🚀 go-pugleaf

"Hieronymous707" <hieronymous707@gmail.com> wrote in message
news:5606cab1-7ce9-4833-9fba-c29bc4d8cc61@googlegroups.com...
1

An old man bending I come among new faces,
Years looking backward resuming in answer to children,
Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love me,
(Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war,
But soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead;)
Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances,
Of unsurpass'd heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;)
Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth,
Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us?
What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,
Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest remains?

2

O maidens and young men I love and that love me,
What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls,
Soldier alert I arrive after a long march cover'd with sweat and dust,
In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of
successful charge,
Enter the captur'd works�yet lo, like a swift running river they fade,
Pass and are gone they fade�I dwell not on soldiers' perils or soldiers'
joys,
(Both I remember well�many of the hardships, few the joys, yet I was
content.)

But in silence, in dreams' projections,
While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,
So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand,
With hinged knees returning I enter the doors, (while for you up there,
Whoever you are, follow without noise and be of strong heart.)

Bearing the bandages, water and sponge,
Straight and swift to my wounded I go,
Where they lie on the ground after the battle brought in,
Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground,
Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof'd hospital,
To the long rows of cots up and down each side I return,
To each and all one after another I draw near, not one do I miss,
An attendant follows holding a tray, he carries a refuse pail,
Soon to be fill'd with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and fill'd again.

I onward go, I stop,
With hinged knees and steady hand to dress wounds,
I am firm with each, the pangs are sharp yet unavoidable,
One turns to me his appealing eyes�poor boy! I never knew you,
Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would
save you.

3

On, on I go, (open doors of time! open hospital doors!)
The crush'd head I dress, (poor crazed hand tear not the bandage away,)
The neck of the cavalry-man with the bullet through and through I examine,
Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles
hard,
(Come sweet death! be persuaded O beautiful death!
In mercy come quickly.)

From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,
I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood,
Back on his pillow the soldier bends with curv'd neck and side falling head,
His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody
stump,
And has not yet look'd on it.

I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep,
But a day or two more, for see the frame all wasted and sinking,
And the yellow-blue countenance see.

I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet-wound,
Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so
offensive,
While the attendant stands behind aside me holding the tray and pail.

I am faithful, I do not give out,
The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,
These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my breast a fire, a
burning flame.)

4

Thus in silence in dreams' projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals,
The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night, some are so young,
Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad,
(Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested,
Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

***Excellent poem, really illuminates the horrors of war, in particular
those in grim days of the past.

"Hieronymous707" <hieronymous707@gmail.com> wrote in message
news:5606cab1-7ce9-4833-9fba-c29bc4d8cc61@googlegroups.com...
>
> (Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested,
> Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

The importance of context.

Dec 10Will Dockery

"Hieronymous707" <hierony...@gmail.com> wrote in message 
news:5606cab1-7ce9-4833-9fba-c29bc4d8cc61@googlegroups.com... 
> 
> (Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested, 
> Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.) 

"The importance of context."

Yours isn't even a complete sentence, and the Whitman line you quoted doesn't sufficiently convey whatever it is you want me to know. So, I don't get what you mean for me to understand regarding the importance of context relative to the quote provided. Thanks.

On Tuesday, December 11, 2012 4:37:46 AM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> Dec 10Will Dockery quoted:
> 
> > "(Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested, 
> 
> > Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)..." -Walt Whitman
> 
> 
> 
> "The importance of context."
> 
> 
> 
> Yours isn't even a complete sentence, and the Whitman line you quoted doesn't sufficiently convey whatever it is you want me to know. So, I don't get what you mean for me to understand regarding the importance of context relative to the quote provided. Thanks.

It was just a passing "note to myself", as Whitman would have called it, on the importance of quoting, context, and how lack of it can give added or different meaning or emphasis.

Also Karla's well-known mantra come into play.

