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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Death of the Scharnhorst and other Poems - -Author: Arch Alfred McKillen - -Release Date: February 19, 2021 [eBook #64594] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Curt Troutwine, Mary Glenn Krause, Chuck Greif and the Online - Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEATH OF THE SCHARNHORST AND -OTHER POEMS *** - - - - - THE DEATH OF - THE - SCHARNHORST - AND OTHER POEMS - - by - ARCH ALFRED McKILLEN - - [Illustration] - - VANTAGE PRESS, Inc. NEW YORK - - - Copyright, 1952, by Arch Alfred McKillen - - - _Manufactured in the United States of America_ - - - _To_ - L.R.D., EM 1/c, U. S. Navy - Killed in action, Pearl Harbor, T. H. - December 7, 1941 - - - _Smile a little, lad,_ - _For when you smile_ - _There is no sleep._ - _How can there then be Death?_ - - The Chicago _Sun_ has kindly granted permission to - reprint the poem “The Litany of Pearl Harbor,” - which it published on December 7, 1942, in - June Provines’ column - - - - -CONTENTS - - - _Page_ - -The Bird, the Lad and Me 1 - -The War in Spain 1 - -It Rains Tonight 2 - -While Drums Are Rolling 2 - -Apollo 3 - -Fountain of Loveliness 4 - -Highway Number 66 5 - -Dirge for the _Squalus_ 6 - -Echo Canyon 7 - -Fragment 8 - -We Hang upon a Scaffold 8 - -I Looked into Your Eyes 9 - -Of This Great Voiceless Love 9 - -I Would Have Brought You Fire 10 - -Too Much of Life 10 - -Lone Cello 11 - -Apocalypse 11 - -The Old Sea Wall 12 - -The Midnight Horseman 13 - -Lonely Heart 14 - -Dreams 15 - -The Bugles Called 15 - -Morning Guard 16 - -When Kilmer Wrote of Trees 17 - -Wild Geese 17 - -I Write to You in Red 18 - -’Tis Winter Now 18 - -Sonnet 19 - -The Tropic Dawn 20 - -Twilight 21 - -Echo 21 - -Star Course 22 - -Memorandum 23 - -The Litany of Pearl Harbor 23 - -We Were Waiting That Morning for Colors 26 - -The Motor Launch Crew 27 - -To the Garrison at Wake 28 - -Corregidor and Calvary 31 - -_When he and I had met_ 33 - -To the Marines 34 - -The Lads Who Go Below 35 - -The Road to High Wood 36 - -Night Watch 37 - -The Soldier and the Samovar 38 - -Nocturne 38 - -The Swing 39 - -Somewhere on Leave 40 - -The Sentry 41 - -I Watched Him in the Tournament 41 - -South Pacific 42 - -Deck-Ape 43 - -Sailor Boy 43 - -Avenge 44 - -The Crossing of the Rhine 45 - -The Ballad of the Dead Sailor 45 - -The Death of the _Scharnhorst_ 47 - -Little Boys and Little Dogs 53 - -_U.S.S. Oklahoma_ Returns to Her Crew 54 - -Night 56 - -For All Heroes 57 - -Foxhole 58 - -Bury Him 61 - - - - - _THE BIRD, THE LAD AND ME_ - - - The sky was touched with tints of morn, - A wind was in the trees, - I lay in bed awakened - By the murmur of the leaves. - - I listened to the chirping - Of the first-awakened bird, - And, his leather heels a-clicking, - Some lad off to work I heard. - - Then my thoughts to sleep returning - Wondered briefly, of us three, - What brave paths the fates have destined - For the bird, the lad and me. - - - - - _THE WAR IN SPAIN_ - - - The war in Spain is over - Yet victory does not smile - For all the lads are murdered - Who might have laughed awhile. - - And those who march triumphant - Are sadder than the dead - Because their hearts are shadowed, - Because their hands are red. - - The war in Spain is over, - Yet other trumpets sound - And call the world’s young manhood - To another battleground. - - - - - _IT RAINS TONIGHT_ - - - It rains tonight and wolf-winds howl. - His grave is not so deep, - But that the mournful Heavens - Upon his body weep; - They wet the mound of spaded earth - And through his coffin seep. - - It rains tonight and wolf-winds howl, - And beaten hangs the tree, - And comfortless in Death he lies - Who comforted should be, - The guy who lost - And killed himself, - And never spoke to me! - - - - - _WHILE DRUMS ARE ROLLING_ - - - Then you’ll go while drums are rolling, - And you’ll charge and make the bluff - That your heart is full of courage, - And you’ll curse the vilest stuff. - - And you’ll see a lot of fellows - That you’ve never seen before, - And they may all be twenty - Or one or two years more. - - And you’ll briefly talk together, - But of what you will not know. - There is so much that lads can say - When off to war they go. - - And you’ll see a lot of fellows - When the battle roar is done, - Though all are dead upon the field - And will not know it’s won. - - And the drums will roll on, rolling - Till some bullet finds your heart, - Then you’ll join the lads before you - And you’ll never have to part. - - - - - _APOLLO_ - - - Beautiful pagan, possess me! - Over thy body my fingers I race. - Hot on thy cheeks are my kisses, - Naked with thee in a lovers’ embrace. - - Passionate night, - And the scents from the orchard - Heavily here - In thy temple retreat. - - Moonlight and marble, - Where pillars and shadows - Cast thee in twilight, - - Beautiful statue, - Warm with the warmth - Of my body - Against thee, - - I quiver, - I clasp thee - And fall at thy feet! - - - - - _FOUNTAIN OF LOVELINESS_ - - - Fountain of loveliness, flowing - Deep in a wildwood of aspen and pine, - Swanlike forever upon thy calm surface - I drift in my nakedness, white in the sun. - - O plunge me beneath, - Where thy depths are the greenest, - Cover my heart, - And the secret it keeps! - - - - - _HIGHWAY NUMBER 66_ - - - We drove down the road - Like two bats out of Hell, - And before us the gates - At the rail crossing fell. - - But we crashed through the splinters - And over the tracks, - And the train whistled madly - And screamed at our backs. - - And we rode on in silence - With never a word, - And only the wind - And the motor were heard. - - For a lad lay a-dying - That both of us knew, - And over the hills - To his bedside we flew. - - He was dead when we got there, - And somehow I know - At that curve on the hill - With the valley below, - - Where the crossing is laid, - And that monster of steel, - Not my hand, but his - Was guiding the wheel. - - - - - _DIRGE FOR THE SQUALUS_ - - - We did not raise a submarine - From the ocean’s fathomed bed, - But twenty-six brave sailor lads - And all of them were dead. - We left them not beneath the sea; - We brought them sadly home, - To dedicate anew to Death, - Who nevermore shall roam. - - Then, trumpeter, be firm your lip, - What though the tears may fall, - For muffled drums in velvet beat - Beneath your trumpet’s call. - And there are hearts in other lads - That swell with sorrow, too. - It need not matter that those hearts - Are not in navy blue. - - And they who have escaped that tomb - Beneath the restless wave, - How deeply reverent they hold - The gift the dead men gave. - For twenty-six on them bestowed - The utmost they could give, - When twenty-six accepted death - That thirty-three might live. - - The passage doorway dogged and tight, - On either side two groups of men. - In one compartment, mad with fright, - The thirty-three who’ll live again. - And on the other, maddened, too, - The water rising swiftly, high, - The twenty-six who looked and knew - They were the ones who had to die. - - Then let some fitting tribute stand - When we from here are fled, - The living consecrated - By the consecrated dead! - - - - - _ECHO CANYON_ - - - We ride to Echo Canyon, - He rides with me tonight, - No moon above to guide us, - The stars alone are bright. - - The wind is in the sagebrush; - Somewhere a coyote calls; - The studded sky is briefly lit - As a flaming starlet falls. - - We draw the rein together, - He