Twenty

In Short

This volume is a collection of poetry written against the backdrop of the First World War. It functions as a lyrical diary of a woman who creates a "secret day" to survive the encroachment of a cruel, public reality. Through rhythmic, often melancholic verse, the author navigates the conflict between her inner, imaginative life—her "Secret Friend"—and the crushing, mundane demands of a society that prizes conformity. It has lasted because it articulates, with haunting precision, the experience of maintaining an internal, private sanctuary when the world outside is in flames.

The Story

The collection begins with a declaration of intent: the refusal to let the chaos of "this cruel age" erode the private magic of the individual spirit. The speaker establishes a fortress of the mind, a "Secret Day" built on the cliffs of the imagination, where the noise of the war and the demands of society cannot penetrate. This is not an act of ignorance, but of deliberate, defensive architecture.

As the poems progress, the speaker grapples with the inherent limitations of this retreat. She explores the "Orchard," a space where she attempts to preserve her youth and her sense of self, only to be reminded by the cold touch of reality that time moves forward regardless of her prayers. The narrative arc moves from this initial attempt at total insulation toward a more complex engagement with the outside world. She observes the "poor brown lives" of London, the Zeppelin raids, and the "Anti-Aircraft gunners," all while maintaining a ghostly, detached presence that refuses to be fully absorbed by the tragedy of the era.

The middle section shifts to the social landscape, examining the roles women are forced to play. She writes of the "Woman Alone," who finds ecstasy in isolation, and the two women who debate whether to play the "game that pays" or to wait for a future awakening. These poems act as a bridge between the speaker’s personal, interior struggle and her public identity. She recognizes that the promises of "War and Thunder and Romance" are true, yet they are delivered with a cruelty that leaves the young blinded and grasping for hands that are no longer there.

In the final movement, the speaker confronts the ultimate end: death and the "Newer Zion." She imagines her ghost returning to a beloved, burning London, mocking the officials who attempt to categorize her as a "militant civilian." The collection culminates in a confrontation with the "Philistine" and the realization that the only weapon available is the "fifth stone"—a magic stone forged from "fear and failure, lies and loss." The final poems transition from a desperate, lonely song to a moment of quiet recognition, where the singer hears the dawn-like notes of a future she may not live to inhabit, but which she now understands.

How It Unfolds

The fortification of the day The speaker constructs a private sanctuary, a "wall against To-morrow," to protect her joy from the encroaching shadows of a war-torn world. She anchors this retreat in sensory details—the scent of thyme, the sound of the sea, and the presence of a "Secret Friend"—creating a space where she can exist independently of societal decay.

The orchard of shifting time She attempts to freeze a moment of perfect peace within a literal and metaphorical orchard, praying for the sun to stand still. The intrusion of a "cold hand" upon her shoulder serves as the inevitable reminder that mortality cannot be bargained with, forcing her to acknowledge that she is a "minute older."

The dance of the ghosts The focus shifts to the mass casualties of the war, as the speaker imagines the return of "a million ghosts" to their homes. She envisions a reunion between the dead and their past lives, transforming the landscape of war into a place of haunting, intimate memory.

The fifth stone The collection finds its philosophical core in a reimagining of the story of David and Goliath. The speaker discards traditional virtues—love, hate, knowledge, and prayer—as insufficient, ultimately choosing a "crookèd" stone of failure as her only reliable tool for slaying the giants of her age.

The final rehearsal In the concluding poems, the speaker accepts that she must sing even if the "great voices" of the world attempt to drown her out. She moves from a state of isolated defiance to a quiet, expectant peace, listening for the first notes of a new, dawning reality.

The People

The Speaker is the central, restless consciousness of the book. She is someone who feels acutely the "middle-aged ideas" of a society she finds abhorrent, and she spends her time building elaborate mental defenses to remain "young" and authentic. She is often seen as a "militant civilian," a title she embraces with a mix of irony and pride, signaling her refusal to be a passive victim of the era’s violence.

The Secret Friend appears as the speaker’s silent, constant companion. This figure represents the part of the soul that refuses to be socialized, the internal witness that observes the "restless birds" and the "swinging stars" while the rest of the world is busy with politics and wars.

David emerges in the collection’s final act as an archetype of the individual. His mother, who provides him with the "five smooth stones," acts as a mentor of necessity. She does not give him weapons of strength, but weapons of "grief and dreadful laughter," preparing him for a world where triumph is found only through the acceptance of one’s own cracks and failures.

In Its Own Voice

The speaker reflects on the futility of using language to capture the essence of a dream, noting how the rigidity of expression can stifle the very thing it seeks to describe.

Yet words do lie in wait to seize And murder them.

The speaker addresses the burden placed upon the next generation, offering advice that is as much a warning against the dangers of hope as it is a guide for survival.

Seek not the best, the best is better hidden. Thus need you have no fear, No terrible delight Shall cross your path, my dear.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is an inquiry into the cost of integrity in an era of totalizing conflict. It asks whether it is possible to remain "awake" and "young" when the world demands that one become hard, cynical, and conformist. The speaker treats the imagination not as an escape, but as a discipline—a way of mapping a "Zion" of the soul that is impervious to the "red thunders" of reality. It explores the tension between being a vessel for a "Secret Friend" and being a participant in a society that offers only "vulgar love and speech." Ultimately, it argues that the only true victory lies in the deliberate, painful cultivation of one's own internal truth.

Why Read It Today

This collection is for the reader who values the quiet, stubborn persistence of the individual spirit against the roar of the crowd. It feels like an intimate conversation held in a room where the windows are rattling from the tremors of a passing storm. The prose-poetry is sharp, brittle, and deeply sincere, devoid of the sentimentality one might expect from war-era verse.

However, the reader should be prepared for a certain level of period-specific fatalism. The speaker’s repeated insistence on her own "secret" world can sometimes feel like a barricade, and the references to the "Philistine" and the "middle-aged ideas" of the early 20th century reflect the specific, class-conscious rebellion of the author's youth. The language is elegant and precise, yet it carries the heavy, melancholic weight of a generation that felt itself to be the last of something—perhaps the last to believe in the possibility of a "fair day." What stays with you is the image of the "fifth stone": the realization that in the face of inevitable loss, our only real power is to embrace our own failures and, with an "upward chin," continue to sing our own songs.