> > > "(Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested, 
> > > Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)..." -Walt Whitman
> 
> > "The importance of context."
> 
> > Yours isn't even a complete sentence, and the Whitman line you quoted doesn't sufficiently convey whatever it is you want me to know. So, I don't get what you mean for me to understand regarding the importance of context relative to the quote provided. Thanks.
> 
> It was just a passing "note to myself", as Whitman would have called it, on the importance of quoting, context, and how lack of it can give added or different meaning or emphasis.
> 
> Also Karla's well-known mantra come into play.

Did that clear the meaning up for you?

No, but since it's a passing note to yourself
my understanding doesn't really matter.
I'm not worried about it if you're not.

On Saturday, December 15, 2012 4:28:52 AM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> No, but since it's a passing note to yourself 
> 
> my understanding doesn't really matter. 
> 
> I'm not worried about it if you're not.

Well, it depends on how important understanding Walt Whitman and what he was pointing to is to you.

He's entwined in some other studies I'm conducting, a direct line that rund from Whitman on up through the Beat era, Ginsberg and Orlovsky most specifically, on over into the folkie, outsider type movements that eventually lead to such phenomenons as Pasaquan, Doo-Nanny and Hogbottom.

Nothing to "worry" about, interesting to find out about.

On Dec 15, 11:50 am, Will Dockery <will.dock...@gmail.com> wrote:
> On Saturday, December 15, 2012 4:28:52 AM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> > No, but since it's a passing note to yourself
>
> > my understanding doesn't really matter.
>
> > I'm not worried about it if you're not.
>
> Well, it depends on how important understanding Walt Whitman and what he was pointing to is to you.
>
> He's entwined in some other studies I'm conducting, a direct line that rund from Whitman on up through the Beat era, Ginsberg and Orlovsky most specifically, on over into the folkie, outsider type movements that eventually lead to such phenomenons as Pasaquan, Doo-Nanny and Hogbottom.
>
> Nothing to "worry" about, interesting to find out about.

I understand Whitman, Will,
and I understand the poem,
and I understand the point
Whitman was making in the
poem. I don't understand
what you are studying, or
what Whitman means to you
in the context of whatever it
is you're talking about.

On Saturday, December 15, 2012 12:12:21 PM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> On Dec 15, 11:50 am, Will Dockery wrote:
>> On Saturday, December 15, 2012 4:28:52 AM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> 
> > > No, but since it's a passing note to yourself
> 
> >
> 
> > > my understanding doesn't really matter.
> 
> >
> 
> > > I'm not worried about it if you're not.
> 
> >
> 
> > Well, it depends on how important understanding Walt Whitman and what he was pointing to is to you.
> 
> >
> 
> > He's entwined in some other studies I'm conducting, a direct line that rund from Whitman on up through the Beat era, Ginsberg and Orlovsky most specifically, on over into the folkie, outsider type movements that eventually lead to such phenomenons as Pasaquan, Doo-Nanny and Hogbottom.
> 
> >
> 
> > Nothing to "worry" about, interesting to find out about.
> 
> 
> 
> I understand Whitman, Will,
> 
> and I understand the poem,
> 
> and I understand the point
> 
> Whitman was making in the
> 
> poem. I don't understand
> 
> what you are studying, or
> 
> what Whitman means to you
> 
> in the context of whatever it
> 
> is you're talking about.

Okay, I understand that.

The question here is do you want to understand what I'm talking about, or is this just another shrugging "Whatever" moment from you?

We briefly touched on the Walt Whitman significance in another earlier thread, "recently"... do you remember that?

Dude, your job as a writer
is to make me be interested,
make me want to understand.
Put it out there and we'll see.
I'll let you know how well you do.
Excuse me if I yawn.
It isn't your fault.
I got up early.