trembles as I pass - To turn the horses free to graze - In the wild September grass. - - And now I stretch beside him - Where he lies upon the ground, - And in all this lovely wilderness - We two alone are found. - - - - - _FRAGMENT_ - - - He wandered through the darkened streets of night, - His massive cape a-blown with every wind. - He passed the strumpets flirting near the lamps, - And bowed to one--the one most infamous. - Then down familiar avenues he strolled, - And met, as he was sure to meet them there, - The lads who knew these lanes where men were bold. - - How many a British soldier went to death - Beneath an Afric sun with some small gift, - A pocketknife inlaid with precious stones, - A case for cigarettes, or watch and chain, - Which had been given him by Oscar Wilde. - - - - - _WE HANG UPON A SCAFFOLD_ - - - We hang upon a scaffold, lad, - The skeleton within - Is all the horror of the world, - Of virtue and of sin. - - For he who knows no word of love, - Nor has his heart’s desire, - Must hang the same and die the same - As he who walks in fire. - - Then hang upon your scaffold, lad - The mob will pierce your side, - Yet cry your triumph and your pain, - For man is crucified. - - - - - _I LOOKED INTO YOUR EYES_ - - - I looked into your eyes and saw, - Or thought I saw, your love. - I tried to hide my own from you; - Not ever spoken of. - - Yet, there was something I could feel - Electrify the air - When both of us were quite alone - And no one else was there. - - And when at last I spoke my love, - And wanting yours for me, - I looked into your eyes and knew - Such love was not to be. - - - - - _OF THIS GREAT VOICELESS LOVE_ - - - Of this great voiceless love of mine for you - There is no word to your heart out of mine - That may go winging through the whispering night. - - Look only then for laughter in my letters - As I from day to day _The Fool_ rehearse. - And if one blushing phrase too boldly written - Inscribes too fervently that I am yours, - Believe it only penmanship and style, - Or the careless informality of friends. - - - - - _I WOULD HAVE BROUGHT YOU FIRE_ - - - I would have brought you fire for those nights - When you were cold and lonely and in doubt. - I would have brought you laughter for your tears - And given you new dreams to dream about. - - But look away, your eyes are much too bright, - And sorrow has lent beauty to your face, - And should I cast aside this cloak of years - And live forever after in disgrace-- - It is an old temptation sprung anew, - Yet must not be. - Ah, look at me and you shall see - I am, my love, as miserable as you! - - - - - _TOO MUCH OF LIFE_ - - - Too much of life we spend alone, - Too many thoughts are ours to share, - Too little love we call our own - Though multitudes of men are there. - - We’re strangers undetermined of - Where madness rules the lives of men, - Where he who dares design of love - Lives not to dare the deed again. - - Beware of love! Be lonely, lad. - There is no death that can compare - Where loving hearts are crucified, - And multitudes of men are there. - - - - - _LONE CELLO_ - - - Too much is incomplete. Let’s make an end - Of all the fond impossible dreams we’ve dreamed, - And when we part, - We were not meant to be - Too closely here companioned where the thorn - Of our red love transfixes joy’s brief crown. - The roses wither, time itself decays, - And log-lit embers fall to ashes when - The memory of the flame no longer glows. - - We rode to Echo Canyon and your smile - Ran naked through the chambers of my heart. - Now lonely cellos must out parting sing - As when some cool green afternoon lets fall - From one high branch a few wind-weary leaves. - We grow too old too suddenly. Farewell! - - - - - _APOCALYPSE_ - - - These are the seeds of the future, - The weary, the wretched, the slain. - These are the ghosts we shall harvest - In wars that shall come again. - - These are the fields we have furrowed, - The dreams that have fallen apart, - And this is the plow of our madness, - The fear that has entered the heart. - - Oh, how shall we welcome the reaper - When autumn shall fill the air, - When all the hope of the springtime - Is cut with the edge of despair? - - - - - _THE OLD SEA WALL_ - - - Oh, you who go hurrying, worrying by - With never a cry or a call, - Saw you a lad who was standing here - On the crest of the old sea wall? - - I saw him last night in the twilight - As the long low breakers rolled, - And across the bay in the chapel - An evening bell was tolled. - - And we looked at each other a moment - And then from each other we turned, - But I read in his eyes of a longing - That a merciless world had spurned. - - Oh, have you no answer to make me, - All you who go hastening past, - And though I am late will none tell me - Where he was standing last? - - Like a whisper I hear from the sea wall, - Where the waters are troubled below, - A murmur of wavelets complaining, - And the fate of the lad I know. - - Spin onward, old world, to your ending. - The hearts that you break and condemn - Will someday rise madly against you, - Reversing your judgment of them. - - - - - _THE MIDNIGHT HORSEMAN_ - - - Ten thousand trees in the forest stood - And watched me as I passed, - Ten thousand trees that did not breathe - The wind that rode as fast, - Ten thousand leaves on every tree - Immovably aghast! - - The road in the light of the moon was white, - The sky overhead was gray, - With a kind of a washed, half-tone effect - That took the night away, - Yet to right and left like the cloak of death - The deepest darkness lay. - - The steed’s quick breath his hooves beat out - And silvered all the air, - On, on we sped like a thing of dread; - We were a ghostly pair. - We passed the somber stricken wood; - We found no shelter there. - - I might have stayed and made pretense - That I was like the rest, - And laughed and drunk and sung their songs - As loudly as the best, - And never have given an answer to, - Not recognized my quest. - - Farewell, and onward! Piteous flight - That leaves all friends behind, - That hastes from old familiar scenes - Where love was young and kind. - Oh, petrified Sylvania, - Where shall I others find? - - - - - _LONELY HEART_ - - - Where do you wander far and afield, - Lonely heart? Lonely heart, where is your shield? - - Where are your rings and where is your purse? - Love is expensive. It’s cheaper to curse. - - Where are your garments? Look at your shoes. - Laughter or sorrow, which did you choose? - - Walking the streets, nights that are cold, - Men who are wretched, men who are bold. - - Rooms in the shadows, Love me tonight, - Love me and leave me before it grows bright. - - Don’t heed the sob of a heartbreak within. - Hold me, and kiss me and teach me to sin! - - Into the quicksand, hungry and dark, - Into the grotto, into the park, - Into the depths of the tomb, it is said, - Lovers have cast themselves, living and dead. - - Lonely heart, lonely heart, walking alone, - Friendless and frantic, and turning to stone! - - - - - _DREAMS_ - - - If you’ve a dream at heart, lad, - Some wilfull, noble plan, - Then cherish it within, lad, - And tell it to no man. - - To friend and foe alike be dumb - On what you plan to do, - And keep that secret chamber locked - Until the work is through. - - For I had dreams at heart, boy, - But talked them all away, - And now I needs must start, boy, - To dream anew today. - - - - - _THE BUGLES CALLED_ - - - We lay together, he and I, - Upon a little hill, - Beneath a tree that sheltered us, - As