Robert Graves
Entrance and exit wounds are silvered clean,
The track aches only when the rain reminds.
The one-legged man forgets his leg of wood
The one-armed man his jointed wooden arm.
The blinded man sees with his ears and hands
As much or more than once with both his eyes.
Their war was fought these twenty years ago
And now assumes the nature-look of time,
As when the morning traveller turn and views
His wild night-stumbling carved into a hill.
What, then, was war? No mere discord of flags
But an infectionof the common sky
That sagged ominously upon the earth
Even when the season was the airiest May.
Down pressed the sky, and we, oppressed, thrust out
Boastful tongue, clenched fist and valiant yard.
Natural infirmiries were out of mode,
For Death was young again: patron alone
Of healthy dying, premature fate-spasm.
Fear made fine bed-fellows. Sick with delight
At life’s discovered transitoriness,
Out youth became all-flesh and waived the mind.
Never was such antiqueness of romance,
Such tasty honey oozing from the heart.
And old importances came swimming back &mdash
Wine, meat, log-fires, a roof over the head,
A weapon at the thigh, surgeons at call.
Even there was a use again for God &mdash
A word of rage in lack of meat, wine, fire,
In ache of wounds beyond all surgeoning.
War was return of earth to ugly earth,
War was foundering of sublimities,
Extinction of each happy art and faith
By which the world had still kept head in air,
Protesting logic or protesting love,
Until the unendurable moment struck &mdash
The inward scream, the duty to run mad.
And we recall the merry ways of guns &mdash
Nibbling the walls of factory and church
Like a child, piecrust; felling groves of trees
Like a child, dandelions with a switch.
Machine-guns rattle toy-like from a hill,
Down in a row the brave tin-soldiers fall:
A sight to be recalled in elder days
When learnedly the future we devote
To yet more boastful visions of despair.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem delves into the aftermath of war, reflecting on the physical and psychological toll that it exacts on soldiers and society as a whole. The speaker invites us into a world where the scars of battle are deeply ingrained in the body and mind, yet oddly disconnected from the passage of time. The opening lines, “Entrance and exit wounds are silvered clean,” speak to the strange process of moving beyond injury and suffering—almost as though the trauma has been smoothed over, but never fully healed. The “silvered” wounds might suggest the passage of time and the way memories of war become less vivid, but also more profound in their permanence.
The men who fought in this war have adjusted to their new lives, with the “one-legged man” and the “one-armed man” learning to live with the physical consequences of war. Yet the poem doesn’t simply depict them as tragic figures. Instead, it hints at the paradoxical adaptation to loss—how, in some ways, these men seem to forget their injuries, or at least no longer see them as defining parts of their existence. The “blinded man” is particularly striking, “seeing with his ears and hands,” suggesting that perception is not limited to sight alone, and perhaps that war has forced these individuals to sharpen their other senses, even in ways that surpass their previous capabilities. This line encapsulates the idea that trauma, though devastating, sometimes forces people to engage with the world in more profound and unexpected ways.
The poem’s exploration of the long-term impact of war is also psychological. “Their war was fought these twenty years ago / And now assumes the nature-look of time” suggests that while the war may seem distant in terms of actual events, its consequences remain ever-present. The “nature-look of time” evokes the sense that the scars of war are integrated into the fabric of life itself. It’s as if the world has adjusted, like the natural world does to its wounds, and life carries on, but with something permanently altered.
But then the poem shifts to reflect on the essence of war itself. The opening lines of the second stanza declare that war was not merely “discord of flags,” but an “infection of the common sky.” This comparison suggests that war is not an isolated event but something that seeps into everything—into the atmosphere, the collective consciousness, and even the psyche of those not directly involved. The imagery of the “sky” pressing down ominously on the earth during what should be the peaceful time of May suggests a constant, heavy weight—the looming presence of violence, no matter the time or season.
The poem contrasts this with the ways in which young people, driven by fear and passion, throw themselves into war. “Fear made fine bed-fellows,” it says, and the soldiers became “all-flesh and waived the mind.” The war seems to strip away the intellectual or philosophical considerations of life, leaving behind raw, animalistic instincts. “Never was such antiqueness of romance” indicates that the allure of war has a certain outdated, almost grotesque charm for some—an obsession with glory and heroism in the face of death.
What follows is a critique of the war’s destruction of higher ideals and human achievements. War is described as “return of earth to ugly earth,” an undoing of all the advancements and arts that once gave life meaning. The world is reduced to “ugly earth,” a place where “sublimities” are drowned, and logic and love lose their relevance in the face of annihilation. This lines up with the poem’s depiction of how war turns everything—art, love, faith—into something base, something to be destroyed. The “inward scream” and the “duty to run mad” evoke the sense that war, more than just a physical battle, forces a breakdown of human sanity and morality.
The poem ends with a reflection on the absurdity of war’s violence. The imagery of “guns nibbling the walls of factory and church” is disturbingly childlike, as if the machinery of war—machine guns, artillery, and other implements of destruction—are no more than toys. This image is further extended when the poem compares the destruction of nature and human civilization to a child’s play with dandelions or piecrust. War, in this view, is a grotesque mockery of innocence—a child’s play taken to horrific extremes. The final lines, which present the death of soldiers as a “sight to be recalled in elder days,” reflect the grim truth that the passage of time, though it may dull the pain, cannot erase the futility and horror of war. The “future devoted to more boastful visions of despair” suggests that war will continue to be glorified and repeated, no matter how much the world may try to forget its true cost.
Ultimately, the poem offers a raw, uncompromising look at the scars—both physical and psychological—that war leaves behind. Through a blend of unsettling imagery, paradoxes, and historical references, it paints a picture of how war is woven into the very fabric of time, memory, and society. The soldiers’ adaptation to their injuries and the deep, existential disillusionment of those who lived through it highlight the long-lasting, pervasive nature of violence and its effects on the human condition. It also critiques how war is romanticized and perpetuated, offering no easy resolutions or answers but a powerful reflection on the absurdity and horror of it all.