Why is everything wrong? All is just as it was: Same light streaming into the chapel, Same trees, sounds of birdsong, insects that buzz, But he has not returned from the battle. Now I still canít work out who was wrong, who was right When weíd argue, contend - how heíd prattle! But I think of him now - it just brings delight Now that heís not returned from the battle. He was awkward at times, he lacked all respect, Sometimes heíd laugh like a jackal, Always late up at night, playing cards while I slept, He hasnít returned from the battle. But thatís not what I miss - itís not that at all: Like playing football when no oneís to tackle, Like all of a sudden thereís only a ball Now that heís not returned from the battle. Now broken, as if from captivity, spring - I call him, my voice all a crackle - Could you roll me a smoke? - My empty words ring: For he did not return from the battle. In an upside down world that the living forsake Our fallen now stand sentry for us. The blue in the forest seeps out from the lake The boundaries ever more porous In the quiet of a foxhole, the sound of a bell While round us the shellfire did rattle. He gave up the ghost - where heís gone none can tell But Iím still here fighting his battle.
© Tommy Beavitt. Translation, ?
© Tommy Beavitt. Performance, 2014