August 1934 There’s a thin rain of music comes across the poppied corn, Across the poppied corn and the sun-splashed sea,Crying, ‘Who’s a-going venturing, a-venturing, a-venturing, Who’s a-going venturing with all a man can be?’O, listen, listen, listen, for it’s far, far away, The dim remembered country where the ghostly pipers blow,Across […]
Who are we remembering? / Millennia of the distant, recent dead, / all men, women, children lost to / wars…
Sassoon, the elder, Sunday golfer; / Owen, bookish, gangly, pale – mingling / with the queue for the refectory.
At length grandfather walked the Ypres road
/ From Poperinghe, to where the army laid
/ (At Hagle Dump) the remnants of his son:
From the War Memorial
/ we see Lewis entirely.
/ For this place they died,
/ the new houses, the smell of seaweed,
/ the rivers,
/ an old woman…
Gie me a hill wi’ the heather on’t,
/ An’ a reid sun drappin’ doon,