Break Of The Day In The Trenches
Isaac Rosenberg

Aujourd’hui nous partageons le poème Break of Day In The Trenches par Isaac Rosenberg. Écrit tout en servant au front, la poésie de Rosenberg était, et est toujours, considérée comme une des meilleures de la Première Guerre Mondiale.  Malheuresement, Rosenberg serait tuée au nord-est d’Arras le 1 avril 1918 durant l’offensive du Printemps.

Isaac Rosenberg, septembre 1917.
Crédit: IWM – Q 9348

Break of Day in the Trenches
-Isaac Rosenberg

The darkness crumbles away.
It is the same old druid
Time as ever,
Only a live thing leaps my hand,
A queer sardonic rat,
As I pull the parapet’ s poppy
To stick behind my ear.
Droll rat, they would shoot you if they knew
Your cosmopolitan sympathies.
Now you have touched this English hand
You will do the same to a German
Soon, no doubt, if it be your pleasure
To cross the sleeping green between.
It seems you inwardly grin as you pass
Strong eyes, fine limbs, haughty athletes,
Less chanced than you for life,
Bonds to the whims of murder,
Sprawled in the bowels of the earth,
The torn fields of France.
What do you see in our eyes
At the shrieking iron and flame
Hurled through still heavens?
What quaver—what heart aghast?
Poppies whose roots are in man’ s veins
Drop, and are ever dropping;
But mine in my ear is safe—
Just a little white with the dust.
(Comme il est apparu dans Poetry – A Magazine of Verse, Vol. IX, No. III, numéro de décembre 1916)