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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE METAL CHECKS, by LOUISE DRISCOLL First Line: The bearer / here is a sack, a gunny sack Last Line: One—two—three—four— Subject(s): World War I; First World War | |||
Scene: a bare room, two shaded windows at the back, a fireplace between them with a fire burning low. A wooden table is piled with small trays. Death, the Counter, sits at the table, clad in a loose gray robe, his face partly concealed by a gray veil. The Bearer is the World, robed in soiled brown and green, carrying on his back a gunny-sack full of metal disks, the identification checks of slain common soldiers. The Bearer Here is a sack, a gunny sack, A heavy sack I bring. Here is toll of many a soul— But not the soul of a king. This is the toll of common men, Who lived in the common way; Lived upon bread and wine and love, In the light of the common day. This is the toll of the working men, Blood and brawn and brain. Who shall render us again The worth of all the slain? (As the Counter speaks, the Bearer pours out the disks on the table.) The Counter Pour them out on the table here. Clickety—clickety—clack! For every button a man went out, And who shall call them back? Clickety—clickety—clack! One—two—three—four— Every disk a soul! Three score—four score— So many boys went out to war. Pick up that one that fell on the floor— Didn't you see it roll? That was a man a month ago. This was a man. Row upon row— Pile them in tens and count them so. The Bearer I have an empty sack. It is not large. Would you have said That I could carry on my back So great an army—and all dead? (The Bearer lays the sack over his arm and helps the Counter count.) The Counter Put a hundred in each tray— We can tally them best that way. Careful—do you understand You have ten men in your hand? There's another fallen—there— Under that chair. (The Bearer restores it.) That was a man a month ago; He could see and feel and know. Then into his throat there sped A bit of lead. Blood was salt in his mouth; he fell And lay amid the battle wreck. Nothing was left but this metal check— And a wife and child, perhaps. (The Bearer's bag troubles him. He inspects it.) The Bearer What can one do with a thing like this? Neither of life nor death it is! For the dead serve not, though it served the dead. The wounds it carried were wide and red, Yet they stained it not. Can a man put food, Potatoes or wheat, or even wood That is kind and burns with a flame to warm Living men who are comforted— In a thing that has served so many dead? There is no thrift in a graveyard dress, It's been shroud for too many men. I'll burn it and let the dead bless. (He crosses himself and throws the sack in the fire. The Counter piles tray upon tray of checks. The Bearer turns from the fire, and indicating the checks, speaks more slowly.) Would not the blood of these make a great sea For men to sail their ships on? It may be No fish would swim in it, and the foul smell Would make the sailors sick. Perhaps in Hell There's some such lake for men who rush to war Prating of glory, and upon the shore Will stand the wives and children and old men Bereft, to drive them back again When they seek haven. Some such thing I thought the while I bore it on my back And heard the metal pieces clattering. The Counter Four score—five score— These and many more. Forward—march!—into the tray! No bugles blow today, No captains lead the way; But mothers and wives, Fathers, sisters, little sons, Count the cost Of the lost; And we count the unlived lives, The forever unborn ones Who might have been your sons. The Bearer Could not the hands of these rebuild That which has been destroyed? Oh, the poor hands! that once were strong and filled With implements of labor whereby they Served home and country through the peaceful day. When those who made the war stand face to face With these slain soldiers in that unknown place Whither the dead go, what will be the word By dead lips spoken and by dead ears heard? Will souls say King or Kaiser? Will souls prate Of earthly glory in that new estate? The Counter One hundred thousand— One hundred and fifty thousand— Two hundred— The Bearer Can this check plough? Can it sow? can it reap? Can we arouse it? Is it asleep? Can it hear when a child cries?— Comfort a wife? This little metal disk Stands for a life. Can this check build, Laying stone upon stone? Once it was warm flesh Folded on bone. Sinews and muscle firm, Look at it—can This little metal check Stand for a man? The Counter One—two—three—four— | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...D'ANNUNZIO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY 1915: THE TRENCHES by CONRAD AIKEN TO OUR PRESIDENT by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE HORSES by KATHARINE LEE BATES CHILDREN OF THE WAR by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE U-BOAT CREWS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE RED CROSS NURSE by KATHARINE LEE BATES WAR PROFITS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE UNCHANGEABLE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |
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