Francis F. Hogan |
In his war memoir Toward
the Flame, Hervey
Allen remembers a night near Chateau Thierry when he learned of a friend
encamped nearby: “Francis Hogan, a friend of mine, was in that regiment [4th
US Infantry], and I determined to see him that night. It was one of those
decisions that comes of itself and leaves no doubt in your mind that it is what
you are going to do.” Despite getting lost and nearly stumbling into German
lines, Allen found Hogan, and the two men sat in the dark and “shared a close
talk.”* It would be the last time they would meet: Hogan was killed in the
Meuse-Argonne offensive on October 17, 1918, less than four weeks before the
war’s end.
Before enlisting in the American Expeditionary Force, Hogan studied
at Carnegie Tech in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; several of his poems are included
in Carnegie Tech War Verse (1918).
The Little Folk
The little leaves, the little leaves,
The reason for the thundering
That makes them tremble so;
Or do they think the rain will come
And then a quiet sun?
Ah, many days there’ll be
Before the war is done.
The little birds, the little birds,
I wonder if they see
The reason for the bursting shell
That tears the nesting tree;
Or do they think the hunt is on,
And they must take to flight?
Ah. there’ll be hunts on many hills
Before the world is right.
The little vines, the little vines,
I wonder have they found
Why yonder soldier lies so still,
And what has stained the ground;
Or do they think that wine is red,
And men who drink, drink deep?
Ah, many more shall drink with him
And he still lie asleep.
—Francis F.
Hogan
Poetry magazine’s
Harriet Monroe reviewed Carnegie Tech War
Verse, describing it as “an ingratiating little pamphlet by Professor
Haniel Long’s doughboy students, led by Francis F. Hogan and Richard Mansfield
II, who both died in service.”** In the
foreword to the small anthology, the Carnegie Tech English professor Long
wrote,
There have always been boys and
girls who insisted on being poets. Why, nobody knows; but the phenomenon has a
depressing effect upon those who feel that this is no world to be a poet
in. Being a poet is a pretty risky way,
one hears, of living one’s life. But
others regard it as a fine thing to be young and to be a poet. And to be young and to be a poet in an age
when the world is vastly disturbed and there is a great fight to be fought for
liberty,—such a destiny has seemed altogether glorious to-day in the eyes of
many a young man and young woman. And to
go forth and to die as a poet, what other destiny is like this?
....The
poems in this volume came from a group of students in the school of the arts at
the Carnegie Institute of Technology.
Before the War these students were writing and dreaming. The war came, and scattered them. But they continue to write, and some of their
songs came back to the deserted corridors and studios and rehearsal rooms of the
school. For those who will sing no more,
whose beloved faces we may no longer see, may this book be a cry at parting,
and a lasting salute.***
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Hervey Allen, Toward
the Flame, Farrar & Rinehart, 1926, pp. 69, 76.
** Harriet Monroe, “Anthologies,” Poetry, vol. 14, no. 5, Aug. 1919, p. 283.
*** Haniel Long,
“Foreword,” Carnegie Tech War Verse, Carnegie
Institute of Technology, 1918, pp. 5, 6-7.
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