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	<title>The Berlin Review of Books &#187; Poetry</title>
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	<link>http://berlinbooks.org/brb</link>
	<description>A magazine of ideas and culture</description>
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		<title>The Tragedy of Afghanistan</title>
		<link>http://berlinbooks.org/brb/2010/01/the-tragedy-of-afghanistan/</link>
		<comments>http://berlinbooks.org/brb/2010/01/the-tragedy-of-afghanistan/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 27 Jan 2010 17:47:21 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA["Those who should hear, they’ll hear nevermore / Destroyed, dispersed is the proud host of yore / With thirteen thousand their trail they began. / Only one man returned from Afghanistan." On the eve of the 2010 Afghanistan conference in London, The Berlin Review of Books publishes a new English translation, by Gabriele Campbell, of Theodor Fontane's poem 'Das Trauerspiel von Afghanistan'. First published in 1848, it tells the story of the sole survivor of a massacre suffered by the British during the First Anglo-Afghan War (1839-1842) in January 1842.]]></description>
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<p><strong><a href="http://berlinbooks.org/brb/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/RemnantsOfAnArmy.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-235" style="margin-left: 120px; margin-right: 120px;" title="RemnantsOfAnArmy" src="http://berlinbooks.org/brb/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/RemnantsOfAnArmy.jpg" alt="" width="512" height="293" /></a></strong></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px; text-align: center;"><strong>By Theodor Fontane</strong></p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">Snow like powder from the sky softly falls,<br />
When before Djelalabad a rider halts.<br />
“Who’s there” – “A cavalrist from Britain’s army<br />
A message from Afghanistan I carry.” </p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">Afghanistan. So weakly he’d said.<br />
Half the town around him had met;<br />
The British commander, Sir Robert Sale,<br />
Helped to dismount the man whose face was so pale. </p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">Into a guard-house they guided him<br />
And made him sit at the fire’s brim;<br />
How warm was the fire, how bright was its shine,<br />
He takes a deep breath, and begins to explain. </p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">“Thirteen thousand men we had been,<br />
When our outset from Kabul was seen –<br />
Now soldiers, leaders, women and bairn<br />
They are betrayed, and frozen and slain. </p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">“Dispersed is the entire host,<br />
Who is alive, in the darkness is lost.<br />
A God to me salvation has sent –<br />
To save the rest you may make an attempt.” </p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">Sir Robert ascends the castle wall,<br />
And soldiers and officers follow him all,<br />
Sir Robert speaks: “How dense the snow falls,<br />
How hard they may seek, they’ll never see the walls. </p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">“Like blindfold they’ll err and yet are so near,<br />
The way to their safety, now let it them <em>hear</em>,<br />
Play songs of old, of the homeland so bright;<br />
Bugler, let thy tune carry far in the night.” </p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">And they played and sang, and time passed by,<br />
Song over song through the night they let fly,<br />
The songs of their home so far and so dear,<br />
And old Highland laments so mournful to hear. </p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">They played all night and the following day,<br />
They played like only love made them play;<br />
The songs were still heard, but darkness did fall.<br />
In vain is your watch, in vain is your call. </p>
<p style="padding-left: 240px; text-align: left;">Those who should hear, they’ll hear nevermore,<br />
Destroyed, dispersed is the proud host of yore;<br />
With thirteen thousand their trail they began.<br />
Only <em>one</em> man returned from Afghanistan. </p>
<p style="padding-left: 120px; text-align: right;"><em>Translation by Gabriele Campbell, 2010;<br />
All rights reserved.</em> </p>
<p style="padding-left: 120px; text-align: left;"> </p>
<p><em><strong>Theodor Fontane (1819-1898)</strong> is widely regarded as the first master of modern realistic fiction in Germany. The present poem, </em>Das Trauerspiel von Afghanistan, <em>was written in 1847/8 and refers to the massacre of Elphinstone&#8217;s army, suffered by the British in January 1842, during the First Anglo-Afghan War (1839-1842). The return of the sole survivor, William Brydon, an assistant surgeon, is also depicted in the above painting,</em> The Remnants of an Army (1879),<em> by Elizabeth Thompson (photo: Wikimedia Commons).</em></p>
<p><em><strong>Gabriele Campbell</strong> has an MA in Literature, Scandinavian Studies, Linguistics and History, and is a writer of historical fiction and an occasional translator of poetry. She blogs at <a href="http://lostfort.blogspot.com/">The Lost Fort</a>.</em></p>
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