Dead Man's Dump: Create Your Own Edition

Diplomatic Transcription

In the transcripts below we have tried to remain as faithful to what you will see as possible, this is termed a 'diplomatic' transcription. Some notation which you may not be familiar with.
 

• [..] indicates that something has been deleted
• \ .. / indicates that something has been inserted or written over an original text (a palimpsest)
• \...\ indicates a marginal insertion to the left, and /... / to the right
• // indicates a page break.e.g. 
• p[?]\a/in[?]\ed/ - means a letter 'p' followed by something crossed out which is unclear (hence the ?), over which an 'a' is written, followed again by an unclear deletion, over which 'ed' is inserted.

 Your task is to check through the transcription of the base manuscript, and tidy it up as you think would best suit your edition. You may want to alter the punctuation; you may want to remove any text which you think is superfluous to the poem itself. Once you have done this at the bottom of your edition you will need to record the variants in the other manuscripts (i.e. the two you have not chosen for your base text).

Example Edition

To illustrate how you would do this let us choose the first two lines of a nursery rhyme which hypothetically only survives in three manuscripts (X, Y, and Z)
 

Manuscript X
Mary had a little lamb
Its fleece was white as snow
Manuscript Y
Mary had a small lamb
Its fleece was white as ice
Manuscript Z
Mary hid a little lamb
Its fleece was white as ice

Let us assume that we have looked at all the manuscripts and concluded that MS X will be our base manuscript. We then need to collate the variants held in Y and Z. In theory our sample edition could look like:
 

Mary had a little lamb
Its fleece was white as snow
Variants: Line 1 - had] hid, MS Z; little] small, MS Y. Line 2 - snow] ice, MSS Y and Z.

To read this we could say 'Mary had a little lamb' is our accepted text but we have noticed the following variants: On line 1, the base manuscript has 'had' (indicated by being to the left of the ']') whilst Manuscript Z has 'hid'. Furthermore, on line 2 the base manuscript has 'snow' whilst both Y and Z have 'ice'.

In other words, we have the base text at the top of the page and we list the variants in the other manuscripts at the bottom. The system of noting variants via ']' is not set in stone, and many editors may employ a different practice. However, the important rules to note are:

Note all variants that you think are of significanceBe consistent with your notation schemeExplain your editorial method, e.g. 'The base manuscript is X.'

Variants from other witnesses are noted at the bottom of the page, with the word in the body text placed to the left of ']' and the variant(s) to the right.

ro Here ar The young dead. Earth has waited for them All the time of their growth Fretting for their decay Now she has them at last In the strength of their strength Suspended - _stopped - & held Now let the seasons know There are some less to feed them That winter need not hoard her snow Nor autumn her fruits & grain What fierce imaginings their dark      souls lit Earth! have they gone into you? Somewhere they must have gone And flung on your hard back pto // Is their soul's sack Their nostrils flame no more      at the hearts keen motion Where is that motion gone?

