Poem of the week: Trench Poets by Edgell Rickword

Christopher Nevinson: Paths of Glory, Oil, 1917

Trench Poets

I knew a man, he was my chum,

but he grew blacker every day,

and he would not brush the flies away,

nor blanch however fierce the hum

of passing shells; I used to read,

to rouse him, random things from Donne-

like 'Get with child a mandrake-root'.

But you can tell he was far gone,

for he lay gaping, mackerel-eyed,

and stiff and senseless as a post

even when that old poet cried

'I long to talk with some old lover's ghost.'

I tried the Elegies one day,

but he, because he heard me say:

'What needst thou have more covering than a man/'

grinned nastily, and so I knew

the worms had got his brains at last.

There was one thing that I might do

to starve the worms; I racked my head

for healthy things I quoted Maud.

His grin got worse and I could see

he sneered at passion's purity.

He stank so badly, though we were great chums

I had to leave him; then rats ate his thumbs.

Edgell Rickword

Edgell Rickword (1898-1982)

Joined Artists' Rifles from school in 1916. Commissioned in September 1917 as a 2nd Lieutenant in 5th Battalion, Royal Berkshire Regiment. Promoted to Lieutenant and awarded MC in March 1919. Invalided out after loosing an eye. After the war he became a noted literary critic, but after 1930 devoted himself to political journalism, editing the Left Review 1934-1938 and Our Time 1944-1947. Also wrote novels, short stories and verse. War poems appear in Behind the Eyes (1921) and Invocation to Angels (1928)