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 unto 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, green 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?
This is not only a poem but also a great work of freedom of thought in which james joyce stood for individual freedom always makes his opinion against war the real war that destructs the humanlife.
War a ugly thing being it is of the earthly or of the soul. Hatred core of all evil.
A great poem. The whole world has been under jackboots leaving behind 'sorrows and tears' (a la Fela Anikulapo Kuti, the great Nigerian musician)
LAST: as it becomes clear that what the reader is really witnessing is a picture of psychological distress. The reader learns that that this army is, in fact, the product of a terrible nightmare; the sleeping speaker 'moan[s]'.
In short, they're terrifyingly bizarre, like creatures sent from some mythological world sent to attack the speaker. The poem links this horror with the speaker's mental state
CONTINUED: 'foam' swirling about their horses' knees, their green—yes, green! —hair flowing in the wind. They scream 'their battle-name' (or battle cry) , conveying their bloodlust.
The speaker uses language and imagery that makes the soldiers seem inhuman, even supernatural (and thus all the more disconcerting) . They rise out of the sea,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I do love James Joyce, though I do confess to puzzlement at his prose and pleasure at the irony of his poetry's utter clarity.