One of the reflections deeper than I have become in this stage of my life, is to try to understand the feelings of the man who goes to the war.
Desperation and anxiety to enter a battle as well? Natural value by the simple fact to be men? Disdain by the death then is no alternative some? The list of reflections seems interminable.
Nevertheless, from my perspective of woman whom never before will see front a prepared enemy blind my life I to him, I offer this poem of the famous James Joyce, an Irish novelist and poet, considered to be one of the most influential writers in the modernist avant-garde of the early 20th century, in which reflects with masters the frustration that undergoes a man who is immersed in the worse nightmare of his life.
(Statue of James Joyce on North Earl Street, Dublin)
I Hear an Army
I hear an army charging upon the land,
And the thunder of horses plunging; foam about their knees:
Arrogant, in black armour,behind them stand,
Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the Charioteers.
They cry into the night their battle name:
I moan in sleep when I hear afar their whirling laughter.
They cleave the gloom of dreams, a blinding flame,
Clanging, clanging upon the heart as upon an anvil.
They come shaking in triumph their long grey hair:
They come out of the sea and run shouting by the shore.
My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair?
My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone?