Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
Two rows of cabbages,
Two of curly-greens
Two rows of early peas,
Two of kidney beans.
That’s what he keeps muttering,
Making such a song,
Keeping other chaps awake
The whole night long.
Both his legs are shot away,
And his head is light,
So he keeps on muttering
All the blessed night:
Two rows of cabbages,
Two of curly-greens
Two rows of early peas,
Two of kidney beans.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This brief yet haunting war poem captures the unsettling mental state of a soldier, broken and haunted by his experiences. Through repetition, simple imagery, and stark details, the poet illustrates the deep psychological trauma that war can inflict on a person. In just a few lines, the poem takes us into the mind of a soldier whose body has been destroyed, and whose mind is slipping away into obsession and delirium.
The poem opens with the soldier’s repeated refrain: “Two rows of cabbages, / Two of curly-greens, / Two rows of early peas, / Two of kidney beans.” The simplicity of these words — a list of vegetables — suggests a desire for normalcy, even though it’s clearly out of place in the context of war. The soldier is muttering these mundane, domestic details as if they were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, or perhaps as a way to escape the horrors around him. There’s something almost childlike in the simplicity and repetitiveness of the list, as if the soldier is clutching at a distant memory of peace, of something ordinary and safe before the chaos of battle.
However, the repetitive nature of the soldier’s muttering also hints at a breakdown in his mental state. The “song” that he keeps making, which “keeps other chaps awake / The whole night long,” highlights how his obsession with these simple rows of vegetables has become a form of mental disturbance. It’s as though the mind has fractured under the strain of war, leaving behind only these echoes of a life before violence and destruction. The repetition is both a coping mechanism and a symptom of something deeper — a mind trying to hold on to whatever it can, but in the process losing touch with reality.
The second stanza adds further weight to the soldier’s disintegration. “Both his legs are shot away, / And his head is light,” the poet tells us. The soldier is physically maimed, his body a casualty of war, but it is the condition of his mind — his “light” head — that truly underlines the extent of his injury. His body may be broken, but his mind, too, is shattered, unable to focus on anything beyond his repetitive muttering. The repetition of the list of vegetables, rather than serving as a reminder of home or hope, becomes a haunting manifestation of his mental torment.
The final stanza repeats the soldier’s mutterings once more, reinforcing the sense of obsession. There’s a tragic, almost mechanical quality to this final line, as though the soldier’s mind is trapped in an endless loop of these words. It’s not just a song; it’s a compulsion that haunts him. Even as his body has been rendered useless, his mind continues its relentless cycle.
What makes the poem so effective is its ability to convey the complexity of trauma without overtly stating it. The repetition of the vegetables creates a rhythmic quality that mirrors the soldier’s obsessive thinking. The imagery itself is disarming in its banality, making the horrors of war all the more stark when placed in contrast. There’s no grand tragedy or detailed descriptions of battle; instead, the poem isolates a single moment, a single soldier, and shows how war has reduced him to this repetition, this mindless echoing of the mundane.
The simplicity of the poem also makes it universal — a metaphor for the ways in which war, violence, and loss can invade a person’s mind and render them helpless, trapped in their own thoughts. It is a portrait of a man whose identity has been eroded by the brutality of conflict, where even the simplest, most peaceful thoughts are twisted into something desperate, disconnected, and inescapable.
The poem’s power lies in its quiet, devastating portrayal of the aftermath of war. It doesn’t need to tell us about the horrors of the battlefield because it shows us the aftermath — a soldier who, even after the war is over, is left broken, his mind forever ensnared by the seemingly innocuous, yet ultimately tragic, repetition of “two rows of cabbages.”