trees so often will. - - I touched his hand and felt him stir, - Expectancy of love! - And then my lips poured out my heart, - The things I told him of. - - But when his heart began to speak - The bugles called to war - And he arose and left me there. - I never saw him more. - - - - - _MORNING GUARD_ - - - Where the old road meets the new road - I stand the guard at morn, - Where one comes winding down the hill, - The other, through it torn. - - October’s friendly fingers dipped - In every mellow shade - Have touched the leaves on all the trees - That stand within the glade. - - In distant treetops I behold, - As I have seen in clouds, - The faces of my heroes - Or dead men in their shrouds. - - The marching columns pass me by, - All sailor lads in blue. - And some will wink, and some will smile, - The way young fellows do. - - And overhead the deepening sky - More bright and bluer flows, - While one lone fleecy, sheeplike cloud - Before the dog-wind goes. - - The restless leaves like pounding surf - Sound breakers through the trees. - I strip of all reality - And drown myself in these. - - - - - _WHEN KILMER WROTE OF TREES_ - - - When Kilmer wrote of trees he must have seen - The flowering catalpas all a-bloom, - And though about him guns spoke quick of death - And distant cannon thundered oaths of doom - He did not harken. What were all of these - To where beyond the trenches stood the trees? - - - - - _WILD GEESE_ - - - Geese in the night flying low, - I hear the beat of their wings. - I wish that I could know - If they are calling to me. - - Rain and a wintry wind - And trees that have shed their leaf. - If man at first had not sinned - Then Christ had not been born. - - - - - _I WRITE TO YOU IN RED_ - - - I write to you in red, though not in blood, - For scarlet all my memories are dyed - With deep imaginings of what the past, - The past, the past--the unforgotten gone. - Ah, what it might have been designed upon! - - I write to you in red because the flood - Of scarlet passion prisoned, long denied - Your love, yet in your bondage bonded fast, - Is freed to flow again, to stream, - And if it can, another love esteem. - - But all too long your chains upon my heart - Have left a scar which testifies me dead - To all frivolity. I have no part - With lightsome love. - I write to you in red! - - - - - _’TIS WINTER NOW_ - - - When spring again revisits earth, - And in the dark there comes a stirreth - Of seedlings bursting with the birth - Of summer’s future flowers, - Then will I sing you songs of love - And apple blossoms branched above - Shall know the dear devotion of - My poor poetic powers. - - But wait till then--’tis winter now. - My thoughts in solitude are claimed. - Yet every wind shall hear my vow - Repeated through the hours, - It’s you alone I love, - And unashamed. - - - - - _SONNET_ - - - Like solitary mountain peaks that list - And seem to sink in seas of restless grain - My love for you goes drowning through a mist - Of unrequited, unrecorded pain. - - Oh, while there’s breath of life and passion still, - While yet remains a warmth, a failing flame - Within the fallen fortress of my will, - Give me a moment of your love to claim. - - Come let me hold you close in hushed embrace - And crush you with the force of fierce desire, - Yet by that love no future plan to trace, - But just to love that moment to conspire. - - I will not chain you, though enchained by thee; - The memory of your love will prison me. - - - - - _THE TROPIC DAWN_ - - - The tropic dawn is beautiful at sea, - The clouds respond so readily to light. - Though overhead the stars continue bright - And scattered like a broken string of beads, - The eastward doors of night are opened wide - And light floods all the ocean floor inside. - - The sun gets up, a painter out of bed, - To work again his canvas of the world, - To change black water into blue instead, - To tint what little frantic foam gets hurled - From two waves’ temperaments with ruby fire, - And make the sea a thing for man’s desire. - - The day comes gently, working through the clouds, - Which light and burn with brilliance many-hued. - A sailor somewhere singing in the shrouds - With naked chest and feet and arms tatooed, - His sailor hat at angle on his head, - Salutes the day with thoughts of home and bed. - - Oh, take me back, away from dawn and sea, - Oh, take me where the heart of me would be, - And in some blessed meadow set me free! - - - - - _TWILIGHT_ - - - A little while ago that sky was gold, - And green that hill, - And blue the white-capped sea, - And I stood watching through these vines a ship - That moved, hull down, beyond, - Beneath the point. - - I wonder now, before the stars are out - And long black clouds have filled the sunset sky, - Will I remember this at midnight hour: - How much I longed to be aboard that ship! - - - - - _ECHO_ - - - Oh, weary heart, dependent for a song - On whether someone smiles or not at thee. - Oh, weary life, the loveless years are long - Yet deathless are the thoughts of him to me. - - Within an ancient castle on the coast, - Where all the sea-dead sailor lads make moan, - I hear a melancholy cello sing - Its mad and mournful music to the moon, - A dirge of febrile beauty and despair - That fills the night with phantom, frantic song. - - And phrase to phrase with sexual life responds - While fierce satyriasis, orchestrally, - Like nine symphonic horns unharmonized - Calls wildly through the hollows of my heart. - - - - - _STAR COURSE_ - - - Into the darkening east we ride, - Wave upon wave we thrust aside, - White and defiant they seethe around. - What do we care! We’re homeward bound! - - The sea beneath and the sky above, - These are the things a man can love, - Not when he leaves his native shore, - But when, far out of the sight of land, - He takes the wheel with a steady hand - To guide him home once more. - - Then homeward, homeward be my course, - And constant be my star, - For I have wandered east and west - And I have wandered far, - Yet home and joy can only be - Where love and friendship are. - - I’ve searched among the isles of men - The love I left behind, - Explored for friendships in the waste - Of broken, humankind, - And sought for beauty, sought for wit, - With naught of all to find. - - In dens of laughter when I laughed - There came a hollow sound, - Yet every night I went again - To join the merry round, - And every night I knew that there - My heart would not be found. - - Then homeward, homeward be my course, - And constant be my star, - And may I not have changed too much - Because I’ve wandered far. - Their love and laughter now I need - Who home and friendship are. - - - - - _MEMORANDUM_ - - - Quick are the sands that bury a man - When he lays him down to die, - And quick are the hands if there be no sands - Of such fellows as you and I. - - - - - _THE LITANY OF PEARL HARBOR_ - - - Harbor of morning, - Day has begun. - Hills of Oahu - Are waiting the sun. - - Harbor of reveille, - Hammocks away. - Sailors are stirring - On ships in the bay. - - Harbor of happiness, - Green and complete. - Day from the summit - Has smiled on the fleet. - - Harbor deceived, - Death in the sky - Plummets to earth - Before colors shall fly. - - Harbor surprised, - Torpedo and shell - Tear through the living, - Harbor of Hell! - - Harbor of terror, - Harbor of death, - Harbor where fellows - Are choking for breath. - - Harbor of drownings, - Thunderous sound. - Flooded compartments - Harbor the drowned. - - Harbor of fire, - Harbor of