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DEAD MAN'S DUMP =============== The plunging limbers over the shattered track Racketted with their rusty freight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, And the rusty stakes like sceptres old, To stay the flood of brutish men Upon our brothers dear. The wheels lurched over sprawled dead But pain[s]\ed/ them not, though their bones crunch\ed/, The[y]\ir/ clenched mouths made no moan, They lie there huddled, friend and foeman, Man born of man, and born of woman, And shells go crying o[g]\v/er them From night till night and now. Earth has waited for them All thetime of their growth Fretting for their decay: Now [he]\she/ has them at last. In the strength of their strength, Suspended---stopped and held. Now let the seasons know There are some less|to feed of them That winter need not hoard her snow, Nor Autumn her fruits and green. What fierce imagin[?]\ings/ their dark souls lit Earth\!/ have they gone into you, Somewhere they must have gone And flung on your hard back Is their soul's sack Emptied of all that made it more than the world Who[?] hurled them out? Who hurled? None sa[?]\w/ their spirits shadow shake the grass, Or stood aside for the half used life to pass, Out of those doomed nostrils and the doomed mouth, When the swift [?]\i/ron burning bee Drained the wild honey of their youth. What of us, who flung on the shrieking pyre, Walk, our usual thoughts untou[?]\c/hed, Our luckky limbs as on ichor fed, Immortal seeming ever, Perhaps when the flames beat loud on us, A fear may choke in our veins And the startled blood may stop. The air is loud with death, The dark air spurts with fire, The explosions ceaseless are.          P.T.O. //          ([?]\C/ontinued) Maniac Earth\!/ howling and flying, your bowel S[?]\c/ared by the jagged fire, the iron love, The impetuous storm of savage love. Dark Earth, Dark heaven, swinging in chemic smoke. What dead are born when you kiss each soundless soul With lightning and thunder from your mined heart, Wh[?]\i/ch man's self dug, and hid blind fingers loosed. A man's brain splattered on, A stretcher bearer's face, His shook shoulders slipped its load, But when they bent to look again, The drowning soul was sunk too deep For human tenderness. They left this dead, with the older dead, Stretched at the cross roa[?]\d/s. Burnt black by strange decay Their sinister fac[x]es lie The lid over each eye, The grass and coloured clay, More motion have than they, Joined to the great sunk silences. Here is one not long dead, His dark hearing caught our far wheels, And the choked soul stretched weak hands, To reach the living word the far wheels said, The blood dazed intelligence beating [??????] for light, Crying through the suspense of the far to[?]\r/turing wheels, Swift for the end to break, Or the wheels to break, Cried as the tide of the world broke over his [sight]\brains/. Will they come? Will they ever come? Even as the mixed hoofs of the m[i]\u/les, The quivering b ellied m[i]\u/les, And the rushing wheels all mixed, With [????] his tortured upturned sight, So we crashed round the bend, We heard his weak scream, We heard his very last sou[d]\n/d, And our wheels grazed his dead face. =========================

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from Mrs Cohen DEAD MAN'S DUMP =============== The plung[?]\i/ng limbers over the shattered track Racketted with their rusty [?]\f/reight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, And the rusty stakes like sceptres old, To stay the flood of brutish men Upon our brothers dear. The wheels lurched over sprawled dead But p[?]\a/in[?]\ed/ them not, though their bones crunch\ed/, The[y]\ir/ clenched mouths made no moan, They lie their huddled, friend and foeman, Man born of man, and born of woman, And shells go crying o[g]\v/er them From night till night and now. Earth has waited for them, All thetime of their growth Fretting for their decay: Now [h]\s/he has them at last. In the strength of their strength, Suspended---stopped and held. Now let the seasons know There are some less|to feed of them That winter need not hoard her snow, Nor Autumn her fruits and green. What fierce imagin[g]\ings/ their dark souls lit Earth\!/ have they gone into you\?/ Somewhere they must have gone And flung on your hard back Is their souls sack, Emptied of all that made it more than the world In its small fleshy compass. Who[?] hurled them out? Who hurled? None sa[y]\w/ their spirits' shadow shake the grass, Or stood aside for the half used life to pass, Out of those doomed nostrils and the doomed mouth, When the swift iron burning bee Drained the wild honey of their youth. What of us, who flung on the shrieking pyre, Walk, our usual thoughts untou[h]\c/hed, Our lucky limbs as on ichor fed, Immortal seeming e[?]\v/er, Perhaps when the flames beat loud on us, A fear may choke in our veins And the startled blood may stop.          P.T.O. //          ([?]\C/ontinued) Maniac Earth\!/ howling and flying, your bowel S[?]\e/ared by the jagged fire, the iron love, The impet\u/ous storm of savage love. Dark Earth, Dark heaven, swinging in che\m/ic smoke, What dead are born when you kiss each soundless soul With lightning and thunder from your mined heart, Wh[?]\i/ch man's self dug, and hid blind fingers loosed. A man's brains splattered on, A stretcher-bearer's face, His shook shoulders slipped its load\,/ But when they bent to look again, The drowning soul was sunk too deep For human tenderness. They left this dead, with the older dead, Stretched at the cross roads. Burnt black by strange decay Their sinister fac[x]es lie The lid over each eye, The grass and coloured clay, More motion have than they, Joined to the great sunk silences. Here is one not long dead. His dark hearing caught our far wheels, And the choked soul stretched weak hands, To reach the living word the far wheels said, The blood-dazed intelligence beating [??????] for light, Crying through the suspense of the far to[?]\r/turing wheels, Swift for the end to break, Or the wheels to break, Cried as the tide of the world broke over his [sight] \brains/. Will they come? Will they ever come? Even as the mixed hoofs of the m[i]\u/les, The quivering-bellied m[i]\u/les, And the rushing wheels all mixed, With [????] his tortured upturned sight. So we crashed round the bend. We heard his weak scream, We heard his very last sou[d]\n/d, And our wheels grazed his dead face. =============================== =

