Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MY PRISONER, by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: We was in a crump-'ole, 'im and me Last Line: Wonders -- 'ow would 'e 'ave treated me? Subject(s): Prisoners Of War; War; World War I; First World War | ||||||||
WE was in a crump-'ole, 'im and me; Fightin' wiv our bayonets was we; Fightin' 'ard as 'ell we was, Fightin' fierce as fire because It was 'im or me as must be downed; 'E was twice as big as me; I was 'arf the weight of 'e; We was like a terryer and a 'ound. 'Struth! But 'e was sich a 'andsome bloke. Me, I'm 'andsome as a chunk o' coke. Did I give it 'im? Not 'arf! Why, it fairly made me laugh, 'Cos 'is bloomin' bellows wasn't sound. Couldn't fight for monkey nuts. Soon I gets 'im in the guts, There 'e lies a-floppin' on the ground. In I goes to finish up the job. Quick 'e throws 'is 'ands above 'is nob; Speakin' English good as me: "'Tain't no use to kill," says 'e; "Can't yer tyke me prisoner instead?" "Why, I'd like to, sir," says I; "But -- yer knows the reason why: If we pokes our noses out we're dead. "Sorry, sir. Then on the other 'and (As a gent like you must understand), If I 'olds you longer 'ere, Wiv yer pals so werry near, It's me 'oo'll 'ave a free trip to Berlin; If I lets yer go away, Why, you'll fight another day: See the sitooation I am in. "Anyway I'll tell you wot I'll do, Bein' kind and seein' as it's you, Knowin' 'ow it's cold, the feel Of a 'alf a yard o' steel, I'll let yer 'ave a rifle ball instead; Now, jist think yerself in luck. . . . 'Ere, ol' man! You keep 'em stuck, Them saucy dooks o' yours, above yer 'ead." 'Ow 'is mits shot up it made me smile! 'Ow 'e seemed to ponder for a while! Then 'e says: "It seems a shyme, Me, a man wot's known ter Fyme: Give me blocks of stone, I'll give yer gods. Whereas, pardon me, I'm sure You, my friend, are still obscure. . . ." "In war," says I, "that makes no blurry odds." Then says 'e: "I've painted picters too. . . . Oh, dear God! The work I planned to do, And to think this is the end!" "'Ere," says I, "my hartist friend, Don't you give yerself no friskin' airs. Picters, statoos, is that why You should be let off to die? That the best ye done? Just say yer prayers." Once again 'e seems ter think awhile. Then 'e smiles a werry 'aughty smile: "Why, no, sir, it's not the best; There's a locket next me breast, Picter of a gel 'oo's eyes are blue. That's the best I've done," says 'e. "That's me darter, aged three. . . ." "Blimy!" says I, "I've a nipper, too." Straight I chucks my rifle to one side; Shows 'im wiv a lovin' farther's pride Me own little Mary Jane. Proud 'e shows me 'is Elaine, And we talks as friendly as can be; Then I 'elps 'im on 'is way, 'Opes 'e's sife at 'ome to-day, Wonders -- 'ow would 'e 'ave treated me? | 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 CLANCY OF THE MOUNTED POLICE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE |
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