flame, - Steel and humanity - Crumble the same. - - Harbor determined, - Stations are manned. - Against the aggresor - The Harbor will stand. - - Harbor of courage, - Gunners and guns - Speak of the worth - Of America’s sons. - - Harbor of shipmates, - Sanctified flood, - Dying together, - Harbor of blood! - - Harbor of wounds, - Beneath the attack, - Fighting the enemy, - Driving him back. - - Harbor of smoke, - Blinding the sun. - Harbor contested, - Yet to be won. - - Harbor of roaring, - Harbor ablaze, - Harbor of horror, - Harbor of praise. - - Harbor resurgent, - Out of the gloom, - Self-resurrected - Out of the tomb. - - Glorious Harbor, - Harbor of woe, - Harbor of vengeance - Blasting the foe. - - Harbor of hours, - Endless, intense, - Harbor victorious, - Epic defense. - - Dedicate Harbor, - Shipmates are there - Sleeping forever. - Harbor of prayer. - - - - - _WE WERE WAITING THAT MORNING FOR COLORS_ - - - We were waiting that morning for colors, - And the bands were ready to play, - And a motor launch crossing the harbor - Was making its peaceful way, - But to war and the roar of its thunder - Old Glory went up that day. - - The firmament split, and our gunners, - The bravest and handsomest crew, - Mid fiery bomb and shrapnel, - Oh, how to their stations they flew! - - They fought like a legion of angels - Against the corruption of Hell, - In the blaze of a sacred vengeance - For shipmate lads who fell. - - They fought off the vicious invader, - They cut him out of the air, - And he dropped through the smoke of the combat - To death and destruction there. - - And our flag through the hours of battle - Flew on till the fighting was won. - Oh, beautiful, dedicate banner, - Our victory has only begun. - - With such gunners as ours to defend you, - So bright and beloved in the sky, - While devotion and manhood attend you, - Brave standard, continue on high. - We were waiting that morning for colors. - Old Glory forever shall fly! - - - - - _THE MOTOR LAUNCH CREW_ - - - Crossing the harbor, four lads in a motor launch - Saw the invader host drop from the sky, - Saw a torpedo’s white wake through the water - Make for the stern of a vessel nearby. - - “Jump!” cried the coxswain, “Here is my duty, - Here is the logic for which I was born, - One life asunder to stop the torpedo - Ere from their bodies a hundred are torn!” - - “Nay,” cried the bowman. “We’re in this together. - Glory to God and such men as ye are!” - Seizing a boat hook he jumped to the gunwhale, - As mad as old Ahab, as fixed as a star. - - Oh, the wild race in the harbor that morning! - Prayed to his Diesel the kid engineer, - “Fail me not now, O my beautiful engine!” - Swiftly the launch and torpedo drew near. - - Wake upon wake, the two masses converging, - Never a word by the sternman was said. - Oh, there was death in the harbor that morning! - Under the keel the torpedo shaft fled. - - Then with the force of a mighty harpooner, - Melville’s dread hero, such bowman was he, - Then from his arm the long boat hook went plunging - Faster than death and destruction could flee. - - Into the blades of the whirling propeller, - Following after, the iron hook sank, - Changing the mark where the war head exploded, - Tumbling the rocks and a tree from the bank. - - Then all around them the harbor was seething, - Concussion and fire and shouting and fear, - And they, too, are dead. Dead that motor launch coxswain, - That bowman, and sternman and kid engineer! - - - - - _TO THE GARRISON AT WAKE_ - - - A little while, O sacramental dead, - Unvisited a little while yet be. - You shall not lie forgotten nor alone - While ships there are, and planes, and guns, and men. - For now, more adamant, more fierce, more keen, - In permanence and purpose fixed as stars, - To finite manhood hereby we annex - The infinite almightiness of God, - And we shall be His judgment! Woe to that - Ambitious offal sprung from Hell’s abyss - Which catastrophically we shall destroy, - Annihilate, forever make extinct. - - No evil feet, where from your chaliced hearts - The precious blood has spilled, shall tread that earth, - That holy, transubstantiated isle - Whose very soil is body, soul, and blood - Of restless lads who loved America! - On who so tread shall light and darkness pounce, - Vast winged horrors plummeting, destroy, - Consuming brilliance, glut-engulfing night, - Like twin devourers, feed there on them! - - Ye ancient dead, who fell with Greece or Rome, - Or in the name of Allah and his prophet, - Who fell through all the cycled years of war, - Through plague, disaster, fell in civil strife, - Through revolution, famine, flood and fire, - Apocalyptic woe or freezing night, - Ye ancient dead, to whom heroic stance - And unsurrendered dignity still cling, - Receive who come among you now like gods, - Four hundred splendid, handsome, golden lads. - To them extend that comradship of men - Who live the rugged military life, - Who smile that full, good-natured kind of smile, - Most boyishly unstudied, most beloved, - Who know each other’s thoughts and wants and hopes, - Who know what prayers are said and what forgot, - Who know that greatest, crucifying love - Where friends for friends on strange new crosses die! - - And you, O Seraph Outpost Garrison, - Who side by side heroically made stand, - No quarter given, none received, none asked, - Who fought those vicious legions in the three - Old elemental spheres, and of the fourth, - Almost invincible to flame and death, - Stood firmly placed before, beneath the attack - Like Milton’s epic host against all Hell, - New rest, brave lads, in consecrated sleep, - While lonely trumpets sing through muffled drums - A requiem and threnody of grief. - - Ah, great Cecilia, Bach, and Handel blind, - Those last full-throated notes to swell from earth, - That trumpet song of loneliness and night, - Give it a contrapuntal theme beneath, - Whose pedal harmonies orchestrally - Shall hint of resurrection, while the pipes - And organ-pillar’d flutes resound the mode - To which the ancient dead have matched and sung. - - Then light the strings until they burn as bright - And numberless as candles round a shrine, - Then start the rolling drums, and set the brass - Cannonically recalling one another, - And let the reeds’ ancestral wisdom speak, - What though at first the grave bassoons must weep - Their melancholy, febrile lamentation. - Unsheathe the horns and cut the harmonic knot. - Let full grand orchestra astound the void - With soaring fugue and metric tympani. - - And in this last, let herald trumpets sing - While bright kid-trumpeteers who fell at Pearl - Resound a call to quarters there beyond! - - - - - _CORREGIDOR AND CALVARY_ - - - Corregidor and Calvary, - And Christ again is crucified, - And all the lovely lads who died - Are His this day in Paradise. - - They hung upon a wretched cross, - We watched them day by day, - And wondered how such men could live - Who hung in such a way, - Who hung in thorns of screeching steel - And had no time to pray. - - We knew that soon the lads must die, - And yet they battled death - Unmindful of his awful wings - And black, consuming breath, - Unmindful when he roared at them - Or whispered what he saith. - - For shattered men will die in pain, - And shaken men will weep, - And there are things which blast the blood - And through the body creep, - And men will not lie down at night - Afeared that they will sleep. - - Afeared they would too deeply sleep, - That battered hearts would burst; - And though each knew that he must