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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE ASSAULT, by ROBERT MALISE BOWYER NICHOLS Poet's Biography First Line: The beating of the guns grows louder Last Line: Cool madness. Subject(s): Army Life; Fights; Military; Soldiers; War; Drills & Minor Tactics | |||
ROBERT NICHOLS The beating of the guns grows louder. "Not long, boys, now." My heart burns whiter, fearfuller, prouder. Hurricanes grow As guns redouble their fire. Through the shaken periscope peeping, I glimpse their wire; Black earth, fountains of earth rise, leaping, Spouting like shocks of meeting waves. Death's fountains are playing. Shells like shrieking birds rush over; Crash and din rises higher. A stream of lead raves Over us from the left ... (we safe under cover!) Crash! Reverberation! Crash! Acrid smoke billowing. Flash upon flash. Black smoke drifting. The German line Vanishes in confusion, smoke. Cries, and cry Of our men, "Gah, yer swine! Ye're for it," die In a hurricane of shell. One cry: "We're comin' soon! Look out!" There is opened hell Over there; fragments fly, Rifles and bits of men whirled at the sky Dust, smoke, thunder! A sudden bout Of machine guns chattering ... And a redoubled battering, As if in fury at their daring! ... No good staring. Time soon now ... home ... house on a sunny hill ... Gone like a flickered page: Time soon now ... zero ... will engage ... A sudden thrill "Fix bayonets!" Gods! we have our fill Of fear, hysteria, exultation, rage, Rage to kill. My heart burns hot, whiter and whiter, Contracts tighter and tighter, Until I stifle with the will Long forged, now used (Though utterly strained) O pounding heart, Baffled, confused, Heart panged, head singing, dizzily pained To do my part. Blindness a moment. Sick. There the men are! Bayonets ready: click! Time goes quick: A stumbled prayer ... somehow a blazing star In a blue night ... where? Again prayer. The tongue trips. Start: How's time? Soon now. Two minutes or less. The gun's fury mounting higher Their utmost. I lift a silent hand. Unseen I bless Those hearts will follow me. And beautifully, Now beautifully my will grips. Soul calm and round and filmed and white! A shout: "Men, no such order as retire." I nod. The whistle's 'twixt my lips ... I catch A wan, worn smile at me. Dear men! The pale wrist-watch ... The quiet hand ticks on amid the din. The guns again Rise to a last fury, to a rage, a lust: Kill! Pound! Kill! Pound! Pound! Now comes the thrust! My part ... dizziness ... will ... but trust These men. The great guns rise; Their fury seems to burst the earth and skies! They lift. Gather, heart, all thoughts that drift; Be steel, soul, Compress thyself Into a round bright whole. I cannot speak. Time! Time! I hear my whistle shriek, Between teeth set; I fling an arm up, Scramble up the grime Over the parapet! I'm up. Go on. Something meets us. Heads down into the storm that greets us. A wail. Lights. Blurr. Gone. On, on. Lead. Lead. Hail. Spatter! Whirr! Whirr! "Toward that patch of brown; Direction left." Bullets a stream Devouring thought crying in a dream. Men, crumpling, going down ... Go on. Go. Deafness. Numbness. The loudening tornado. Bullets. Mud. Stumbling and skating. My voice's strangled shout: "Steady pace, boys!" The still light: gladness. "Look, sir. Look out!" Ha! Ha! Bunched figures waiting. Revolver levelled quick! Flick! Flick! Red as blood. Germans! Good! O good! Cool madness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIGHT PIECE FOR MY TWENTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY by JOHN CIARDI VISIBILITY ZERO by JOHN CIARDI GOOD-BYE, WENDOVER; GOOD-BYE, MOUNTAIN HOME by RANDALL JARRELL SOLDIER (T.P.) by RANDALL JARRELL TRANSIENT BARRACKS by RANDALL JARRELL MONDAY MORNING REVEILLE by JOHN CIARDI FULFILLMENT by ROBERT MALISE BOWYER NICHOLS |
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