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Dead mans dump The plunging limbers over the shattered track Racketted with their rusty freight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns,      And the rusty stakes like sceptres old To stay the flood of brutish men Upon our brothers dear: The wheels lurched over sprawled dead But pained them not, though their bones crunched, Their clenched mouths made no moan, They lie there huddled, friend and foeman! Man born of man, and born of woman, And shells go [fly]\cr/ying over them From night till night and now. Ear[h]\t/h has waited for them All the time of their growth Fretting for their decay: Now she has them at last! In the strength of their strength Suspended---stopped and held. [Now let the seasons know There are some less to f[?]\e/ed of them. That Winter need not hoard her snow, Nor Autumn her fruits and gr[ee]\ai/n.] What fierce imaginings their dark souls lit Earth! have they gone [u]\i/nto you? Somewhere they must have gone, And flung on your hard back Is their souls' sack, [Emptied of all that mde it more than the world In its small fleshly compass.] /Emptied of God-ancestralled essences./ Who hurled them out? Who hurled? None saw their spirits shadow shake the grass, Or stood aside for the half used life to pass[.] Out of those doomed nostrils and the doomed mouth, When the swift iron burning bee Drained the wild honey of their youth. What of us, who flung on the shrieking pyre, Walk, our usual thoughts untouched, Our lucky limbs as on ichor fed, Immortal seeming ever, Perhaps when the flames beat loud on us, A fear may choke in our veins And the startled blood may stop. The air is loud with death, The dark air spurts with fire The explosions ceaseless are, Timelessly now, [????]\some/ minutes pas[s]\t/, These dead strode time with vigorous life, Till the shrapnel called 'an end! But not to all. In bleeding pangs, Some borne on stretchers, dreamed of home, Dear things, war-blotted from their hearts. // Maniac Earth! howling & flying, your bowel Seared by the jagged fire, the iron love The impetuous storm of savage love. Dark Earth! dark heaven, swinging in chemic smoke What dead are born when you kiss each soundless soul With lightning and thunder from your mined heart, Which man's self dug, & his blind fingers loo[?]\s/ed. A man's brains splatte\r/d on A stretcher bearer's face, His shook shoulders slipped its load, But when they bent to look again, The [?]\d/rowning soul was sunk too deep For human tenderness. They left this dead withthe older dead, Stretched at the cross roads. Burnt black by strange decay, T[i]\h/eir sinister faces lie The lid over each eye, The grass and coloured clay More motion have than they, Joined to the great sunk silences. Here is one not long dead, His dark hearing caught our far wheels, And the choked soul stretched week hands, To reach the living word the far wheels said, The blood dazed intelligence beating for light, Crying through the suspense of the far torturing wheels, Swift for the end to break, Or the wheels to break Cried as the tide of the world broke over his sight. Will they come[!]\?/ Will they ever come? Even as the mixed hoofs of the mules, The quivering-bellied mules, And the rushing wheels all mixed, With his tortured upturned sight, So we crashed round the bend, We heard his weak scream, We heard his very last sound, And our wheels grazed his dead face.