die, - The dawn must beckon first, - And each must feel again the grip - Of loneliness and thirst. - - For none would die alone, apart, - By twos and twelves they fell, - And if a man could walk he worked, - He loaded shot and shell, - For none would die alone, apart, - Within a narrow cell. - - Within a narrow cell at last - All men someday must lie, - But while their blood was in the heart - And light within the eye, - They would not leave the stand they took - Beneath the open sky. - - They would not leave us, watching them, - Examples of defeat, - That when we come to look on death, - And though our ranks deplete, - Somehow we must think back to them, - The way they met it, meet! - - - _Alas, Love, I would thou couldst as well_ - _defende thy selfe as thou canst offende others_ - --SIR PHILIP SIDNEY - - - When he and I had met I knew - The way he smiled at me - That we’d become the best of pals - Two guys could ever be. - - For night and day he filled my thoughts, - I talked of only him, - But there were eyes which watched us both, - Suspicious, cold, and dim. - - Suspicious eyes and little mouths - That each reporting made - Of all the times we went to swim - Or rested in the shade. - - They told of how we’d taken horse - To ride about the lea, - And how two lonely mounts were seen - Beneath a rugged tree. - - They gossiped how instead of church - We went to watch the sun - Come charging over purple hills - To see the day begun, - And how we came not home again - Until that day was done. - - And he and I went off to war, - Yet still their evil fed. - He never knew, not ever will, - The wretched things they said, - For he was on Corregidor, - And now the lad is dead. - - - - - _TO THE MARINES_ - - - There’s only one banner says “Semper Fidelis!” - There’s only one flag we defend, - There’s only one heart and one mind and one body - In all of our battles we send. - - We fought and we bled on Bataan and Corregidor, - Oh, how we held them at Wake! - And waited in vain for more men and munitions - With all the Pacific at stake. - - The sleepers were many, but we were the few - Who wakened the quickest and fought, - And while readjustment and training were planned, - We did what we could, what we ought. - - Our dead are at Henderson. Think you they rest? - They fight even now at our side, - Refusing to enter the realms of the blest - Until we have beaten the tide! - - - - - _THE LADS WHO GO BELOW_ - - - The enemy’s reported, - And he’d like to see the show, - But he handles ammunition - So he’s got to go below. - - And he’s ready on his station, - Every nerve alert and keen, - With a group of grim-faced sailors - In a lower magazine. - - They can feel the ship’s vibrations - When the broadside salvos go, - And the shatter of the turrets - When they batter at the foe. - - “Send ’em up and keep ’em coming! - Man the phones and man the hoist!” - Sweat and curse and pass the powder - Till the very deck is moist. - - But the enemy is daring, - And his planes get through the screen, - A torpedo rips the blister - Just above the magazine. - - Water fills the whole compartment, - In another fires rage, - But the guns still get their powder - And the enemy engage. - - Trapped below, the lads are living, - And the hungry hoist they feed, - Though the first concussion stunned them - And their deafened ears must bleed. - - Other hits, the foeman scoring, - Thunderous roars of flaming sheen, - “Save the ship from an explosion, - Flood the lower magazine!” - - Lads, farewell! The air was dirty - With a lot of fume and smoke, - It’s as bad, lads, when you smother - As on briny water choke. - - But the enemy’s defeated, - Thanks to you who’ll never know, - You who handled ammunition - And who had to go below! - - - - - _THE ROAD TO HIGH WOOD_ - - - It was on the road to High Wood - That we found him lying dead, - The soldier boy in khaki - With the broken, battered head. - - No more at dawn or sunset - Will he hear the bugle note, - Nor thrill to taps ascending - From a trumpet’s silver throat. - - It was on the road to High Wood - Where the maple leaves were burned - That the lad went out at morning - And nevermore returned. - - There are many roads to High Wood, - There are many roads to Hell, - And the fields of wheat are rotten - Where a thousand heroes fell. - - - - - _NIGHT WATCH_ - - - His ship is on the ocean - But the sailor lad’s ashore, - And deeply, deeply sleeping, - He’ll waken nevermore. - - We buried him atop the hill - That overlooks the bay, - And one there was who walked from there - With slower steps away. - - And one there is on watch at night - Who wears the strangest smile, - Because he sees a specter lad - And talks with him awhile. - - Across the world he comes to me, - And far horizons dim, - And I await the day when I, - Instead, shall go to him. - - Then we will sail on all the seas - That poets can recite, - And stand beside another lad, - And watch with him at night. - - - - - _THE SOLDIER AND THE SAMOVAR_ - - - They shot him as he left the house - And stripped him in the snow - But still he held the samovar - And would not let it go. - - Who knows from what fine home he came - With afternoons at tea? - If I had been that lonely lad, - They would have shot at me. - - For I’d have run as desperately - Behind some log to settle, - And sit me down beside my theft, - The big, old Russian kettle. - - But dead he lies; the snow piles high - And winter fills the land, - And only spring will move the thing - And take it from his hand. - - - - - _NOCTURNE_ - - - Beside you while you slumbered, lad, - My restless heart had lain - Through all the hours of the night - Aware of love and pain. - - Aware of love and morning’s light - And eyes that must betray - When someday you should look in mine - Then ever look away. - - I’ll come to where you slumber, lad, - If death shall mark me not - And say the prayer that now I pray, - And thought I had forgot. - - - - - _THE SWING_ - - - The crooked swing that hung beneath - The crooked willow tree - Brought all his laughter to my ears - When school was out at three. - - When later years and afternoons - Their symphony had sung - Beneath the crooked willow tree - An idle swing had hung. - - Then war came on. There’s always war - To readjust the past, - And he got leave and I got leave, - And home we came at last. - - But I alone return tonight - And naught to battle bring, - For he is dead beneath the tree - And broken hangs the swing. - - - - - _SOMEWHERE ON LEAVE_ - - - Unfurrowed field and lonely plow, - The laughing lad has fled, - Sweet-throated, unaccompanied lark, - The laughing lad is dead. - - I found him on a barren tract, - Stretched out and lying still, - And on his lips the blood had dried, - And on the blasted hill. - - Oh, that was far from hills like these, - A hundred thousand guns - Are booming, bursting in his ears - And he does not hear a one. - - A soldier’s thoughts and a soldier’s laugh - And a soldier’s boyish grin - Are dead on a lonely battlefield, - And the war is yet to win. - - - - - _THE SENTRY_ - - - The night wind hums a lullaby, - A watchful bivouac keep. - The guns are silent now awhile, - Yet, soldier, do not sleep. - Though weary with the force of night, - And weary with the war, - Sleep not, be watchful, quick alert, - Or sleep forever more. - - But words are nought to tired eyes, - And what are words of praise - To minds that long to dream a bit - Of other, saner days. - He sleeps, unmindful of his oath, - And then they find him dead, - The other soldier stands his