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letra de the wound-dresser - john coolidge adams

bearing the bandages, water and sponge
straight and swift to my wounded i go
where they lie on the ground, after the battle brought in;
where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground;
or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof’d hospital;
to the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, i return;
to each and all, one after another, i draw near – not one do i miss;
an attendant follows, holding a tray – he carries a refuse pail
soon to be fill’d with clotted rags and blood, emptied and fill’d again

i onward go, i stop
with hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds;
i am firm with each – the pangs are sharp, yet unavoidable;
one turns to me his appealing eyes – (poor boy! i never knew you
yet i think i could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.)

on, on i go! – (open doors of time! open hospital doors!)
the crush’d head i dress, (poor crazed hand, tear not the bandage away;)
the neck of the cavalry-man, with the bullet through and through, i examine;
hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles hard;
(come, sweet death! be persuaded, o beautiful death!
in mercy come quickly.)

from the stump of the arm, the amputated hand
i undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood;
back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curv’d neck, and side-falling head;
his eyes are closed, his face is pale, (he dares not look on the bl–dy stump
and has not yet look’d on it.)
i dress a wound in the side, deep, deep;
but a day or two more – for see, the frame all wasted already, and sinking
and the yellow-blue countenance see

i dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet wound
cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive
while the attendant stands behind aside me, holding the tray and pail

i am faithful, i do not give out;
the fractur’d thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen
these and more i dress with impassive hand – (yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame.)

thus in silence, in dreams’ projections
returning, resuming, i thread my way through the hospitals;
the hurt and wounded i pacify with soothing hand
i sit by the restless all the dark night – some are so young;
some suffer so much – i recall the experience sweet and sad;
(many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested
many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

- john coolidge adams

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