Leon Gellert

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Leon Maxwell Gellert was born on May 17, 1892, in Adelaide, South Australia. He became one of Australia’s notable war poets, drawing from his experiences in World War I to create poetry that resonated with the pain and futility of war. Gellert’s early influences included British poets like Rupert Brooke and the broader Georgian poetry movement, which sought to blend traditional forms with modern themes. His own work fits into this tradition but carries a starkly Australian sensibility.

Gellert enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force in 1914, joining the 10th Battalion. He was among the first wave of soldiers to land at Gallipoli on April 25, 1915. The campaign was a defining moment for Gellert and deeply shaped his poetry. Like many of his comrades, he endured the harsh conditions, fear, and loss that marked the campaign. However, his service was cut short after he contracted dysentery, leading to his evacuation and return to Australia in 1916. His direct experience with the horrors of war gave him a perspective that was both personal and universal.

His first poetry collection, Songs of a Campaign, was published in 1917. It received widespread acclaim for its raw and vivid portrayal of the war. Unlike the patriotic fervor found in some war poetry, Gellert’s work often focused on the grim realities of battle and the emotional toll it took on soldiers. Poems like “Anzac Cove” became defining pieces, offering a poignant look at the experiences of those who fought at Gallipoli. His writing balanced simple, direct language with deep emotional resonance, making it accessible to a wide audience.

After the war, Gellert moved away from poetry and focused on a career in journalism. He became a prominent figure in Australian literary circles, working as a columnist and editor. His later life saw him contribute to newspapers and anthologies, though he largely left behind the themes of war that had dominated his earlier work. His contributions to Australian literature extended beyond his poetry, as he nurtured a literary community through his editorial work.

Leon Gellert’s legacy is tied to his ability to capture the Australian experience of World War I. His poetry remains a significant part of Australia’s cultural memory of the war, offering insights into both the physical and emotional battles faced by soldiers. He died on August 22, 1977, in Sydney, leaving behind a body of work that continues to resonate for its honesty and humanity. Through his words, Gellert ensured that the experiences of his generation would not be forgotten.

You may learn more at the Australian Dictionary of Biography and Wikipedia.

War

Leon Gellert
When my poor body died,–Alas!

I watched it topple down a hill
And sink beside a tuft of grass.

Sights

Leon Gellert
I saw a singer singing to a crowd,-

Singing of laughing life,- and all the while
He sang in tones so shrilly loud,

The Old and the New

Leon Gellert
Mars! Mars!

Thy clashing sword was keen
And glittering with stars.

The Dead

Leon Gellert
These there were, who lost their everything.

Gave all! And left the earth a vaster sphere
In memories: a song or two to sing,

The Veteran

Leon Gellert
Here must I sit and stare,

Withered and wrinkled;
Knowing the spaces there

These Men

Leon Gellert
Men moving in a trench, in the clear noon,

Whetting their steel within the crumbling earth;
Men, moving in a trench ‘neath a new moon

The Retirement Of Mars

Leon Gellert
He pauses on his way, and gazing back

across the desert ways of splintered steel
recalls the noon, and sees his weary track,

The Cross

Leon Gellert
“I wear a cross of bronze,” he said,

“and men have told me I was brave.”
He turned his head,

The Coming Of War

Leon Gellert
Strong from the hills it comes, and flowing

  rivers;
Swift from the waters of the rising seas;

The Attack at Dawn

Leon Gellert
‘At every cost,’ they said, ‘it must be done.’

They told us in the early afternoon.
We sit and wait the coming of the sun

The Advice Of Treachery

Leon Gellert
This well-feigned trance, this still and

        stupored sleep
is aptly timed, and nobly fits the scheme.

The Christmas Beetle

Leon Gellert
When Christmas comes the  Christmas heat’ll

bring once more the Christmas Beetle
The first inflammatory breeze’ll

Rendezvous

Leon Gellert
Long before the dawn breaks

With a bird’s cry,
I’ll be hustling on the wind

Red

Leon Gellert
Place that bayonet in my hand,

And fill this pouch with lead;
Show me the blood and leave me, and let me

Poppies

Leon Gellert
Some scarlet poppies lay upon our right.

He watched them through his periscope all day.
He watched then all the day; but in the night

Patience

Leon Gellert
Red! Red! Red!

Is there no black?
Red like the bloody earth, this pack!

Lemnos Visited

Leon Gellert
Oh Peace! The Peace I knew. I thought thee dead!

And had not hoped again to see thy smile.
I deemed thee dead, but thou hadst only fled,

Lemnos Revisited

Leon Gellert
Lemnos! Lemnos! Thine enfolding arms

Have held too much, they patterned hills are over shorn
Of all their one-time freshness. Loud alarms

Lemnos Harbour

Leon Gellert
The island sleeps,-but it has no delight

For em, to whom that sleep has been unkind.
My thoughts are long of what seems long ago,

In The Trench

Leon Gellert
Every night I sleep,

And every night I dream
That I’m strolling with my sheep

Dreams of France

Leon Gellert
Oh, dreams of France! Oh, faded dreams of France!

Ohm France, that I had ever dreamed of thee!
I thought to help thee bear thy brandished lance,

Dreamlight

Leon Gellert
Oh, I am lonely by a desert palm,

And dreaming, dreaming on the sands of thought
Oh, come to me from out the voiceless calm,

Before Action

Leon Gellert
We always had to do our work at night.

I wondered why we had to be so sly.
I wondered why we couldn’t have our fight

Armageddon

Leon Gellert
The world rolls wet with blood,

and the skinny hand of Death
gropes at the beating heart.

Anzac Cove

Leon Gellert
There’s a lonely stretch of hillocks:

There’s a beach asleep and drear:
There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea.

Again the Clash is East

Leon Gellert
Again the clash is East, the Gates are barred.

The rolling echoes of of Troy arise
With trebled sound: its weary threshold scarred

Acceptance

Leon Gellert
Beside the doors of a keen-lighted hall

I paused, and quite by chance
I noticed Love

A Song

Leon Gellert
The night has come,, I feel the desert dew,

I lie in Afric’s sands
And breath the night, for night like these are few

A Night Attack

Leon Gellert
Be still. The bleeding night is in suspense

Of watchful agony and coloured thought,
And every beating vein and trembling sense,

A Military Camp in Egypt

Leon Gellert
The moving hours move slowly by the palms.

The lazy Nile laps softly as it flows.
An Arab girl, a flagon in her arms,

‘If You Were Here’

Leon Gellert
If you were here

these long grey fields of space
so quaint and yet so drear,

The Last to Leave

Leon Gellert
The guns were silent, and the silent hills

had bowed their grasses to a gentle breeze
I gazed upon the vales and on the rills,

The Diggers 

Leon Gellert
The diggers are digging, and digging deep,

They’re digging and singing,
And I’m asleep.

The Soldier___

Leon Gellert
Here in the noisy night

Is his delight.
Where maxims pour

The Soldier

Rupert Brooke
If I should die, think only this of me:

      That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be

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