Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

“Reminder to the Current President; For Lewis Cook” by Christopher Howell is an elegiac and pointed reflection on the sacrifice of soldiers and the narratives surrounding war. Through its solemn imagery and layered references, the poem challenges the platitudes often used to justify loss and examines the enduring grief that transcends official rhetoric.

The poem opens with an understated yet powerful line: “On an average afternoon men lay down rifles, leaning into heat from which a few will not rise again.” This line sets a stark scene, presenting the act of laying down arms not as an event marked by glory or heroism but as a mundane occurrence in the harsh environment of war. The phrase “from which a few will not rise again” underscores the quiet, relentless nature of death in conflict, an ever-present reality that seems almost casual in its repetition.

The explanation that follows, “‘It is because of shrapnel,’ we say. ‘It is because of hatred and ageless dispute and love of country, which we have learned,’” reflects the simplified reasons often given for war’s casualties. These reasons—“hatred,” “ageless dispute,” and “love of country”—are familiar, almost rote, suggesting the speaker’s awareness of their inadequacy. The use of “we have learned” hints at a deeper skepticism; these justifications are repeated but perhaps not fully believed or understood by those who utter them.

The poem juxtaposes the living and the dead, observing, “Though the cleanly young seem deathless as this language passes over them, neither the zip nor the sound of the plane nor the singing wakes them.” The “cleanly young” evokes the image of soldiers who appear untouched by death until they are suddenly claimed by it. This line highlights the detachment between the living’s perception and the irreversible stillness of those who have fallen. The sounds—the zip, the plane, the singing—suggest the sensory backdrop of war, where life continues but fails to revive the dead.

The speaker shifts the focus to those who wait: “On an average afternoon by the trimmed shores, pacing, waiting for news, the loved ones approach the exact moment which will not decode.” This line evokes the anguish of families at home, their world suspended in a moment that cannot be deciphered or relieved. The metaphor of a “projector runs on and on in a dark theater and the doors are locked” conjures the image of a relentless loop of waiting and not knowing. The theater becomes a space of helplessness, where time stretches indefinitely, trapping those who seek answers or closure.

The martial imagery intensifies: “A drum roll circles the drill field. Carbines sound once, twice, and again.” This detail suggests a funeral or military ceremony, reinforcing the solemnity of death and the rituals surrounding it. The question, “Who will cast dirt down into the cool rest of itself?” speaks to the act of burial and the finality it brings, while also emphasizing the stark emptiness of the grave: “a space so empty only the earth can fill it.” This emptiness symbolizes the void left by the deceased, one that no words or ceremonial gestures can truly fill.

The poem challenges the comfort of easy answers with, “Questions. We are advised to let them ride. We are advised that life continues.” This line acknowledges the platitudes often given to survivors: life goes on, grief will pass. But these reassurances ring hollow when faced with the enduring impact of loss. The poem’s assertion that “the mother will be given medals and a speech” reflects the impersonal and inadequate gestures made to honor the fallen. The medals and speeches, though intended as comfort, become symbolic of the futility of official recognition against the backdrop of personal grief.

Howell invokes a critical tone with the line, “‘God’s flag is our flag,’ it says in the handbooks. ‘Therefore, be comforted and clean of conscience: these deaths are part of a plan.’” This quote captures the intersection of nationalism, religion, and justification in war rhetoric, suggesting that loss is sanctified as part of a divine or patriotic scheme. The speaker’s repetition of such phrases emphasizes their emptiness and the moral ambiguity behind them.

The poem closes with an image of continued uncertainty and foreboding: “Meanwhile, the film is rewinding; and the sound of a plane sails the dimming heavens, far off, like a telegram on its way.” The image of the film rewinding suggests that the cycle of conflict and grief is ongoing, never truly resolved. The “plane” in the “dimming heavens” symbolizes both hope and impending news, reminiscent of a message that may bring confirmation of death. The reference to a “telegram,” an outdated yet potent symbol of wartime loss, underscores the distance and delay inherent in receiving the truth.

“Reminder to the Current President; For Lewis Cook” is a meditation on the personal and collective consequences of war. Through its vivid imagery and poignant reflections, Howell critiques the narratives that attempt to rationalize loss and urges a deeper recognition of the human cost. The poem resists the comfort of easy explanations, suggesting that true understanding remains elusive, locked away with the questions and grief left by those who sacrifice and those who wait.

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