Today I Start My Twenty-Second Year

(In December 1936, English poet John Cornford
was killed in combat near Lopera, during the 
Spanish Civil War.  It was the day after his
twenty-first birthday.  Could this be the poem
he was formulating in his last hours?) 

They switched from cubes to cylinders,
those knights of Calatrava,
when cannon chipped the corners off.
We’re still playing at that palaver.

I’m lying in a scratch-mark
(saying “trench” insults true trenches),
about to take Lopera,
mired in medieval stenches.

Sunlight’s livening turrets
on the ochre-amber castle,
and we’re about to murder
its “Fascist-lackey vassals”.

We glided through the olives
like viruses, infesting:
since no-one gave us shovels, we
scraped fox-holes with our mess tins.

Amusing, isn’t it, pondering
exactly what a fight is?
Do I help humanity by
contracting enteritis?

The whole thing seems to hover
between contrary poles:
by killing (or by dying)
do we achieve our goals?

I’d hoped to fire some shots, then go,
but war’s prolonged, extensive.
I can’t defend aggression, though
passivity’s offensive.

Lopera – is it Cordoba,
or is it part of Jaen?
We’re lads with rusty rifles,
but do we count as men?

And am I now a soldier,
or a Marxist doctrinaire?
Five turrets glow down on me,
three round, while two are square.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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March 7, 2017 at 1:29 AM
I am 21 too, this title hauled me in immediately... "Heart of the heartless world,// Dear heart, the thought of you// Is the pain at my side,// The shadow that chills my view//" This is a wonderful poem you wrote about him. Apart from the above quote from a well-known poem of his, I hardly knew anything about him until you invited me here to read into his life. The cruel and senseless wars... They will never stop, will they?
Coy Avatar
March 7, 2017 at 3:28 AM
You are absolutely, totally right about war. And of course, you know John Cornford. I thought the age thing might catch your attention ...
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