Okay, here is the point of departure:

"(Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested,
Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)"

As Jorge Luis Borges writes:

"So he came up with a strange creature we have not yet understood, and he gave this creature the name Walt Whitman. The creature has a biform nature [...] modest journalist Walt Whitman of Long Island who [...] might greet on the streets of Manhattan [or] the Walt Whitman [of the poems] a man of loves and adventures, loafing, spirited, carefree across America [...] the Walt Whitman that, today, he is in the imagination and affections of the generations of humanity."

And you know Whitman's usual quote about "contradicting himself", well I'm seing Oscar Wilde underscoring that. Oscar made a bit of an impact here back when this area was still on the Creek Indian frontier, as he recited poems in the Springer Opera House, but of course I digress.

That's a start, let me know if you're following the string theory so far.

Yes, I do understand what you're saying.
No, you don't understand string theory,
but I'm sure you've seen a string before,
and understand its function in theory.
I watched you tie your shoeslaces once.

Hieronymous707 wrote:
>
> No, you don't understand string theory

And in what way have you decided I don't "understand" string theory?

Where have I strayed, in your opinion?

Be specific, if possible.

On Tuesday, December 11, 2012 4:37:46 AM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
>
> > (Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested,
>
> > Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)
>
> the Whitman line you quoted doesn't sufficiently convey whatever it is you want me to know.

"Meaning is not in things but in between them." -Norman Brown

Seriously? C'mon. It's not just my opinion, Will.
You're not a particle physicist. Don't pretend
after knowledge you obviously don't possess.
I can't be specific. I wouldn't know where to start.

On Saturday, December 15, 2012 2:26:14 PM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> Seriously? C'mon. It's not just my opinion, Will.
>
> You're not a particle physicist. Don't pretend
>
> after knowledge you obviously don't possess.
>
> I can't be specific. I wouldn't know where to start.

I'm not claiming to be an expert, but I know enough about the string theory to at least discuss it with a fellow who knows as little about it as I do.

"If you're scared, say you're scared." -Tripp Wriggley

2:55 PMWill Dockery
- show quoted text -
I'm not claiming to be an expert, but I know enough about the string theory to at least discuss it with a fellow who knows as little about it as I do. 

"If you're scared, say you're scared." -Tripp Wriggley 


If you know enough to discuss it, then discuss what you know, but know that you're attempting to apply a specifically scientific term to your so far less than specific wonderings and meanderings. Draw correlations. Show how at least a layperson's understanding of the term relates specifically to whatever you want them to know. Don't presume we have the same understanding of string theory. We don't.

Hieronymous707 wrote:
>
> If you know enough to discuss it

There seems to be no reason to, since you're the only one here, and you're interested in discussing it.

We can just archive it and someone may come along at a later time. That's one of the things I love about Usenet is that these posts and threads are archived "forever", waiting for the right person to stumble over them.

Hieronymous707 wrote:
>
> Don't presume we have the same understanding of string theory.

I don't presume you know *anything* about string theory, since you haven't shown any evidence of knowing anything about it, Corey.

3:23 PMWill Dockery

"I don't presume you know *anything* about string theory, since you haven't shown any evidence of knowing anything about it, Corey."

Exactly. As far as you're concerned, I'm just an average guy reading something you've written. You can reasonably presume that I've heard the two words string and theory together before, but beyond that you are tasked with explaining yourself in terms I'm likely to understand.

3:20 PMWill Dockery

"There seems to be no reason to, since you're the only one here, and you're interested in discussing it.

We can just archive it and someone may come along at a later time. That's one of the things I love about Usenet is that these posts and threads are archived "forever", waiting for the right person to stumble over them."

How polite of you. Never mind me.

Hieronymous707 wrote:
>
> You can reasonably presume that I've heard the two words string and theory together before, but beyond that you are tasked with explaining yourself in terms I'm likely to understand.

Ah, thanks for explaining that to me, Corey. I should know by now that when things settle you'll give me a response that I can understand.

I'll give it another go shortly, after I remember what it was that got this circular non-conversation started in the first place.

