John Allan Wyeth
Squat walls of sandbags ~~ and above, a sky
all thin and cool with dawn and very far.
Black empty stretchers. On the parapet,
light out before the clangor of the gun.
The bliss of strong fatigue ~~ and where I lie
the canvas breathes between me and that star
a bitter steam of blood. The air feels wet,
and the stars go, forgotten one by one.
Time to start back ~~ and watch those towns go by!
“You ready to go? ~~ we got a lift in a car.”
“Already?~~”
“Yeh, let’s start, we got a long way
to go.”
O God the ruins of Sailly-Laurette!
~~like dying men that wake and find the sun
and shut their eyes against another day.
© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
You may find this and other poems here.
Analysis (AI Assisted)
The poem starts with the quiet of dawn, setting a moment of temporary calm that contrasts sharply with the violence to come. The image of “squat walls of sandbags” immediately places the reader on the frontlines, where defensive structures are hastily constructed but offer little real safety. The sky, described as “thin and cool with dawn,” carries an almost surreal quality—distant, indifferent, and disconnected from the horrors below. The soldiers are almost like ghosts moving through a realm they don’t belong to.
The mention of “black empty stretchers” is jarring and paints an image of death and decay in its simplest form. The starkness of the detail reveals the aftermath of violence—bodies removed, but the presence of death lingering in the air, as if the emptiness itself is a ghost of those lost. “Light out before the clangor of the gun” serves as a reminder of how fleeting peace is in war—moments of calm are always immediately followed by the harsh sounds of battle. The calm is a momentary reprieve, but nothing more.
The phrase “bliss of strong fatigue” speaks to the strange, almost contradictory sensation soldiers feel in these moments. They are physically and emotionally drained, but in that exhaustion, there’s a twisted sense of relief. It’s a fleeting sensation, one that comes with knowing a task, however terrible, is done. However, this comfort is shattered by the disturbing image of blood: “the canvas breathes between me and that star / a bitter steam of blood.” The soldier lies beneath the weight of his own humanity, feeling the inevitability of death creeping closer in the form of blood, still fresh on the canvas—the stretcher—a stark reminder of the human cost of war.
As the stars disappear, the transition from night to day feels more like a progression from oblivion to dread. “The stars go, forgotten one by one” suggests not just the loss of a celestial moment, but a loss of hope, an erosion of the soldier’s humanity as they are worn down by the constant violence. It’s a moment where they no longer have the energy to even hold on to beauty or peace.
The poem takes an unexpected turn when it shifts to the practical: “Time to start back” and the mention of the lift in a car. There’s a strange contrast here—war is not just about death and destruction but also about the mundane, the routines, and the need to keep moving despite the emotional and physical toll. The soldier is asked, almost casually, if they’re ready to go, as though moving from one location to another is as simple as running an errand. But then the line shifts to a more visceral and painful reflection: “O God the ruins of Sailly-Laurette! / ~~like dying men that wake and find the sun / and shut their eyes against another day.” This metaphor encapsulates the hopelessness the soldier feels about the destruction and death surrounding them. The town itself, described as “like dying men,” symbolizes not just physical devastation but the emotional numbness brought on by constant exposure to violence. The sun, instead of being a sign of renewal, is something that the ruined “men” shut their eyes against, just as the soldiers might wish to turn away from the harsh reality they’re living in.
In these lines, we see a soldier who is jaded, broken, and without illusions about the world they inhabit. The juxtaposition of the mundane details of moving back from the front with the overwhelming images of destruction and suffering shows the emotional toll of war—the constant grinding of daily existence amid the ruin. The poem reveals a brutal truth about war: that after a while, the routine of survival becomes numb to the horror of the world around you.