The Colonel

Forché’s “The Colonel” is composed in a large block of unbroken prose, consisting almost entirely of simple, declarative sentences. Before the poem begins its string of observations, it opens with a curious rhetorical device, claiming, “What you have heard is true” (Line 1). This first line communicates two things: first, that the poem is journalistically true; second, that it confirms some rumor with which the reader is familiar. These suggestions may be rhetorical devices to engage the reader, but the first suggestion—that the events are true—has real historical context (See: Contextual Analysis).

The opening line leads perfunctorily into a scene describing the speaker’s personal experiences: “I was in his house” (Line 1). While the referent of “his” remains unspoken both here and in the sentences that directly follow, the title implies it is the titular Colonel. The poem makes a point of observing first the people in the house who are not the Colonel—and defining each of them only in relation to him. Each member of the house is defined by their roles in the Colonel’s life: “His wife” (Line 1), “[h]is daughter,” and “his son” (Line 2). While the poem describes only mundane domestic details at first, such as a “tray of coffee and sugar” (Line 2) or the daughter “fil[ing] her nails” (Line 2), the possessive masculine pronouns leave no doubt about who is in charge.

The Colonel’s authority is tied to violence subtly and early, with a description of “daily papers [and] pet dogs” (Line 3), including a “pistol on the / cushion” (Lines 3-4). At this point, the poem includes its first figurative language, describing the moon as “swing[ing] on its black cord over / the house” (Lines 4-5). This metaphoric imagery is too ambiguous to definitively suggest mood: Maybe the moon is being compared to a hanging light; or perhaps there is a suggestion of violence, as of someone hanged. Before the reader can contemplate the ramifications of the image too deeply, the poem declares, “On the television was a cop show […] in English” (Line 5). This detail, along with the pervasive authority of the Colonel and the presence of the gun, evoke authoritarian violence. Furthermore, that the cop show appears to be an American export links the violence in El Salvador to the United States.

Once the poem has introduced police and the idea of armed authorities, it capitalizes on the mood by describing the house’s fortifications: “Broken bottles embedded in the walls” (Line 6), able to either “scoop […] kneecaps” or “cut […] hands to lace” (Line 7). Even the house’s windows are barred with “gratings like those in liquor stores” (Line 8). This last comparison contrasts the home’s mundane and wealthy domesticity with the ugly violence upon which it is built. The barred windows of a liquor store are the furthest thing from luxury, yet the poem places this detail alongside the dinner of “rack of lamb, good wine, […] a type of / bread” (Lines 9-10) and a dessert of “green mangos [and] salt” (Line 10) summoned via maid by a “gold bell” (Line 9). Despite the imagistic beauty of these simple details, the lamb takes on a grisly connotative force appearing so soon after a description of laceration. Even the luxury of the gold bell seems to condemn the Colonel, who lives off others’ servitude.

While the poem devotes substantial space to describing household minutiae, it spends only a single short sentence on the dinner conversation: “I was asked how I enjoyed the country” (Line 11). The brevity of this line, appearing as it does in the growing unease of violence, transforms the tone into a dry critique. While the poem has not announced its setting, this question confirms that the poet is a visitor from another country. The following detail reinforces this, juxtaposing the English cop show with a “brief commercial in Spanish” (Line 12).

So far, the poem seems to bounce off the speaker and the Colonel, only landing on objects. However, the notable exception is the poem’s acknowledgment of the Colonel’s family and servant, only in their relation to him. The wife’s two appearances are only her “carr[ying] / a tray of coffee” (Lines 1-2) and clearing “everything away” (Line 12) after dinner. By placing these few people alongside objects and details of the setting, and only while serving the so far absent Colonel, the poem shows how they function only as objects in the household. The house is the Colonel’s and his alone, and the maid and his wife are only portrayed as objects that serve him.

Once dinner concludes, the conversation turns toward the growing subtext of violence, with “some talk then of how difficult it had become to govern” (Line 13). When this is interrupted by a “parrot / [saying] hello on the terrace” (Lines 13-14), the Colonel “told it to shut up” (Line 14). This detail, more than halfway into the poem, is the first explicit appearance of the titular Colonel, who has so far been referred to only in possessive pronouns, as with “I was in his house” (Line 1). While the speaker has so far enjoyed an evening of hospitality (at least, on the surface), the Colonel’s appearance marks the shift from a violent subtext to explicit aggression. After the Colonel yells at the parrot and “push[es] himself from the table” (Line 15), the poet is silently warned by her accompanying friend to “say nothing” (Line 16).

Instead of acting, the poet observes and listens—and is soon overwhelmed with figurative listening in the form of a literal sackful of “many human ears” (Line 17). In a succinct image that is both gruesome and delicate, the speaker compares the ears “spilled […] on the table” (Line 17) with “dried peach halves” (Line 18). The poem modulates its speed here, pausing from its nonstop stream of declarative observations to emphasize the image with a direct address from the poet to the reader: “There is no other way to say this” (Line 18).

The Colonel, still standing, “shook [an ear] in [the poet and her friend’s] faces” (Line 19) before dropping it in “a water / glass” (Lines 19-20). Done with the pretext of civility, the Colonel “c[omes] alive” (Line 20) just like the ear in water, even declaring he is “tired of fooling around” (Line 20). Although the poem does not elaborate on the details of the El Salvadoran civil war with which it is concerned, the Colonel’s angry shout of “As / for the rights of anyone, tell your people they can go fuck them- / selves” (Lines 20-22) clearly communicates human rights violations. His reference to the speaker’s “people” (Line 21) implies Americans and hints at his (false) suspicion that the speaker may be working for the United States government.

The Colonel finishes his rampage by “swe[eping] the ears to the floor with his arm” (Line 22). As abruptly as he became aggressive, he shifts back into civility, “h[olding] the last / of his wine in the air” (Lines 22-23) like a toast. The Colonel blends violence with good manners easily and naturally, just like his home’s blend of class and fortification. The close connection of the two modes demonstrates how civility is predicated on aggression.

Despite the Colonel’s apparent suspicion of the speaker’s political allegiances, he addresses her role as a poet, asking, “Something for your poetry, no?” (Line 23). Here, the speaker’s decision to remain a simple observer is not only recognized by the Colonel but also critiqued. The Colonel gifts the poet a fine meal in one breath and a sack of human ears in the next—his wealth and his crimes are beyond threat from the speaker.

The poem responds to this jibe of the Colonel’s by using the powers of poetry to reemphasize his war crimes. The ears scattering the floor are given life, with some “ca[tching] this scrap of his voice” (Line 24) and others rendered deaf by being “pressed to the ground” (Line 25). The speaker can observe the Colonel, but the many people whose deaths are on his hands can no longer hear or observe anything. This response does not defend the poetic ethics of the speaker, but it does conclude the poem on a chilling condemnation of the evils inflicted on others by the titular Colonel.