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1 Dead mans dump. The plunging limbers over the shattered track Racketted with their rusty freight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, And the rusty stakes like sceptres old To stay the flood of brutish men Upon our brothers dear. The wheels lurched over sprawled dead But pained them not, though their bones crunched, Their [clenched]\shut\ mouths made no moan, They lie there huddled, friend and fo[r]\e/man: Man born of man, and born of woman, And shells go crying over them From night till night and now. Ear[??]\th/ has waited for them All the time of their growth Fretting for their decay: Now she has them at last! In the strength of their streng[?]\t/h Suspended-- stopped and held. [Now let the seasons know There are some less to f[?]\e/ed of them. That Winter need not hoard her snow, Nor Autumn her fruits and gr[ee]\ai/n. /ai/] What fierce imaginings their dark souls lit Earth! have they gone [u]\i/nto you[?]\!/ Somewhere they must have gone, And flung on your hard back Is their souls' sack, [Emp\t/ied of all that mde it more than the world In its small fleshly compass.] /Emptied of God ancestralled essences./ Who hurled them out? Who hurled? None saw their spirits shadow shake the grass, Or stood aside for the half used life to pass[.] Out of those doomed nostrils and the doomed mouth, When the swift iron burning bee Drained the wild honey of their youth. What of us, who flung on the shrieking pyre, Walk, our usual thoughts untouched, Our lucky limbs as on ichor fed, Immortal seeming ever, [?] Perhaps when the flames beat loud on us, A fear may choke in our veins And the startled blood may [d]\s/top. // 2 The air is loud with death, The dark air spu[?]\r/ts with fire The explosions ceaseless are, Timelessly now, some minutes past, These dead strode time with vigorous life, Till the shrapnel called 'an end!' But not to all. In bleeding pangs, Some borne on stretchers, dreamed of home, Dear things, war-blotted from their hearts. A man[!]\'/s brains splattered on A stretcher bearer's face; His shook shoulders slipped its load, But when they bent to look again, The drowning souldwas sunk too deep For human tenderness. They left this dead with the older dead, Stretched at the cross roads. Burnt black by strange decay, The[?]\i/r sinister faces lie The lid over each eye, The grass and coloured clay More motion have than they, Joined to the great sunk silences. Here is one not long dead; His dark hearing caught our far wheels, And the choked soul stretched weak hands To reach the living word the far wheels said, The blood dazed intelligence beating for light, Crying through the suspense of the far tort[o]uring wheels, Swift [g]\f/or the end to break, Or the wheels to break, Cried as the tide of the world broke over his sight. Will they come? Will they ever come? Even as the mixed hoofs of the mules, The quivering bellied mules, And the rushing wheels all mixed With his tortured upturned sight, So we crashed round the bend, We heard his weak scream, We heard his very last sound, And our wheels grazed his dead face. Isaac Rosenberg May 14.1917 B.E.F. France