guard - Who shot him through the head. - - The night wind hums a lullaby, - A watchful bivouac keep. - The guns are silent now awhile, - Yet, soldier, do not sleep! - - - - - _I WATCHED HIM IN THE TOURNAMENT_ - - - I watched him in the tournament, - And when he bowled a line - I saw the way his eyes would smile - When things were going fine. - - I saw the lonely little frown - That made him look so grave - And older than his twenty years - When things would not behave. - - And then we did not meet again; - I heard that he was dead. - The savage sea, not you nor me, - Knows where he is instead. - - - - - _SOUTH PACIFIC_ - - - How often had the sun been red - The sky as deep a blue - Behind long, tired stretched-out clouds - When I was then with you. - - How often had the evening sea - Which you so much admired - With archipelagos of foam - Been bright and ruby-fired. - - Oh, all these things tonight are here - Upon a distant sea, - But I have found no other one - To stand and watch with me. - - - - - _DECK-APE_ - - - He was just a little deck-ape - With a happy kind of smile, - And a line of boyish chatter - That could make you laugh awhile. - - He was just a little deck-ape - Always ready with a hand - When a shipmate needed someone - Who would help or understand. - - He was just a little deck-ape, - And we buried him at sea - When he stopped a strafer’s bullet - That was meant, I think, for me. - - - - - _SAILOR BOY_ - - - Upon a railway station bench he lies, - Majestic image of a heathen god - Cast down unknown centuries of time, - And on his back for all the world to see. - - He sleeps the silence of unspoken love, - A smile upon his lips, his cheeks aglow - With all the fire of his rhythmic heart - Betraying there the secret of his dream. - - And breath and life are one where fills his chest, - And where the texture of his thighs impress - The pagan phallic frontlet in his loins - He testifies unknowingly to youth. - - Unstirring in the rapture of his thoughts - He slumbers in the wakeful watch - Of envy and desire! - - - - - _AVENGE_ - - - Avenge! Avenge! Great sword of God, - The massacre of these - Ten thousand Polish soldier lads, - All hung from gallows’ trees. - - Send down Thy angels armed with fire, - Send down Thy fiery lake, - Avenge the tortured, fiercely marred, - And killed for killing’s sake, - Brave prisoners of Guam, Bataan, Corregidor, and Wake! - - O hasten, hasten, wrath of God! - Five times five thousand slain - In one red week of murderous lust, - New Christs, new cross, new pain! - - Our patience and our mercy wait - While they who slaughter don’t. - Annihilate! Annihilate! - We’ll do it if You won’t! - - - - - _THE CROSSING OF THE RHINE_ - - - And what is the talk we make tonight - As we fill our glasses amber bright - And drink to the guys who are in the fight, - The crossing of the Rhine. - - And the song we sing is a simple thing - Of a tune that moves with a martial swing - To a set of words that have caught the ring, - The crossing of the Rhine. - - We laugh and we jest, and we wish them well, - And then we remember the lads who fell - By blasted bridge and screaming shell, - The crossing of the Rhine. - - Let’s stand as we pledge the guys who are there, - The guys who are fighting everywhere - Through blood and guts and the power of prayer, - The crossing of the Rhine! - - - - - _THE BALLAD OF THE DEAD SAILOR_ - - - Oh, where are the rest of my shipmates, - And why am I not at sea, - And what is this lonely valley - Where no one is but me? - - Have they sailed away without me? - Will they ever again return? - I never thought when he was dead - A sailor’s heart would yearn. - - Oh, how did I die? In battle? - Or how did I die? Asleep? - Were there any who laughed when they heard it? - Were any too stunned to weep? - - But who dressed me up so neatly? - Who brushed and combed my hair? - Some fellow just doing his duty - Or someone who tried to care? - - Whoever it was I thank him, - But what have they done to my heart - That it will not rest like a lonesome guest - In this world where they’ve set me apart? - - Must I still call out for companions - And want them again at my side, - Though breath is forbidden me ever - As the longing I want to confide? - - O you who are shipmates together, - Look well at each other today, - Or you’ll lie deep as I in your anguish, - And pine your dead heart away. - - - - - _THE DEATH OF THE SCHARNHORST_ - - - On Christmas Day in forty-three - The Nazi _Scharnhorst_ put to sea, - For word somehow had reached Berlin - An Allied convoy was within - Two hundred miles of where she lay - In some Norwegian, hidden bay. - - She went ahead, two-thirds her speed, - A mighty, master-monster steed, - She left the fjords, mountain walled, - Where oft her echoing bugles called, - She cleared the channel, marked the land - Drop far astern on either hand. - - She steamed through fog and arctic day, - And then at night, when darkness lay - Completely over all the waste, - The _Scharnhorst_ charged with fuller haste - To intercept the Allied ships - Which dared these bold Murmansk-bound trips. - - Meanwhile the convoy, slow, serene, - Behind an escort naval screen, - Proceeded eastward off North Cape. - The _Scharnhorst_ sensed the coming rape, - And manned her guns that early dawn, - But this is what she came upon: - - The cruisers _Norfolk_, and _Belfast_, - And _Sheffield_, all the long night past - Had known the wild sea horse was free - To terrorize the Northern Sea, - And they had placed themselves between - The charging _Scharnhorst_ and the screen. - - The winter’s dawn was blackboard gray. - The _Scharnhorst_ held her plotted way. - The _Norfolk_, _Sheffield_, and _Belfast_ - Were tense with waiting. Hours passed - As closer these two forces drew, - Determined ships, determined crew. - - The British sensed the approach of doom. - The _Scharnhorst_ paused within the gloom, - But then a star shell, bursting high, - Illumined her against the sky. - The great seabeast began to snort - From every nostril turret fort. - - The _Sheffield’s_ guns belched smoke and flame; - _Belfast’s_ quick turrets did the same, - The _Norfolk’s_ screaming shell bursts bit - The monster’s triple hull, a hit! - The _Scharnhorst_ screamed, she turned and fled - To mend her wound, to count her dead. - - _Belfast_ forbade his ships pursue. - He judged what _Scharnhorst_ meant to do, - Pretend retreat and then renew - Attack upon the convoy later. - _Scharnhorst’s_ speed he knew was greater, - So he kept his course the straighter. - - _Scharnhorst_ circled east and nor’ward, - Hoped to bring her power forward. - But the convoy changed its course - To shun this grim, abhorrent horse. - The cruisers cut the arc and then - Awaited _Scharnhorst’s_ charge again. - - When, hours later, tense with rage, - The Scharnhorst, plotted to engage - Just merchant ships and escort craft, - Had reappeared to run the raft, - She met instead the concerted blast - Of _Norfolk_, _Sheffield_ and _Belfast_. - - Once again the salvos thundered. - _Scharnhorst_ knew that she had blundered, - While her gunners cursed and wondered - Shells and fire as before - Through the gloomy twilight tore, - Swiftly, surely, more and more. - - The _Norfolk’s_ afterdeck was hit, - A blaze of flame, the air was lit. - The _Scharnhorst_ did not wait to see - What damage or what victory. - She turned once more in fearful dread, - Homeward set her course and fled. - - For _Scharnhorst_ was a worthy prize. - Correctly had she made surmise - That other ships, the