Robert Graves
Back from the Somme two Fusiliers
Limped painfully home; the elder said,
S. “Robert, I’ve lived three thousand years
This Summer, and I’m nine parts dead.”
R. “But if that’s truly so,” I cried, “quick, now,
Through these great oaks and see the famous bough
”Where once a nonsense built her nest
With skulls and flowers and all things queer,
In an old boot, with patient breast
Hatching three eggs; and the next year…”
S. “Foaled thirteen squamous young beneath, and rid
Wales of drink, melancholy, and psalms, she did.”
Said he, “Before this quaint mood fails,
We’ll sit and weave a nonsense hymn,”
R. “Hanging it up with monkey tails
In a deep grove all hushed and dim….”
S. “To glorious yellow-bunched banana-trees,”
R. “Planted in dreams by pious Portuguese,”
S. “Which men are wise beyond their time,
And worship nonsense, no one more.”
R. “Hard by, among old quince and lime,
They’ve built a temple with no floor,”
S. “And whosoever worships in that place,
He disappears from sight and leaves no trace.”
R. “Once the Galatians built a fane
To Sense: what duller God than that?”
S. “But the first day of autumn rain
The roof fell in and crushed them flat.”
R. “Ay, for a roof of subtlest logic falls
When nonsense is foundation for the walls.”
I tell him old Galatian tales;
He caps them in quick Portuguese,
While phantom creatures with green scales
Scramble and roll among the trees.
The hymn swells; on a bough above us sings
A row of bright pink birds, flapping their wings.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem is a curious blend of absurdity, memory, and the weight of experience, woven together through a dialogue between two soldiers—one older, one younger—returning from the horrors of the Somme. The conversation is not just a recounting of war, but a strange, almost surreal meandering into the realm of the whimsical and the absurd. The poem explores how men, especially those who’ve witnessed trauma, often retreat into humor or nonsense as a way of processing their pain.
From the outset, the contrast between the soldiers’ physical suffering and their mental engagement in absurdity is striking. The elder Fusilier, having “lived three thousand years” in the span of a summer of war, declares himself “nine parts dead,” which sets the stage for the absurdity to follow. His statement is both a recognition of the heavy toll the war has taken on his body and soul, but it also hints at the soldiers’ need for levity, for something ridiculous to keep their minds from unraveling.
The younger Fusilier, Robert, seems to react by trying to distract from the heavy realities of their experience. He wants to show his companion “the famous bough” where a “nonsense” was once nested, and the entire description of the “boot with patient breast” hatching eggs—then foaling “thirteen squamous young beneath”—is a classic example of the outlandish, dream-like imagery that serves to detach the soldiers from the harshness of reality. The absurdity of the image—skulls, flowers, and a boot—seems to offer a kind of poetic escape from the horrors of the front. It’s as though the soldiers are turning to their shared memories of whimsy to stave off the weight of their traumatic pasts.
The poem shifts between a surreal, almost nonsensical back-and-forth about mythical creatures, dreams, and bizarre worship practices—“worship nonsense,” as one of the Fusiliers says—interspersed with the occasional jabs at logical structures, such as the mention of the “Galatians building a fane / To Sense” only for it to collapse under the weight of its own logic. This playful disregard for structure is contrasted sharply with the idea of war, which demands structure, order, and sacrifice. Yet, the soldiers reject these in favor of the chaotic and nonsensical. In this sense, their return home is not only a physical journey but a mental escape. They reject the logic and order imposed by the war, and instead embrace something far more unpredictable, more absurd.
The idea that “whosoever worships in that place / He disappears from sight and leaves no trace” adds a layer of mysticism to their conversation, as if the very act of abandoning logic for nonsense could make a person vanish, or perhaps become free of the torment that the war has wrought. The whimsical imagery continues with the “bright pink birds” singing above them, a final stroke of surreal, almost magical realism that signals a disconnection from the bleakness of their reality. It’s a return to a simpler, though entirely fantastical, world—a respite from the horrors they’ve seen, as if their war-weary minds require these bizarre distractions to hold onto any semblance of sanity.
At its core, this poem is a commentary on the psychological effects of war. It suggests that those who survive such intense trauma find themselves in need of humor and absurdity as a means of survival. The use of “nonsense,” from the strange boot nest to the bizarre temple of “subtlest logic,” is not just a playful diversion, but an expression of the soldiers’ deep need for relief. The war has stripped them of much—perhaps even their ability to fully connect with reality—and so they must invent their own, twisted form of comfort.
The poem doesn’t offer any clear resolution, but instead embraces the unresolvable tension between the horrors of war and the need to escape, if only momentarily, into something nonsensical. By threading together the seriousness of their past (the Somme) with the surreal whimsy of their conversation, it highlights the complex ways in which soldiers cope with trauma. The nonsense that fills their dialogue is a defense mechanism—an emotional shield that allows them to remain somewhat intact despite all they’ve endured. The poetry here isn’t about clarity or structure, but about the fractured, often absurd nature of human response to trauma.