Robert W. Service
(The Wounded Canadian Speaks)
My leg? It’s off at the knee.
Do I miss it? Well, some. You see
I’ve had it since I was born;
And lately a devilish corn.
(I rather chuckle with glee
To think how I’ve fooled that corn.)
But I’ll hobble around all right.
It isn’t that, it’s my face.
Oh I know I’m a hideous sight,
Hardly a thing in place;
Sort of gargoyle, you’d say.
Nurse won’t give me a glass,
But I see the folks as they pass
Shudder and turn away;
Turn away in distress . . .
Mirror enough, I guess.
I’m gay! You bet I am gay;
But I wasn’t a while ago.
If you’d seen me even to-day,
The darndest picture of woe,
With this Caliban mug of mine,
So ravaged and raw and red,
Turned to the wall—in fine,
Wishing that I was dead. . . .
What has happened since then,
Since I lay with my face to the wall,
The most despairing of men?
Listen! I’ll tell you all.
That ‘poilu’ across the way,
With the shrapnel wound in his head,
Has a sister: she came to-day
To sit awhile by his bed.
All morning I heard him fret:
“Oh, when will she come, Fleurette?”
Then sudden, a joyous cry;
The tripping of little feet;
The softest, tenderest sigh;
A voice so fresh and sweet;
Clear as a silver bell,
Fresh as the morning dews:
“C’est toi, c’est toi, Marcel!
Mon frêre, comme je suis heureuse!”
So over the blanket’s rim
I raised my terrible face,
And I saw—how I envied him!
A girl of such delicate grace;
Sixteen, all laughter and love;
As gay as a linnet, and yet
As tenderly sweet as a dove;
Half woman, half child—Fleurette.
Then I turned to the wall again.
(I was awfully blue, you see),
And I thought with a bitter pain:
“Such visions are not for me.”
So there like a log I lay,
All hidden, I thought, from view,
When sudden I heard her say:
“Ah! Who is that ‘malheureux’?”
Then briefly I heard him tell
(However he came to know)
How I’d smothered a bomb that fell
Into the trench, and so
None of my men were hit,
Though it busted me up a bit.
Well, I didn’t quiver an eye,
And he chattered and there she sat;
And I fancied I heard her sigh—
But I wouldn’t just swear to that.
And maybe she wasn’t so bright,
Though she talked in a merry strain,
And I closed my eyes ever so tight,
Yet I saw her ever so plain:
Her dear little tilted nose,
Her delicate, dimpled chin,
Her mouth like a budding rose,
And the glistening pearls within;
Her eyes like the violet:
Such a rare little queen—Fleurette.
And at last when she rose to go,
The light was a little dim,
And I ventured to peep, and so
I saw her, graceful and slim,
And she kissed him and kissed him, and oh
How I envied and envied him!
So when she was gone I said
In rather a dreary voice
To him of the opposite bed:
“Ah, friend, how you must rejoice!
But me, I’m a thing of dread.
For me nevermore the bliss,
The thrill of a woman’s kiss.”
Then I stopped, for lo! she was there,
And a great light shone in her eyes.
And me! I could only stare,
I was taken so by surprise,
When gently she bent her head:
“May I kiss you, Sergeant?” she said.
Then she kissed my burning lips
With her mouth like a scented flower,
And I thrilled to the finger-tips,
And I hadn’t even the power
To say: “God bless you, dear!”
And I felt such a precious tear
Fall on my withered cheek,
And darn it! I couldn’t speak.
And so she went sadly away,
And I knew that my eyes were wet.
Ah, not to my dying day
Will I forget, forget!
Can you wonder now I am gay?
God bless her, that little Fleurette!
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem, “The Wounded Canadian Speaks,” explores the deep emotional and physical scars left on a soldier after war. It delves into the themes of suffering, alienation, and unexpected redemption through human connection. The speaker, a wounded Canadian soldier, reflects on the disfiguring toll the war has taken on him, both in terms of his body and his sense of self-worth. The speaker’s voice is raw, direct, and sometimes darkly humorous, revealing a complex inner world shaped by pain and loss.
The poem opens with the speaker casually mentioning the loss of his leg, which he says he’s gotten used to, even finding a kind of strange satisfaction in the fact that he has fooled a painful corn on the foot that’s now gone. This use of humor in the face of physical pain establishes the speaker’s resilience and ability to find lightness in the darkest of circumstances. However, as the poem continues, the focus shifts away from his leg and toward his face, which has been horribly disfigured by the war. The speaker acknowledges the horrific transformation of his appearance, describing himself as a “hideous sight” and comparing his face to a “gargoyle.” The impact of this physical change is profound, as it leads to feelings of shame and isolation. He describes the way people avoid looking at him, a painful reminder of how war can strip someone of their humanity and reduce them to an object of fear or pity.
However, the emotional core of the poem lies in the speaker’s interaction with a young woman named Fleurette, who visits a soldier in the bed opposite the speaker’s. Fleurette, the sister of a fellow soldier, is described with warmth and tenderness—she is youthful, full of life, and embodying all that the speaker has lost: love, beauty, and connection. The speaker’s envy is palpable as he watches their reunion, imagining the joy and affection that he can no longer experience. He is left feeling even more isolated in his suffering, thinking that such happiness is beyond his reach.
It’s in this moment of despair, when the speaker believes he is invisible, that Fleurette surprises him. She approaches him and, without hesitation, kisses him—an act of kindness that shifts the tone of the poem. This kiss, simple yet profound, symbolizes a moment of human connection that transcends physical appearance and injury. It is an act of compassion and love, offered without judgment. For the speaker, this small gesture has an immense impact. The kiss revitalizes him, allowing him to feel, for the first time since his injuries, a sense of worth and emotional renewal. The speaker’s final words—“God bless her, that little Fleurette”—reveal the depth of his gratitude and the way this brief moment of connection has transformed his view of the world and himself.
The poem uses vivid imagery and contrasts to emphasize the emotional turmoil of the speaker. His disfigurement, once a source of intense shame, becomes the backdrop for the tenderness he experiences through Fleurette’s kiss. The poem emphasizes the idea that, even in the midst of unimaginable suffering, love and kindness can still find their way into the darkness, offering a kind of redemption that heals the soul, if only temporarily.
The language of the poem is simple and direct, which adds to its emotional impact. The speaker’s use of humor, even in the most difficult moments, speaks to the soldier’s need to maintain some sense of control over his narrative. The directness of his voice, without embellishment, conveys the stark reality of war’s consequences. The shift in tone, from bitterness and sorrow to joy and gratitude, is a testament to the transformative power of human connection, especially when it comes unexpectedly.
Overall, “The Wounded Canadian Speaks” is a powerful exploration of the psychological and emotional effects of war. It shows how, even in the face of unimaginable physical pain and disfigurement, the smallest acts of kindness can provide immense comfort and restore a sense of dignity to those who have suffered. The poem not only highlights the brutal toll of war on the body but also suggests that moments of grace, however fleeting, are what allow individuals to reclaim their humanity. Through Fleurette’s kiss, the speaker finds a renewed sense of purpose and joy, offering a poignant reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is still room for love and compassion.