Just a gentle reminder that April is National Poetry Month.

While I know you expected me to find another excuse to trot out my sweet sardonic Mr Eliot, in fact the old Chicken is feeling a little more sentimental tonight. Maybe it's the grey skies that have contributed to a coating of fuzzy melancholia which makes me susceptible to flowery verse. Regardless of influence, I found myself perusing an old volume of Rupert Brooke poetry, he of the "The Soldier" fame. He was an admired poet in his time (aided in no small part by his dashing good looks) and a mythical Byron-esque romantic figure. Alas, he died in his prime during World War I (though unromantically, he died of septic pneumonia from a mosquito bite and not on the field of battle, but let's not labor that point). He was, however, buried in Greece and well, that's sort of romantic.

He left a cache of ethereal works, some of it influenced by the drama of the Great War and the strong feeling of nationalism in Britain in its wake. A particular favorite of mine from that time is "The Call". It was published posthumously in 1916. Enjoy.


Out of the nothingness of sleep,
The slow dreams of Eternity,
There was a thunder on the deep:
I came, because you called to me.

I broke the Night’s primeval bars,
I dared the old abysmal curse,
And flashed through ranks of frightened stars
Suddenly on the universe!

The eternal silences were broken;
Hell became Heaven as I passed.—
What shall I give you as a token,
A sign that we have met, at last?

I’ll break and forge the stars anew,
Shatter the heavens with a song;
Immortal in my love for you,
Because I love you, very strong.

Your mouth shall mock the old and wise,
Your laugh shall fill the world with flame,
I’ll write upon the shrinking skies
The scarlet splendour of your name,

Till Heaven cracks, and Hell thereunder
Dies in her ultimate mad fire,
And darkness falls, with scornful thunder,
On dreams of men and men’s desire.

Then only in the empty spaces,
Death, walking very silently,
Shall fear the glory of our faces
Through all the dark infinity.

So, clothed about with perfect love,
The eternal end shall find us one,
Alone above the Night, above
The dust of the dead gods, alone.