British fleet, - Would steam to intercept or meet, - And so she fled, a wounded beast, - To seek the dark, protective east. - - But all this while, to interplace - Between the _Scharnhorst_ and her base, - To cut the Nazi monster’s course, - To bridle all her vicious force, - To leave a wreck of twisted torque, - There steamed the mighty _Duke of York_. - - Two hundred miles away or more - The _Duke_ and her destroyers bore - When first the battle message came. - _Belfast_ continued to proclaim - The _Scharnhorst’s_ course, and from this plot - The _Duke_, her speed, position got. - - For brave _Belfast_, and _Sheffield_, too, - And _Norfolk_ this time did pursue. - The _Scharnhorst_ turned, she headed south, - And flung herself into the mouth - Of _Duke_, _Jamaica_, and the horde, - _Saumarez_, _Savage_, _Scorpion_, _Stord_. - - “Illuminate the enemy!” - _Belfast’s_ bright shell broke high and free. - The heavy night with heavy haze - Had been descending, but the blaze - Of light and brilliance caught the steed, - Betrayed her form, her frothing speed. - - The _Duke’s_ great turrets boldly spoke, - Belched shell and fire, fume and smoke. - Concussion tore the night around. - The shells went screaming through the sound - And landed close aboard the Hun, - A “straddle” salvo number one. - - The _Duke_ corrected plot and range - And there began a fierce exchange - Of shell and suffering. _Scharnhorst_ blazed - Where blasts and flame her structures razed. - She turned to east in panicked fright - And sought the dark, descending night. - - The _Duke_ sped after, sending shell, - Fired havoc, roaring hell - Raining down upon the fleeing - Battered, bruised and barely seeing - Nazi supership which sped - Ever more and more ahead. - - At last the _Duke_ had lost the range. - Her guns were silenced, but a strange - New battle lit the horizon’s edge - And smote the _Scharnhorst_ like a sledge. - She reared and tossed and bellowed toward - _Saumarez_, _Savage_, _Scorpion_, _Stord_. - - She did not flee as fast, for they, - More swiftly speeding on their way, - O’ertook her and on either bow - Engaged the bleeding _Scharnhorst_ now. - Her voice was wild, her aim was bad; - She fought with all the guns she had. - - At forty knots the destroyers came. - Ten thousand yards, they took their aim; - Six thousand yards, without a change - Of course or speed they closed the range. - Two thousand yards, they launched their dread - Torpedoes, and away they sped. - - The _Scharnhorst_ snorted, scored a hit. - _Saumarez_ felt the blast of it. - But then the launched torpedoes struck, - And _Scharnhorst’s_ inner heart was stuck. - Her guns began a wild, red fire, - She’d lost her speed, could not retire. - - By now the _Duke of York_ had closed, - And with another force composed - Of _Sheffield_, _Norfolk_, and _Belfast_, - _Jamaica_, and come up at last, - Four escorts from the convoy screen, - Began a new approach routine. - - The _Scharnhorst_ shuddered, shell on shell - From eight destroyers upon her fell. - From four crack cruisers she sustained - The heavy, horrid fire they trained. - Each salvo from the _Duke of York_ - Left her unsteady as a cork. - - Around and round the battle raged, - On every side she was engaged - By greater force and stronger will, - A broken thing of beauty still; - And then the ships received command - To stand well clear on every hand. - - The battle paused. The night returned, - And in that dark the _Scharnhorst_ burned. - The swift and final act began. - _Jamaica_ left the cruiser van - And headed toward the trembling pile - Where life and metal burned the while. - - A neat destroyer trained her lights - Upon the target and the sights - Aboard _Jamaica_, set to kill, - Could pledge the beast her final thrill. - _Jamaica_ swung. Torpedoes leapt, - Their course and their appointment kept. - - A last great roar the _Scharnhorst_ gave, - Then rolled her fires beneath the wave, - A wretched, moving, dying thing - Within the watchful naval ring. - The black, salt sea her vitals drank, - And, quenched her thirst, the _Scharnhorst_ sank. - - - - - _LITTLE BOYS AND LITTLE DOGS_ - - - Little boys and little dogs - Are made for one another. - For show me, sir, a little dog - Just taken from its mother - That will not find a tenderness - And clumsy kind of joy - In the care, and taking care, of - A loving little boy. - - - - -U.S.S. OKLAHOMA _RETURNS TO HER CREW_ - - - We did not recognize her as she sank among us here, - A wretched hulk, dismasted, disemboweled and stripped of gear. - We did not recognize her. They were selling her for junk - When she listed like a derelict, abandoned, wrecked, and sunk. - - For we were sea-dead sailors wandering aimlessly the deep, - Without a ship, without a bunk, without a place to sleep, - For we were sea-dead sailors of a ship that killed us all - When she rolled her weight upon us as the bombs began to fall. - - We loved that ship. Her lines were trim, her speed was fleet and free, - And when she joined maneuvers she was beautiful to see. - That morning when torpodoes struck, with water, oil and blood - She swiftly filled and overturned her masthead in the mud. - - How long we lived, how long lay dead within her flooded sides - Till all awakened, spirit-drifted, ebbing with the tides! - Oh, some were brave but could not save the other, some afraid, - And all upon a hillside we were later, gently laid. - - We did not recognize her, for the ship we loved so well - Had died with us that morning in the harbor’s flaming Hell, - And our remembrance was not this, a scrapped and broken hull - That came among us timid as a shy and lonely gull. - - We turned our backs upon her; she was not of our command, - But suddenly a seaman with a flashlight in his hand - Began to signal frantically. We turned and somehow knew - She was the _Oklahoma_ and she knew we were her crew. - - We wept, we cried, we swarmed aboard, we kissed her weary decks, - We made a thousand seaweed leis and hung them round our necks. - We danced, we laughed; our salted eyes flowed tears without relief, - For it was good to know at last the end of all her grief. - - We built a superstructure, casemates, turrets, funnel, jack. - We fitted out compartments and we put the galley back. - We mustered on the quarterdeck and bowed our heads in thanks, - And mourned for those, our shipmates, who were missing from the ranks. - - We stationed watch and quarters and we stowed our gear below. - We manned the bridge and sea-details, and rode the undertow. - Some evening in the sunset of a bright and happy day - We’ll come steaming through the Golden Gate for San Francisco Bay! - - - - - _NIGHT_ - - - Night is a stricken bird whose breast is laid against the earth, - Whose broken wings both comfort and surround the compassed air. - Night is a fallen sparrow boys have stoned in spending small - Or token sums of their vast wealth’s amazing cruelty. - - Night is a stricken bird whose heart has throbbed against my own, - Whose broken wings have brushed my cheek, whose beak has hit my lip. - Night is a restless fellow gone to bed, who cannot sleep, - Yet will not rise to walk the parks and barter with desire. - Night is all the sewers of a frustrate mind - Spewing up positioned nudes inseminating one another! - - - - - _FOR ALL HEROES_ - - - Here are the guys who have died for the world, - Died for the battles in which they were hurled, - Died for the flags that have long since been furled, - And on this cross, Christ! - - Here are the bastard, expendable