Vestiges (ballade) Revision 4

[RC James]

In woods around my home in fall,
pre-dawn haze concealed dark men
behind broad trees, a blue-grey pall. 
Five in faint light, to me, were ten.
They stood frozen in a wayward dream.
Spooked horses whimpered all in vain,
while ghosts of Chickamauga screamed.
Dim vestiges alone remain.

The curve of her soft back, recalled,
sustains the husband on his march,
reduced now to a staggered crawl.
At rest feels her on the larch,
then rises in a shaky reel.
November’s cold, relentless rain
restores the deadly grim ordeal.
Dim vestiges alone remain.

Stiff bodies lie from cannons’ sprawl.
Loss conquers gains in victory.
In fields of wheat, men stand in thrall
and those from both sides clearly see,
like those at home might too, bereaved, 
the mute avowal of the slain.
Dead surmount dead, the country cleaved.
Dim vestiges alone remain.


Co-mingled soldiers’ blood revives
ground whose wheat will shine gold, inflamed;
plowed, no trace of so many lives,
dim vestiges alone remain. 

In woods around my home in fall,
broad trees concealed among brown leaves
at pre-dawn, dark men, frozen all
like blue and grey clad shady thieves
behind the trees; a wayward dream. 
Spooked horses whimper in great pain,
as ghosts of Chickamauga scream,
these vestiges alone remain.

The curve of her soft back recalled, 
sustains the husband on his march,
reduced now to a staggered crawl.
At rest, he feels her on the larch, 
then rises in a shaky reel;

November’s cold relentless rain

restores the bloody, grim ordeal,
These vestiges alone remain

 

Cold bodies lie from cannons’ sprawl,

loss overwhelms all victory. 
In fields of wheat men stand in thrall

and those from both sides clearly see;
like those at home might too, bereaved,

a mute avowal of the slain.

The dead surmount dead; country cleaved

these vestiges alone remain

Co-mingled soldiers’ blood conceives     
ground plowed come early spring; inflamed,  
waves gold in sunlight shine, relieved, 
these vestiges alone remain.





In woods around my home in fall,
broad trees concealed within brown leaves
at pre-dawn, dark men, frozen all,
like blue and grey clad dusky thieves
behind the trees; a wayward dream. 
Spooked horses whimper all in vain,
as ghosts of Chickamauga scream,
dim vestiges alone remain.

The curve of her soft back recalled, 
sustains the husband on his march,
reduced now to a staggered crawl.
At rest  feels her on the larch, 
then rises in a shaky reel;
November’s relentless rain
restores the bloody, grim ordeal,
dim vestiges alone remain
 
Cold bodies lie from cannons’ sprawl,
loss conquers gains in victory. 
In fields of wheat men stand in thrall
and those from both sides clearly see;
like those at home might too, bereaved,
mute avowal of the slain.
The dead surmount dead; country cleaved
dim vestiges alone remain

Co-mingled soldiers’ blood conceives     
ground plowed come early spring; inflamed,  
waves gold in sunlight shine, relieved, 
dim vestiges alone remain.





In woods around my home in fall,
gaunt trees concealed among brown leaves
at pre-dawn, dark men, frozen all
are blue and grey clad shady thieves
behind tree trunks; a wayward dream.
Spooked horses stomp in agony
as ghosts of Chicamauga scream,
all vestiges of memory.

The curve of his wife’s back recalled,
sustains the husband on his march,
reduced now to a staggered crawl.
Resting, feels her against the larch,
then rises in a shaky reel;
november’s quick-frost, shivery,
brings back to him the blood ordeal,
all vestiges of memory.

Cold bodies lie by cannon’s sprawl;
loss overwhelms what gains there be.
In fields of wheat are men in thrall
and those from both sides clearly see;
like those at home might too, bereaved,
a victory of misery.
Dead overrun dead, country cleaved,
all vestiges of memory.

Co-mingled soldiers’ blood conceives
ground to be plowed come spring; wispy,
waves gold in the calm, shine, relieved,
all vestiges of memory.







(original)
In woods around my home in fall,
through trees, concealed among brown leaves
in pre-dawn, dark men frozen all
in blue and grey like shady thieves
behind tree trunks, seem like stray dreams.
Spooked horses stomp in agony
as ghosts of Chicamauga scream,
all vestiges of memory.

The curve of his wife’s back recalled,
sustains the husband on his march,
reduced now to a staggered crawl.
At rest, he feels her ‘gainst the larch,
then rises in a shaky reel;
november’s quick-frost, shivery,
brings back to him the blood ordeal,
all vestiges of memory.

The bodies lie by cannon’s sprawl;
loss overwhelms gain, all agree.
In wheat fields filled with men in thrall
all those from both sides clearly see,
as those at home do, full bereaved,
no end to mis’ry’s victory.
Dead overrun dead, country cleaved,
All vestiges of memory.

