Written at the time of the American Civil War, Emily Dickinson’s poem “Success is counted sweetest” describes the frustrated longing of a soldier who dies on the field of battle minutes before the victory is secured. Just over fifty years later, Wilfrid Wilson Gibson wrote of a similar moment in the First World War. However, his poem “Victory” is far more intimate: the grand campaign of the war appears trivial and meaningless when compared to the death of a single ordinary man. As Joseph Stalin was reputed to have said, “One death is a tragedy; one million is a statistic.”
Victory
I
watched it oozing quietly
Out
of the gaping gash.
The
lads thrust on to victory
With
lunge and curse and crash.
Half-dazed,
that uproar seemed to me
Like
some old battle-sound
Heard
long ago, as quietly
His
blood soaked in the ground.
The
lads thrust on to victory
With
lunge and crash and shout.
I
lay and watched, as quietly
His
life was running out.
-- WW Gibson
In
twelve short lines, the poem deftly sketches a moment in which the world is
forever changed for two men, while the war rushes on without taking
notice. As in his poem “The
Question” (previously shared on this blog), Gibson eschews the epic and
heroic, and instead explores the experiences of ordinary men in extraordinary
circumstances.
As
“the lads thrust on to victory,” they leave behind two injured comrades-in-arms,
one of whom is dying. Apart from the din
of battle, with its crashes, curses, and shouts, a man helplessly watches as
the blood quietly oozes from the wounded body of his friend.
The
form and the language of the poem are unassuming, using only four rhymes,
common diction, and repetition (lines 3 – 4 are echoed in lines 9 – 10). Lacking heroic language and vivid imagery,
the poem simply represents the inherent contradictions of the war: deafening
battles are punctuated by moments of quiet focus, and underpinning every
thrusting charge is the resigned acceptance of stasis and loss.
There
is a reverence in this one death among thousands, for it is witnessed, shared,
and thus sanctified by the presence of a friend. Perhaps the greatest irony of the poem is its
title, “Victory,” for what the poem wants us to see and remember is the death
of one common and nameless soldier.
WW Gibson |
*Cited
in Kendall’s Poetry of the First World
War (64).
"I lay and watched, as quietly
ReplyDeleteHis life was running out"
Many patients on Covid wards are sharing this experience now
Haunting relevance in these strange and sad times. Thanks for commenting, Ian.
ReplyDelete