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Sonnets from a prison camp

Chapter 115: II
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About This Book

A sequence of sonnets composed by a soldier in enemy captivity during the First World War, recording frontline violence, the suddenness of bombardment, marches and captures, the strain of waiting and the loss of comrades, and the solace found in memory and poetic labour. Many poems juxtapose immediate scenes—exploding shrapnel, crowded billets, marches, and internment camps—with reveries of homeland landscapes and classical or moral reflections. Sections move between field incidents, the nadir of imprisonment, thoughts of home and influences, and short epigrams or maxims, showing how verse acted as a mental bulwark against despair while exploring themes of fate, endurance, and the persistence of inner freedom.

II

I ponder on the form, and truth to tell,
’Twere scarcely to be deemed a sonnet chain
Which did not in its forged length contain
Some turn contemplative, where for a spell
The smith might lay his hammer by, to dwell
Upon the pattern, lest the octet strain
The content, or the sextet court in vain
A bigger thought than it can compass well.
And oft when to the varying interplay
Of partnered sounds I strive thought’s flower to train
Upon this trellis, the perplexing way
By lucky chance of rime lies sudden plain,
And I cry out with Agathon: τέχνη
τύχην ἔστερξε καὶ τύχη τέχνην.

Hesepe, 23rd June