Tag: Ivor Gurney

Ivor Gurney: The Target

I shot him, and it had to be
One of us ‘Twas him or me.
‘Couldn’t be helped’ and none can blame
Me, for you would do the same

My mother, she can’t sleep for fear
Of what might be a-happening here
To me. Perhaps it might be best
To die, and set her fears at rest

For worst is worst, and worry’s done.
Perhaps he was the only son. . .
Yet God keeps still, and does not say
A word of guidance anyway.

Well, if they get me, first I’ll find
That boy, and tell him all my mind,
And see who felt the bullet worst,
And ask his pardon, if I durst.

All’s a tangle. Here’s my job.
A man might rave, or shout, or sob;
And God He takes no sort of heed.
This is a bloody mess indeed.

***

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***

Ivor Gurney: To His Love

He’s gone, and all our plans
   Are useless indeed.
We’ll walk no more on Cotswold
   Where the sheep feed
   Quietly and take no heed.
 
His body that was so quick
   Is not as you
Knew it, on Severn river
   Under the blue
   Driving our small boat through.
 
You would not know him now …
   But still he died
Nobly, so cover him over
   With violets of pride
   Purple from Severn side.
 
Cover him, cover him soon!
   And with thick-set
Masses of memoried flowers—
   Hide that red wet
   Thing I must somehow forget.
***

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Ivor Gurney: The Silent One

Who died on the wires, and hung there, one of two–
Who for his hours of life had chattered through
Infinite lovely chatter of Bucks accent:
Yet faced unbroken wires; stepped over, and went
A noble fool, faithful to his stripes– and ended.
But I weak, hungry, and willing only for the chance
Of line– to fight in the line, lay down under unbroken
Wires, and saw the flashes and kept unshaken,
Till the politest voice– a finicking accent, said:
‘Do you think you might crawl through there: there’s a hole.’
Darkness shot at: I smiled, as politely replied–
‘I’m afraid not, Sir.’ There was no hole no way to be seen,
Nothing but chance of death, after tearing of clothes.
Kept flat, and watched the darkness, hearing bullets whizzing–
And thought of music– and swore deep heart’s deep oaths
(Polite to God) and retreated and came on again,
Again retreated– and a second time faced the screen.
***
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