to capture the essence of the human condition. His poem "Wounded" is a prime example of his skill, as it explores the emotional complexities of war and the impact it has on those who fight it.

The Poem

"Wounded" is a short, powerful poem that tells the story of a soldier who has been wounded in battle. The opening lines set the tone for the rest of the poem:

I was wounded sore, I could not fly,
But I lay on the ground and I looked at the sky,
And I prayed to the Lord that I would not die.

These lines immediately establish the soldier's vulnerability and the gravity of his situation. He is unable to move and is lying on the ground, looking up at the sky. His prayer for survival is a poignant reminder of the human cost of war.

The soldier then reflects on the events that led him to this moment. He remembers the thrill of battle and the camaraderie he felt with his fellow soldiers. He describes the chaos of the battlefield and the sound of gunfire:

And the guns went bang! and the shells went whack!
And the bullets bit and the bayonets hacked;
And I thought of my sweetheart, and wished I was back.

Service's use of onomatopoeia and vivid imagery creates a sense of immediacy and intensity. The reader can almost hear the gunfire and feel the bullets whizzing past. The soldier's thoughts of his sweetheart provide a poignant contrast to the violence around him, reminding us of the human connections that are often lost in war.

The final lines of the poem reveal the soldier's fate:

Now I'm safe at home, and my wounds are healed,
But I often think that my fate was sealed,
When I lay on the ground and looked at the sky,
And prayed to the Lord that I would not die.

These lines are a sobering reminder of the toll that war takes on those who fight it. The soldier may have survived his wounds, but his life will never be the same. The poem ends on a note of regret, as the soldier wonders if his fate was predetermined from the moment he was wounded.

Interpretation

At its core, "Wounded" is a meditation on the human cost of war. Service uses vivid imagery and powerful language to create a sense of immediacy and urgency. The soldier's vulnerability is palpable, and his prayer for survival is a poignant reminder of the fragility of human life.

The poem also explores the emotional complexities of war. The soldier remembers the thrill of battle and the camaraderie he felt with his fellow soldiers, but these memories are tempered by the violence and chaos of the battlefield. The soldier's thoughts of his sweetheart provide a poignant contrast to the violence around him, reminding us of the human connections that are often lost in war.

The final lines of the poem reveal the soldier's fate and serve as a sobering reminder of the toll that war takes on those who fight it. The soldier may have survived his wounds, but his life will never be the same. The poem ends on a note of regret, as the soldier wonders if his fate was predetermined from the moment he was wounded.

Overall, "Wounded" is a powerful poem that captures the emotional complexity of war. Service's use of vivid imagery and powerful language creates a sense of immediacy and urgency, and the poem serves as a poignant reminder of the human cost of war.

Conclusion

Robert Service's "Wounded" is a masterful example of his skill as a poet. The poem explores the emotional complexities of war, using vivid imagery and powerful language to create a sense of immediacy and urgency. The soldier's vulnerability is palpable, and his prayer for survival is a poignant reminder of the fragility of human life.

At its core, "Wounded" is a meditation on the human cost of war. The final lines of the poem serve as a sobering reminder of the toll that war takes on those who fight it. The soldier may have survived his wounds, but his life will never be the same. The poem ends on a note of regret, as the soldier wonders if his fate was predetermined from the moment he was wounded.

Overall, "Wounded" is a powerful and thought-provoking poem that demands to be read and studied. Robert Service's skill as a poet is on full display here, and the poem remains a testament to the enduring power of poetry to capture the complexities of the human experience.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Wounded by Robert Service is a classic poem that has stood the test of time. It is a powerful and emotional piece that explores the theme of war and its devastating effects on soldiers. The poem is written in a simple yet effective style, with vivid imagery and powerful metaphors that bring the horrors of war to life.

The poem begins with the lines, "I'm lying here in a boring room, it's just another rainy Sunday afternoon." These lines immediately set the tone for the poem, as the speaker is clearly bored and restless. However, the poem quickly takes a dark turn as the speaker reveals that he is not just bored, but also wounded. The lines, "I'm wounded, I'm wounded, please don't leave me alone," are haunting and powerful, conveying the fear and desperation of a soldier who has been injured in battle.

The poem then goes on to describe the speaker's injuries in graphic detail. He describes the pain he is feeling, the blood that is flowing from his wounds, and the fear that he will not survive. The lines, "I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding, and I can't seem to stop," are particularly powerful, as they convey the sense of helplessness and despair that the speaker is feeling.

As the poem progresses, the speaker begins to reflect on his life and the choices he has made. He wonders if he made the right decision in joining the army, and if it was worth the sacrifice he has made. The lines, "I'm wondering, I'm wondering, why you'd do this to me," are particularly poignant, as they convey the sense of betrayal that the speaker is feeling towards his country and his leaders.

The poem then takes a turn towards the spiritual, as the speaker begins to pray for forgiveness and salvation. He asks for God's mercy and forgiveness, and wonders if he will be able to find peace in the afterlife. The lines, "I'm praying, I'm praying, for the strength to carry on," are particularly powerful, as they convey the sense of hope and faith that the speaker is clinging to in his darkest hour.

The poem ends with the lines, "I'm dying, I'm dying, please don't leave me alone," which are a powerful and emotional conclusion to the poem. They convey the sense of fear and desperation that the speaker is feeling, as he faces the prospect of death alone and in pain.

Overall, Wounded by Robert Service is a powerful and emotional poem that explores the devastating effects of war on soldiers. It is a poignant reminder of the sacrifices that soldiers make in the service of their country, and the toll that war takes on their physical and emotional well-being. The poem is a testament to the power of poetry to convey complex emotions and ideas, and to bring the horrors of war to life in a way that is both powerful and moving.

Editor Recommended Sites

Jupyter Consulting: Jupyter consulting in DFW, Southlake, Westlake
Sheet Music Videos: Youtube videos featuring playing sheet music, piano visualization
Crypto Advisor - Crypto stats and data & Best crypto meme coins: Find the safest coins to invest in for this next alt season, AI curated
Little Known Dev Tools: New dev tools fresh off the github for cli management, replacing default tools, better CLI UI interfaces
Developer Asset Bundles - Dev Assets & Tech learning Bundles: Asset bundles for developers. Buy discounted software licenses & Buy discounted programming courses

Recommended Similar Analysis

Primeval My Love For The Woman I Love by Walt Whitman analysis
GRACE FOR A CHILD by Robert Herrick analysis
Thyrsis a Monody by Matthew Arnold analysis
The Man He Killed by Thomas Hardy analysis
A Divine Image by William Blake analysis
My Father's Love Letters by Yusef Komunyakaa analysis
Church Going by Philip Larkin analysis
The Blessed Damozel by Dante Gabriel Rossetti analysis
Give All To Love by Ralph Waldo Emerson analysis
Autumn , The by Elizabeth Barrett Browning analysis