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By I. Rosenberg Dead Man's Dump. The plunging limbers over the shattered track Racketted with their rusty freight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, And the rusty stakes like sceptres old To stay the flood of brutish men Upon our brothers dear. The wheels lurched over sprawled dead But pained them not, though their bones crunched; Their shut mouths made no moan. They lie there huddled, friend & foeman, Man born of man, & born of woman, And shells go crying over them From night till night and now. Earth has waited for them, All the time of their growth Fretting for their decay: Now she has them at last! In the strength of their strength Suspended - stopped and held. What fierce imaginings their dark souls lit Earth! have they gone into you? Somewhere they must have gone, And flung on your hard back Is their souls' sack, // Emptied of God-ancestralled essences. Who hurled them out? Who hurled? None saw their spirits' shadow shake the grass, Or stood aside for the half-used life to pass Out of those doomed nostrils and the doomed mouth, When the swift iron burning bee Drained the wild honey of their youth. What of us who, flung on the shrieking pyre, Walk, our usual thoughts untouched, Our lucky limbs as on ichor fed, Immortal seeming ever? Perhaps when the flames beat loud on us, A fear may choke in our veins And the startled blood may stop. The air is loud with death, The dark air spurts with fire. Timelessly now, some minutes past, These dead strode time with vigorous life, Till the shrapnel called 'an end'! But not to all. In bleeding pangs Some borne on stretchers dreamed of home, Dear things, war-blotted from their hearts. A man's brains spattered on A stretcher-bearers' face; His shook shoulders slipped the load,              But // But when they bent to look again, The drowning soul was sunk too deep For human tenderness. They left this dead with the older dead, Stretched at the crossroads. Burnt black by strange decay Their sinister faces lie, The lid over each eye; The grass and coloured clay More motion have than they, Joined to the great sunk silences. Here is one not long dead; His dark hearing caught our far wheels, And the choked soul stretched weak hands To reach the living word the far wheels said, The blood-dazed intelligence beating for light, Crying through the suspense of the far torturing wheels Swift for the end to break, Or the wheels to break, Cried as the tide of the world broke over his sight. "Will they come? Will they ever come?" // Even as the mixed hoofs of the mules, The quivering-bellied mules, And the rushing wheels all mixed With his tortured upturned sight, So we crashed round the bend, We heard his weak scream, We heard his very last sound, And our wheels grazed his dead face. ---------------

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DEAD MAN'S DUMP v=============== The plunging limbers over the shattered track Racketted with their rusty \?]\f/reight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, And the rusty stakes like sceptres old To stay the flood of brutish men Upon our brothers dear. The wheels lurched over sprawled dead But p[i]\a/in[?]\ed/ them not, though their bones crunch\ed/, The[y]\ir/ clenched mouths made no moan, They lie there huddled, friend and foeman, Man born of man, and born of woman, And shells go crying o[g]\v/er them From night till night and now. Earth has waited for them, All thetime of their growth Fretting for their decay: Now [he]\sh/e has them at last. In the strength of their strength, Suspended---stopped and held. What fi[??]\er/ce imagin[g]\ings/ their dark souls lit Earth\!/ have they gone into you, Somewhere they must have gone And flung on your hard back Is their souls sack Emptied of all that made it more than the world In its small fleshy compass. Who hurled them out? Who hurled? None sa[y]\w/ their spirits shadow shake the grass, Or stood aside for the half used life to pass, Out of those doomed nostrils and the doomed mouth, When the swift [?]\i/ron burning bee Drained the wild honey of their youth. What of us, who flung on the shrieking pyre, Walk, our usual thoughts untouched, Our luckky limbs as on ichor fed, Immortal seeming e[?]\v/er? Perhaps when the flames beat loud on us, A fear may choke in our veins And the startled blood may stop.          P.T.O. N. //          ([?]\C/ontinued) Maniac Earth\!/ howling and flying, your bowel Scared by the jagged fire, the iron love\,/ The impetous storm of savage love. Dark Earth, Dark heaven, swinging in che\m/ic smoke, What dead are born when you kiss each soundless soul With lightning and thunder from your mined heart, Wh[?]\i/ch man's self dug, and hid blind fingers loosed. A man's brains splattered on, A stretcher bearer's face, His shook shoulders slipped its load\,/ But when they bent to look again, The drowning soul was sunk too deep For human tenderness. They left this dead, with the older dead, Stretched at the cross roads. Burnt black by strange decay Their sinister fac[x]es lie The lid over each eye, The grass and coloured clay, More motion have than they, Joined to the great sunk silences. Here is one not long dead, His dark hearing caught our far wheels, And the choked soul stretched weak hands\,/ To reach the living word the far wheels said, The blood-dazed intelligence beating [??????] for light, Crying through the suspense of the far to[?]\r/turing wheels, Swift for the end to break, Or the wheels to break, Cried as the tide of the world broke over his [sight] \brains/. Will they come? Will they ever come? Even as the mixed hoofs of the m[i]\u/les, The quivering-bellied m[i]\u/les, And the rushing wheels all mixed, With [????] his tortured upturned sight. So we crashed round the bend, We heard his weak scream, We heard his very last sou[d]\n/d, And our wheels grazed his dead face.          =============================== = N.