I think you were saying something about Whitman when you asked if I was following the string theory so far.  You can't just drop mention of string theory into a conversation about Whitman and expect somebody as dumb as me to connect the dots. I need more directly correlative data than that.

On Saturday, December 15, 2012 4:11:25 PM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> I think you were saying something about Whitman when you asked if I was following the string theory so far.  You can't just drop mention of string theory into a conversation about Whitman and expect somebody as dumb as me to connect the dots. I need more directly correlative data than that.

We can try how I relate Whitman's famous response to accusations that he contradicts himself to what I understand (correct me if I'm wrong) to be part of string theory, and my earlier explorations of Carl Jung's theories, when Whitman stated "I contain multitudes...":

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Multiverse

The structure of the multiverse, the nature of each universe within it and the relationship between the various constituent universes, depend on the specific multiverse hypothesis considered. Multiple universes have been hypothesized in cosmology, physics, astronomy, religion, philosophy, transpersonal psychology and fiction, particularly in science fiction and fantasy. In these contexts, parallel universes are also called "alternative universes", "quantum universes", "interpenetrating dimensions", "parallel dimensions", "parallel worlds", "alternative realities", "alternative timelines", and "dimensional planes," among others.

Hieronymous707 wrote:
>
> You're not a particle physicist.

And wouldn't want to be one, either.

We can try one thing, to communicate. You can write, relating one concept to another, one person to another, or even one theory like string theory to one person like Walt Whitman. The better you can tie the two together, like shoelaces, the better I'll be able to understand what you're trying to show me, but of course I 'bow' to your discretion. Don't follow my lead. You do it however you want.

On Sunday, December 16, 2012 8:33:22 AM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> We can try one thing, to communicate. You can write, relating one concept to another, one person to another, or even one theory like string theory to one person like Walt Whitman. The better you can tie the two together, like shoelaces, the better I'll be able to understand what you're trying to show me, but of course I 'bow' to your discretion. Don't follow my lead. You do it however you want.

Actually, I got a bit off track on this with my larger interest in Whitman, his life, poetry and his "Godfather of Beat" statua, as the point of my first, original post here was more an observation of how snipping out of context can foem a new meaning, if not context, than what the writer intended to convey.

Or not.

Go on with your Godfather of Beat thing.
I'd like to hear it. Have you read this about
Whitman and the Beats?

"It’s hard to read Kerouac or Ginsberg and not think of the father of
American poetry, Walt Whitman. Well, it’s hard for me. I’ve spent four
years studying American literature, and it’s hard to look at anything
post-Whitman without thinking of him. Emerson called for an American
poet, and Whitman answered, and then defined the criteria for future
American poets. The American poet would be knowledgeable of books, but
experienced in the life and nature of the continent. He (or she) would
celebrate the grassroots of the New World and embrace the people and
geography."

http://www.beatdom.com/?p=501

On Sunday, December 16, 2012 12:25:01 PM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> Go on with your Godfather of Beat thing.
> 
> I'd like to hear it. Have you read this about
> 
> Whitman and the Beats?
> 
> 
> 
> "It’s hard to read Kerouac or Ginsberg and not think of the father of
> 
> American poetry, Walt Whitman. Well, it’s hard for me. I’ve spent four
> 
> years studying American literature, and it’s hard to look at anything
> 
> post-Whitman without thinking of him. Emerson called for an American
> 
> poet, and Whitman answered, and then defined the criteria for future
> 
> American poets. The American poet would be knowledgeable of books, but
> 
> experienced in the life and nature of the continent. He (or she) would
> 
> celebrate the grassroots of the New World and embrace the people and
> 
> geography."
> 
> 
> 
> http://www.beatdom.com/?p=501

No, but that seems like a good read...

No, but that seems like a good read...

Oddly, the guy who wrote it is named D. Wills, Will D. LOL.

On Sunday, December 16, 2012 1:31:48 PM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> No, but that seems like a good read...
>
> Oddly, the guy who wrote it is named D. Wills, Will D. LOL.

