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The poem describes an amphibious military landing, possibly depicting the Normans invading England in 1066. It discusses the planning that went into the invasion to take advantage of weather conditions like high tides. The arrival of the invasion fleet is heralded by the firing of signal guns. Small boats carry troops through the surf to land on the beachhead, while larger ships provide support. Though the invasion forces face danger, their precise coordination and training allow them to successfully gain a foothold in enemy territory through the efforts of individual soldiers. The aftermath of the battle is collected by those who tend to the dead.
The poem describes an amphibious military landing, possibly depicting the Normans invading England in 1066. It discusses the planning that went into the invasion to take advantage of weather conditions like high tides. The arrival of the invasion fleet is heralded by the firing of signal guns. Small boats carry troops through the surf to land on the beachhead, while larger ships provide support. Though the invasion forces face danger, their precise coordination and training allow them to successfully gain a foothold in enemy territory through the efforts of individual soldiers. The aftermath of the battle is collected by those who tend to the dead.
The poem describes an amphibious military landing, possibly depicting the Normans invading England in 1066. It discusses the planning that went into the invasion to take advantage of weather conditions like high tides. The arrival of the invasion fleet is heralded by the firing of signal guns. Small boats carry troops through the surf to land on the beachhead, while larger ships provide support. Though the invasion forces face danger, their precise coordination and training allow them to successfully gain a foothold in enemy territory through the efforts of individual soldiers. The aftermath of the battle is collected by those who tend to the dead.
could not be this. Not, certainly, the hove of an invasion fleet from Angleterre, flotilla wrought of shipwright, chandler, armorer as if Ice Age breeding stocks were on the move. The Planners had their weather oracles, haruspices their entrails. All divined the red planet aligned, full-moon visibility, high tides to clear the beachhead obstaclesbut iffy weather. Gulls glean the wakes. Something of a factory diesel and air and the Jersey spirit spark of the hydrocarbon Gloriana makes ungainly way in the valleys of the swells. The shore emerges quaquaversally. A Very pistol throats the air. Battlewagons wheel for the presentation of the agon. Shades of sherry fill the clouds with light. Mike boats enter surfs unscrolling rolls. Empty jaws agape, the gods take note. The odors of the offering, so rich they start saliva flowing, must be painful for the gods: not preamble for the meal, the meal itself. Famished they try to gorge the oily cooking smoke. Amphibious landings to prevail require the triumph of the small; circle in circle perfected on parade grounds of the soul.
Committing an empire to the fire
calls for just-in-time ferocity. They eat the savage honey. The boys pound sand. Green eyes gammoning they all pound sand until for the battle there was nothing left that day but what the carrion patrols collect for Paternosterers to sacristy. Theyre strong, these Irish penny whistle songs. Just the one wild tone working alone the registers, trying the proper sound for sorrow. Ours for theirs, theirs for theirs, ours for ours. So many shouldering forward, enjambed now cross the Styx with the ease of smoke passing through a window screen ... depart the shapes of things continuing for shapes supercooled to the stillness of mortmain. The business of the flag is never done. It fills in the wind and fails, but never the same akimbo twice. Each snap a fresh report from acres of tended lawn rankled by crosses perfectly plumb.