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N. /from line 26. 'Dead man's dump.' altered ----------------------------------- And flung on your hard back Is their soul's sack, Emptied of all that made the young lean Time Eye with thief's eyes, shouldering his masters load Of proud Godhead ancestralled essences Who hurled them out? Who hurled?

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- First page instructs Marsh to include a missing paragraph before 'a man's brains splattered (on second page' // from Dead man's dump -------------------- Maniac Earth! howling      & flying, your bowels Seared by the jagged fire,      the iron love, The impetuous storm of      savage love. Dark Earth, Dark heaven,      swinging in che\m/ic smoke What dead are born when you      kiss each soundless soul With lightning & thunder from      your mined heart, Which suicide man's self dug,      this blind fingers loosed.

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Seminar Conclusion

In the course of this tutorial the manuscripts and typescripts have been referred to as A, B, C, etc. In reality they are as follows (MSS A-F are held in the Imperial War Museum, London):

• A IR/I/256 – 'Pencil draft, numbered '2' by Isaac Rosenberg. Contains 4 unused lines, 20-25, one unused line, 26-29. The corrections in red crayon and pencil are by Gordon Bottomley.
• B IR/255a and 255b – 'Pencil draft with one pencil alteration of incomplete poem entitled 'The Young Dead', later incorporated into 'Dead Man's Dump' as lines 14-19, followed by four unused lines, then lines 20-24, remainder unused. Paper torn prior to use by Isaac Rosenberg.
• C IR/I/257 – 'Second page of typed manuscript on pink paper corrected in ink by Isaac Rosenberg. Contains lines 48-79. Possible word mistakes may be the result of dictation to a typist; Isaac Rosenberg has corrected these in ink.
• D IR/I/259 – 'Second Typescript on pink paper with corrections by Isaac Rosenberg in ink. 'from Mrs. Cohen' written in ink in the top right corner. First page contains title, lines 1-19, four unused lines, 20-25, one unused line, 26-38. Possible word mistakes may be the result of dictation to a typist.
• E IR/I/261 – 'Third Typescript of two pages on pink paper corrected in ink with pencil alternatives. Title in pencil. Page one contains lines 1-19, 4 lines crossed through in pencil, 20-24, two unused lines cancelled in pencil with the alternative 'Emptied of God-ancestralled essences.' written in the margin, 26-47.
• F IR/I/263 – 'Fourth Typescript on pink paper, title in pencil with pencil alterations, with some questions as to punctuation changes in lines 20 and 21. The pages are numbered in ink by Annie Rosenberg. In the four cancelled lines 'grain' has been corrected to 'green' by Isaac Rosenberg.' This is the base text that Vivien Noakes uses for her edition.
• G IRNYPLBERG1223u – 'Copy of May 1917 version of poem in unknown hand. No complete manuscript version of the poem exists.' This is held in the Berg Collection at the New York Public Library.
• H British Library (BL) Rosenberg letters I512E 20/6/1917 – 'Typescript of poem with correction in pen. Included with letter to Gordon Bottomley dated 20th June 1917 describing pleasure at having received a letter from Gordon Bottomley praising the poem 'Daughters of War'.
• I BL Rosenberg letters I512E 20/6/1917 'Pencil alterations from line 26 written on lined scrap paper in Isaac Rosenberg's hand. Included with letter to Gordon Bottomley noted above (MS H).
• MS Marsh Letter to Edward Marsh discussing the poem, dated 3rd June 1917.

 

Author: Dr. Stuart Lee, 2009; Revised 2021