Robert Graves
Through long nursery nights he stood
By my bed unwearying,
Loomed gigantic, formless, queer,
Purring in my haunted ear
That same hideous nightmare thing,
Talking, as he lapped my blood,
In a voice cruel and flat,
Saying for ever, “Cat! … Cat! … Cat! …”
That one word was all he said,
That one word through all my sleep,
In monotonous mock despair.
Nonsense may be light as air,
But there’s Nonsense that can keep
Horror bristling round the head,
When a voice cruel and flat
Says for ever, “Cat! … Cat! … Cat!…”
He had faded, he was gone
Years ago with Nursery Land
When he leapt on me again
From the clank of a night train,
Overpowered me foot and head,
Lapped my blood, while on and on
The old voice cruel and flat
Says for ever, “Cat!… Cat!… Cat!…”
Morphia drowsed, again I lay
In a crater by High Wood:
He was there with straddling legs,
Staring eyes as big as eggs,
Purring as he lapped my blood,
His black bulk darkening the day,
With a voice cruel and flat,
“Cat!… Cat!… Cat!…” he said,
“Cat!… Cat!…”
When I’m shot through heart and head,
And there’s no choice but to die,
The last word I’ll hear, no doubt,
Won’t be “Charge!” or “Bomb them out!”
Nor the stretcher-bearer’s cry,
“Let that body be, he’s dead!”
But a voice cruel and flat
Saying for ever, “Cat!… Cat!… Cat!”
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem dives deep into the surreal and horrifying recesses of a haunted mind, drawing on the image of a persistent, malevolent force embodied in the figure of the “cat.” At first glance, it might seem like an exercise in absurdity or dark humor, but the poem’s repetitive cadence and imagery reveal layers of trauma, fear, and inescapable mental torment.
The “cat” isn’t just a literal animal here; it’s a symbol. Its purring and blood-lapping evoke an unsettling combination of comfort and predation. This duality makes it a chilling metaphor for something relentless and cruel, like the weight of suppressed memories or the inescapable shadow of war. The way the cat intrudes on the speaker’s sleep and dominates their thoughts suggests an overwhelming presence that mocks and erodes their sense of safety and peace.
The refrain—“Cat!… Cat!… Cat!”—is maddening in its monotony, much like the repetitive nature of intrusive thoughts or nightmares. Its “cruel and flat” tone makes it devoid of emotion, emphasizing how cold and mechanical the torment feels. The repetition also mimics the rhythm of an unrelenting train of thought, one that grows louder and more consuming over time, pushing the speaker to the brink of despair.
The transitions between nursery imagery and the horrors of the battlefield are jarring, as they should be. The nursery, often a symbol of innocence, becomes a setting for terror, where the cat looms “gigantic, formless, queer.” This mirrors how childhood fears can linger and evolve, becoming more complex and menacing as one grows older. The leap from the nursery to the battlefield underscores a psychological continuity—the cat is not just a childhood fear but a lifelong specter that takes on new forms, reflecting the speaker’s traumas as they progress through life.
The wartime imagery—being in a “crater by High Wood,” the reference to morphia, and the inevitability of death—grounds the poem in a specific historical and emotional context. The cat in this setting is no longer a ghostly nursery figure but a monstrous, almost cosmic force of destruction, embodying the inescapable presence of death in war. The blending of these two realms—childhood nightmares and battlefield horrors—creates a unique, chilling narrative of how trauma layers itself across a person’s life, never truly leaving but rather adapting to new circumstances.
The final stanza drives home the sense of inevitability. The speaker’s certainty that their last moments will be filled with the cat’s voice is harrowing. It suggests not just the power of this symbol but also a surrender to its dominance. The cat, then, becomes not just a metaphor for trauma or death but for the futility of trying to escape the mental and emotional scars that life, especially war, leaves behind.
This poem, with its eerie repetition and surreal imagery, doesn’t offer comfort or resolution. Instead, it leaves the reader with the oppressive sense of being hunted by their own mind. It speaks to the persistence of fear and trauma, especially in the wake of war, where even the most innocuous memories—like those of a nursery—can turn sinister. The poet masterfully weaves absurdity and horror, making the mundane terrifying and forcing us to confront the things that haunt us, whether they purr softly or shout with finality.