The best stuff I've seen on Walt Whitman lately has been from a fellow named "Borges". That bit about Whitman's self-mythology building I excerpted the other day was from him.

Right. No need to
reinvent the wheel.
Just dew yore thang.

On Sunday, December 16, 2012 1:57:40 PM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> Right. No need to
>
> reinvent the wheel.
>
> Just dew yore thang.

Seems to be a worthy goal.

On Sunday, December 16, 2012 12:25:01 PM UTC-5, Hieronymous707 wrote:
> Go on with your Godfather of Beat thing.
> 
> I'd like to hear it. Have you read this about
> 
> Whitman and the Beats?
> 
> 
> 
> "It’s hard to read Kerouac or Ginsberg and not think of the father of
> 
> American poetry, Walt Whitman. Well, it’s hard for me. I’ve spent four
> 
> years studying American literature, and it’s hard to look at anything
> 
> post-Whitman without thinking of him. Emerson called for an American
> 
> poet, and Whitman answered, and then defined the criteria for future
> 
> American poets. The American poet would be knowledgeable of books, but
> 
> experienced in the life and nature of the continent. He (or she) would
> 
> celebrate the grassroots of the New World and embrace the people and
> 
> geography."
> 
> 
> 
> http://www.beatdom.com/?p=501

The book by David Dalton I've been reading draws the strong connection, as well. As Dalton writes at one point:

http://tinyurl.com/bzn3qxz

"Central City... Look at Whitman's Song of the Open Road, Guthrie's Hard Travelin', Wolfe's Look Homeward, Angel, Kerouac's On the Road, Richard Hell's Go Now. Tarantula began [...] It’s the old Walt Whitman, three-card monte trick.  You know, I first learned about all this from Wiggle Foot, least that’s what I think his name was, or maybe it happened when I was working in the great north woods, or as a cook for a spell, or was it when I was down in Peru in that circus they got there." -David Dalton

Wound Tight

Press my hands
she's flat on her back.
Kiss the face
space open wide.
Stars sparkle
on these bearded lips.

-Will Dockery (via Walt Whitman)

"Hieronymous707" <hieronymous707@gmail.com> wrote in message
news:5606cab1-7ce9-4833-9fba-c29bc4d8cc61@googlegroups.com...
1

An old man bending I come among new faces,
Years looking backward resuming in answer to children,
Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love me,
(Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war,
But soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead;)
Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances,
Of unsurpass'd heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;)
Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth,
Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us?
What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,
Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest remains?

2

O maidens and young men I love and that love me,
What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls,
Soldier alert I arrive after a long march cover'd with sweat and dust,
In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of
successful charge,
Enter the captur'd works�yet lo, like a swift running river they fade,
Pass and are gone they fade�I dwell not on soldiers' perils or soldiers'
joys,
(Both I remember well�many of the hardships, few the joys, yet I was
content.)

But in silence, in dreams' projections,
While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,
So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand,
With hinged knees returning I enter the doors, (while for you up there,
Whoever you are, follow without noise and be of strong heart.)

Bearing the bandages, water and sponge,
Straight and swift to my wounded I go,
Where they lie on the ground after the battle brought in,
Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground,
Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof'd hospital,
To the long rows of cots up and down each side I return,
To each and all one after another I draw near, not one do I miss,
An attendant follows holding a tray, he carries a refuse pail,
Soon to be fill'd with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and fill'd again.

I onward go, I stop,
With hinged knees and steady hand to dress wounds,
I am firm with each, the pangs are sharp yet unavoidable,
One turns to me his appealing eyes�poor boy! I never knew you,
Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would
save you.

3

On, on I go, (open doors of time! open hospital doors!)
The crush'd head I dress, (poor crazed hand tear not the bandage away,)
The neck of the cavalry-man with the bullet through and through I examine,
Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles
hard,
(Come sweet death! be persuaded O beautiful death!
In mercy come quickly.)