Co-mingled soldiers’ blood conceives
ground to be plowed come spring; wispy,
waves gold in the calm, shine, relieved,
all vestiges of memory.

[Achebe]

I loved this line

The curve of his wife’s back recalled,

will return to critique it later at length. Different, nice, interesting.

[Achebe]

In woods around my home in fall,
through trees, concealed among brown leaves
in pre-dawn, dark men frozen all
in blue and grey like shady thieves .....brown leaves in the fall, and the colors of the uniforms. Rich visual images. I can almost see them standing through the trees. However, 'shady' comes across as a little inappropriate. The pun sounds a little whimsical and out of place to me here.
behind tree trunks, seem like stray dreams. ...a simile should present a clear, striking image which I'm not sure 'stray dream' does
Spooked horses stomp in agony ..nice
as ghosts of Chicamauga scream,
all vestiges of memory.

The curve of his wife’s back recalled, ... this works on many levels for me. The curves of the hills of the Appalachians as seen by the marching soldier would also recall his wife's back, for instance. However, I also read this as a jump to a different image from that of 'shady' soldiers in the woods at the back of your house.
sustains the husband on his march,
reduced now to a staggered crawl.
At rest, he feels her ‘gainst the larch, ..I'm not a huge fan of cutting out syllables to fit the metre
then rises in a shaky reel;
november’s quick-frost, shivery,
brings back to him the blood ordeal,
all vestiges of memory. ....for a soldier recently back from war (american civil or any other), I don't think any part of it would be a 'vestige'. The description in this and the next stanza also suggest against it.

The bodies lie by cannon’s sprawl;
loss overwhelms gain, all agree.
In wheat fields filled with men in thrall
all those from both sides clearly see,
as those at home do, full bereaved,
no end to mis’ry’s victory. ..ugh. Didn't this sort of writing go out of fashion at the same time as wigs?
Dead overrun dead, country cleaved,
All vestiges of memory. 

Co-mingled soldiers’ blood conceives
ground to be plowed come spring; wispy,
waves gold in the calm, shine, relieved,
all vestiges of memory.

RC - I think to make the refrain work, you need to have, towards the end of every stanza, a jump back to the peace and quiet of the present day woods at the back of your house. Otherwise, they aren't really 'vestiges' that you're talking about in S2 and S3.

[RC James]

Achebe - Thank you for your input on this, I made some changes. The refrain is not meant to be in the mind or voice of the soldiers, but as a general thematic phrase, a narrative refrain. RC

[Achebe]

RC - commenting on this a bit late in the day. The edit reads well, but you might reconsider 'gaunt'. The original 'through' was neutral and therefore better. The adjective doesn't do anything for the line.

[RC James]

I tried to straighten out the meter and rhyme on this. RC

[D.Russo]

In woods around my home in fall,
broad trees concealed among brown leaves*
at pre-dawn, dark men, frozen all
are blue and grey clad shady thieves
behind the trees; a wayward dream.
Spooked horses whimper in great pain,**
as ghosts of Chicamauga scream***,
these vestiges alone remain.

The curve of her soft back recalled,
sustains the husband on his march,
reduced now to a staggered crawl.
At rest feels her on the larch,
then rises in a shaky reel;

November’s relentless rain
restores the bloody, grim ordeal,
These vestiges alone remain ****

Cold bodies lie from cannons’ sprawl,
loss overwhelms all victory.*****
In fields of wheat men stand in thrall
and those from both sides clearly see;
like those at home might too, bereaved,
mute avowal of the slain.
The dead surmount dead; country cleaved
these vestiges alone remain

Co-mingled soldiers’ blood conceives
ground plowed come early spring; inflamed,
waves gold in sunlight shine, relieved,
these vestiges alone remain.

*:I feel like "within" would be better suited than "among" if the trees are hidden behind the leaves and not having attention drawn away from them by nearby leaves. I don’t think the imagery is lost with this word choice though.

**:I am not totally sure why the Horses are in pain or if the selection is to force the rhyme. Maybe consider “Spooked horses whimper all in vain” as if their whimpering was meant as an alarm foretelling an attack.

***:Before reading this I was uneducated on what Chicamuaga was so I googled it to learn more and I believe it may be spelled Chickamauga.

****: I really liked this part. Fall rains tend to be much colder where I live, and tend to invoke that sort of sorrowful nostalgia and the horrors of the past that this poem seems to represent. The imagery compliments the story nicely in my opinion.

*****:I see that in your previous iterations of the piece you really wanted to draw a comparison between loss and gain, but edited it out for efficacy. If you wanted to take that approach still you could try, “loss conquers gains in victory.”

[RC James]

D. - Those are very helpful suggestions. I especially like the turn on "loss conquers gains in victory," exactly what I was after.  

And: "Spooked horses whimper all in vain," again more clearly the right image.  

Thanks very much, RC

[RC James]

Yet again, another revision, I think the opening stanza is clearer. R

Font size reduced itself and the form of the poem is not what I wrote but you get the idea.