lot, - Here are the laughs when the laughter is not, - Here are the guys who are always forgot, - And on this cross, Christ! - - Look, you! Behold through the beard and the blood, - The face of the lover inflamed with the crud; - See the strong limbs that lie still in the mud. - Look on the red lips that open no more. - What does it matter by what gods they swore? - War’s the procurer and here lies his whore! - What can you say to a guy when he’s dead? - Kneel down beside him, lift up his head? - Thank what you thank it was not you instead? - And on this cross? - - God love you and keep you, you son of a bitch, - Scratching your ass or wherever you itch, - Restless in sleep as you jump and you twitch. - Go, when you’re called from your haunts and your sports; - Go, be a number in battle’s reports. - Drown your desires and shoot in your shorts - Take up your rifle and take up your clip, - Take the canteen and water you’ll sip. - You’ve got a class that you don’t want to skip, - As on this cross, Christ! - - - - - _FOXHOLE_ - - - Your nearness thundered through me and I shook, - And when you said, “You’re trembling.” I said, “Yes.” - And then you asked, “Ya scared?” What could I say? - We two had been together since the States - And I had kept the bluff and we were friends. - - Why, I remember how it was we met. - We both were standing naked. You were soaped - From head to foot and then the shower quit. - I never heard a rhythmic stream of words - So finely mouthed, and chewed and spitted out - - But now we lie together in the sand - Upon a tropic beach. The enemy, - For all our air and sea and boasted might, - Had held his little island and opposed - Our coming with such surety of aim - That half our comrades dropped face down, face up, - And did not feel the black and blooded wash - That played between their sprawled and spreaded legs. - - We two were forward on the farthest flank - That hoped to outmaneuver and destroy - The deep pillbox entrenchment where the Nip - Had taken his position and command - Of all the open, dead-man beach between. - We’d found a little dune and dug us in, - And all the long tormented afternoon - We lobbed our ineffectual grenades - Against the fort foreknowledge of the Jap. - - When night came on we got the word to hold, - But silence and the darkness held us close - And I could hear your breathing, feel you near. - And then there went through me an echoing roar - As when a mountainside of snow and ice - Lets loose its frantic grip and tumbles down. - And then you said, “You’re trembling.” I said, “Yes.” - You asked, “Ya scared?” And I said, “Yes,” again. - - The silence fell between us for a while. - Your hand reached out and rudely grasped my arm. - “You’re lying, kid.” Your grip was strong and fierce. - You held me there as if to make me shout - With pain or ecstasy, and time rushed by - Unclocked. You shuddered then and let me go. - “You’re lying, kid, and so, sweet God, am I.” - - The blast of brilliance, flame and heat that came - Exploding close beside us threw the sand, - And shell, and death and you and me apart. - How long we lay half buried none will tell - I know I wakened somewhere near the dawn - And saw you stretched and saw your trousers torn. - I crawled beside you, brushed away the sand - That filled your eyes. I held you in my arms, - And pressed my mouth to yours as if my breath - Within your lungs would bring your arms around me. - I know I sobbed, and wept, and cursed, and prayed. - My fevered hands I burned beneath your blouse - To touch your unresponsive, frigid flesh. - And then I knew that you were dead, - That you were dead, - That you were dead, - That we should lie no more! - - - - - _BURY HIM_ - - - Bury him! Not where the rough, raw earth - With his fathers’ bones is filled, - Nor bury him there where the old chiefs’ blood - On the rich, rolled plain is spilled, - And bury him not where he’ll be forgot, - With the reason for which he was killed, - But, bury him. Bury him. - - Bury him not in a lonely plot - In the midst of the fools who cried - Of his race and his face, and forgot every trace - Of the reason for which he died, - While the heart of the nation’s demoralization - Began to ascend as it sighed, - “Bury him. Bury him.” - - Bury him well. Let the bugler tell - To the listening wind and the wood - How an Indian boy, who was somebody’s joy - And the pride of a small neighborhood, - Met his death in the yell of a Korean hell, - And, returned to his home, was accused - Of his race and his place in a nation’s disgrace, - And his burial there was refused. - - Let the volley resound and the hollows be found - To re-echo the bugle and gun, - Till the echoes grow dim and we know that in him - We bury all men in this one. - For we bury the stain when we bury the slain - In these wars that are yet to be won. - - Bury him, then, where such comrades shall lie - Side by side in the long marbled sleep, - As have longed long for sleeping, and there in their keeping - Assign him the grave he shall keep. - In that company of others, his spiritual brothers, - Whose tears all were salt when they’d weep. - Bury him. Bury him. - - Bury him mournfully, he who was scornfully - Thought to be brought to disgrace among men. - Bury heroically here all the stoically - Suffered injustice and wrong that has been. - Bury the dead and defeated, repeated - Mistakes that have tumbled our honor again. - Bury the past with its hate and its slaughter, - And from this sweet grave make beginning. Come, then, - Bury him! Bury him! - - * * * * * - - _$2.50_ - - THE DEATH OF THE SCHARNHORST And Other Poems - - by - - Arch Alfred McKillen - - -In the powerful narrative poem which furnishes the title for this -impressive first volume, Arch Alfred McKillen tells the dramatic story -of the sinking of the German battleship _Scharnhorst_, during World War -II--an important day for the Allied Forces. - -These poems could have been written only by a man who has experienced -deeply the emotions of which he writes. War is not the only subject of -Mr. McKillen’s poems. He writes of love; and indignation prompts him to -write strongly against racial prejudice. Sharpness and simplicity of -style contribute greatly to the forceful effects which he achieves. Too -often a reader’s enjoyment of poetry is marred by obscurity of meaning, -but the clarity of thought and euphony of expression of the author, in -this volume, leave no doubt in the reader’s mind of his intent. - -Reading THE DEATH OF THE SCHARNHORST AND OTHER POEMS will be a memorable -experience for poetry lovers. - - - A VANTAGE BOOK - - * * * * * - - _About the Author ..._ - - [Illustration] - - -Arch Alfred McKillen was born in Chicago, in 1914. Upon completion of -high school, he went to work in a wire-winding factory. Later he worked -in a mail-order house, and as a bonded messenger. - -In 1939, Mr. McKillen enlisted in the United States Navy. He was -stationed aboard the _U.S.S. Tennessee_ at Pearl Harbor, December 7, -1941, when the Japanese attacked. Later, he served aboard other -battleships in both the Pacific and the Atlantic, and finally was -transferred to a Logistic Support Company on Okinawa. - -Mr. McKillen is now a bookseller. In his spare time he is doing research -for his next book. - - [Illustration] - - - VANTAGE PRESS, INC., 230 W. 41 Street, New York 36. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEATH OF THE SCHARNHORST AND -OTHER POEMS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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