From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,
I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood,
Back on his pillow the soldier bends with curv'd neck and side falling head,
His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody
stump,
And has not yet look'd on it.

I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep,
But a day or two more, for see the frame all wasted and sinking,
And the yellow-blue countenance see.

I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet-wound,
Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so
offensive,
While the attendant stands behind aside me holding the tray and pail.

I am faithful, I do not give out,
The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,
These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my breast a fire, a
burning flame.)

4

Thus in silence in dreams' projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals,
The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night, some are so young,
Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad,
(Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested,
Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

*** Saved to my Drafts for whatever reason... a good read of Proto-Beat
poetry.

--
Will Dockery & Friends" at Hogbottom:
http://youtu.be/EBpnUOepRZg

On Sunday, November 11, 2012 at 12:55:35 PM UTC-5, "Hieronymous707" <hierony...@gmail.com> wrote in message 
> news:5606cab1-7ce9-4833...@googlegroups.com... 
> 1 
> 
> An old man bending I come among new faces, 
> Years looking backward resuming in answer to children, 
> Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love me, 
> (Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war, 
> But soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd myself, 
> To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead;) 
> Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances, 
> Of unsurpass'd heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;) 
> Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth, 
> Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us? 
> What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics, 
> Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest remains? 
> 
> 2 
> 
> O maidens and young men I love and that love me, 
> What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls, 
> Soldier alert I arrive after a long march cover'd with sweat and dust, 
> In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of 
> successful charge, 
> Enter the captur'd works—yet lo, like a swift running river they fade, 
> Pass and are gone they fade—I dwell not on soldiers' perils or soldiers' 
> joys, 
> (Both I remember well—many of the hardships, few the joys, yet I was 
> content.) 
> 
> But in silence, in dreams' projections, 
> While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on, 
> So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand, 
> With hinged knees returning I enter the doors, (while for you up there, 
> Whoever you are, follow without noise and be of strong heart.) 
> 
> Bearing the bandages, water and sponge, 
> Straight and swift to my wounded I go, 
> Where they lie on the ground after the battle brought in, 
> Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground, 
> Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof'd hospital, 
> To the long rows of cots up and down each side I return, 
> To each and all one after another I draw near, not one do I miss, 
> An attendant follows holding a tray, he carries a refuse pail, 
> Soon to be fill'd with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and fill'd again. 
> 
> I onward go, I stop, 
> With hinged knees and steady hand to dress wounds, 
> I am firm with each, the pangs are sharp yet unavoidable, 
> One turns to me his appealing eyes—poor boy! I never knew you, 
> Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would 
> save you. 
> 
> 3 
> 
> On, on I go, (open doors of time! open hospital doors!) 
> The crush'd head I dress, (poor crazed hand tear not the bandage away,) 
> The neck of the cavalry-man with the bullet through and through I examine, 
> Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles 
> hard, 
> (Come sweet death! be persuaded O beautiful death! 
> In mercy come quickly.) 
> 
> From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand, 
> I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood, 
> Back on his pillow the soldier bends with curv'd neck and side falling head, 
> His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody 
> stump, 
> And has not yet look'd on it. 
> 
> I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep, 
> But a day or two more, for see the frame all wasted and sinking, 
> And the yellow-blue countenance see. 
> 
> I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet-wound, 
> Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so 
> offensive, 
> While the attendant stands behind aside me holding the tray and pail. 
> 
> I am faithful, I do not give out, 
> The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen, 
> These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my breast a fire, a 
> burning flame.) 
> 
> 4 
> 
> Thus in silence in dreams' projections, 
> Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals, 
> The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand, 
> I sit by the restless all the dark night, some are so young, 
> Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad, 
> (Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested, 
> Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.) 
> 
> ***Excellent poem, really illuminates the horrors of war, in particular 
> those in grim days of the past.

Quite excellent indeed...