Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
Night shatters in mid-heaven: the bark of guns,
The roar of planes, the crash of bombs, and all
The unshackled sky pandemonium stuns
The senses to indifference, when a fall
Of masonry near by startles awake,
Tingling wide-eyed, prick-eared, with bristling hair,
Each sense within the body crouched aware
Like some sore-hunted creature in the brake.
Yet side by side we lie in the little room,
Just touching hands, with eyes and ears that strain
Keenly, yet dream-bewildered, through tense gloom,
Listening in helpless stupor of insane
Drugged nightmare panic fantastically wild,
To the quiet breathing of our sleeping child.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This powerful poem brings to life the traumatic dissonance of war, where the horrors of violence and the innocence of familial love collide. The poet captures a moment of domestic intimacy — lying side by side with a loved one, with a child sleeping between them — set against the backdrop of war. The imagery is stark and unsettling, with the violence of bombs and guns reverberating through the night, juxtaposed against the vulnerability and peace of the family unit.
The opening lines immediately thrust the reader into a chaotic, war-torn scene: “Night shatters in mid-heaven: the bark of guns, / The roar of planes, the crash of bombs…” The violence described here is unrelenting and inescapable, transforming the night sky into a battlefield. The phrase “Night shatters in mid-heaven” is particularly striking, as it suggests that not only the physical world, but even the very fabric of time and space, is being torn apart by the violence. The bombardment of senses — the sound of planes, bombs, and guns — overwhelms the speaker, numbing them to the world around them: “the senses to indifference.” This could be read as a reflection of how constant exposure to war deadens the mind and body, making them immune to the shock of violence, almost as if it’s expected or unavoidable.
The use of “fall / Of masonry near by” serves as a momentary jolt, a sudden reminder of danger, pulling the speaker out of the stupor induced by the war’s relentless noise. The contrast between the external chaos and the internal quiet is marked here, as the speaker’s senses become alert, like a “sore-hunted creature in the brake,” sensing danger, yet unable to escape or react. This image reinforces the helplessness felt during wartime, where survival becomes a matter of enduring the noise and waiting for the next threat to appear.
But the poem takes an unexpected turn when it shifts focus back to the “little room” where the speaker lies, side by side with their partner. Despite the external mayhem, there is a sense of tenderness and intimacy in their shared space. They lie close together, “just touching hands,” which serves as a subtle but potent contrast to the violence outside. The bond between the couple is palpable, as they listen, with “eyes and ears that strain,” trying to make sense of the madness that surrounds them. However, even in this intimate moment, there is no clear separation from the war; their “dream-bewildered” state suggests that they are both in a kind of trance, caught between fear, exhaustion, and the attempt to find peace amidst the chaos.
The poem’s closing lines bring a tender yet haunting twist: “To the quiet breathing of our sleeping child.” While the world outside is crumbling, there is a small sanctuary inside the room — the innocent, undisturbed breathing of the child. This is a moment of poignant contrast: amidst the senseless destruction of war, there is the simple, pure act of a child sleeping soundly, unaware of the horrors outside. The child’s sleep symbolizes innocence, the hope for a future untouched by war, yet it also highlights the fragility of that innocence. The quiet breathing is almost drowned out by the external violence, yet it persists as a symbol of hope, defiance, and the enduring human connection even in the darkest of times.
In many ways, the poem captures the madness of war — its ability to create chaos, to erode the senses, and to leave people stranded in a constant state of heightened tension. Yet it also underscores the importance of love, intimacy, and the quiet moments of human connection in the face of that chaos. The image of the sleeping child offers a sharp contrast to the dissonance of the war, reminding the reader of what’s at stake in the ongoing violence: not just buildings or soldiers, but the very innocence of life itself. It’s a quiet, heart-wrenching meditation on the persistence of love, even in the face of overwhelming destruction, and the delicate balance between fear, hope, and survival in times of war.