War Film

The Unthanks

Originale

Il testo completo della poesia di Teresa Hooley

WAR FILM When the day was done, My little son Wondered at bath-time why I kissed him so, Naked upon my knee. How could he know The sudden terror that affronted me?... The body I had borne Nine moons beneath my heart, A part of me… If, someday, It should be taken away To War. Tortured. Torn. Slain. Rotting in No Man's Land, out in the rain— My little son… Rotting in No Man's Land, out in the rain— My little son… Yet all those men had mothers, every one. Yet all those men had mothers, every one. How should he know Why I kissed and kissed and kissed him, crooning his name? He thought that I was daft. He thought it was a game, And laughed, and laughed.

A WAR FILM I saw, With a catch of the breath and the heart's uplifting, Sorrow and pride, The 'week's great draw'— The Mons Retreat; The 'Old Contemptibles' who fought and died, The horror and the anguish and the glory. As in a dream, Still hearing the machine-guns rattle and shells scream, I came out into the street. When the day was done, My little son Wondered at bath-time why I kissed him so, Naked upon my knee. How could he know The sudden terror that assaulted me?... The body I had borne Nine moons beneath my heart, A part of me… If, someday, It should be taken away To War. Tortured. Torn. Slain. Rotting in No Man's Land, out in the rain— My little son… Yet all those men had mothers, every one. How should he know Why I kissed and kissed and kissed him, crooning his name? He thought that I was daft. He thought it was a game, And laughed, and laughed.