“I am not yet born”
The unborn child, the refrain opening stanzas 1 to 7 (lines 1, 4, 8, 12, 18, 25 and 28)
The refrain opens seven of the eight stanzas, and each time it is followed by one request: to be heard, consoled, provided for, forgiven, rehearsed, heard again and filled with strength. The present tense and the word yet make the speaker’s position exact: alive enough to fear, not yet able to act. The repetition gives the poem the insistence of a prayer said over and over, and the eighth stanza’s abandonment of it is one of the poem’s most important structural choices.
“club-footed ghoul”
The unborn child, Stanza 1, line 3
The first stanza fears the monsters of a child’s nightmare: a bat that drinks blood, with its hint of vampires, a rat, a stoat, and finally a ghoul, a demon of folklore said to feed on corpses. Placing the ghoul last, carried over onto the stanza’s final line, makes it the climax of the fear. These are storybook terrors, and the poem soon shows that the real dangers are human, which is why stanza 6 repeats this stanza’s shape with a man in the monster’s place.
“wise lies”
The unborn child, Stanza 2, line 6
This oxymoron is one of five threats the second stanza fears from the human race. Wisdom is usually linked with truth, but these lies are clever and persuasive, perhaps spoken by people who seem wise. A reader in 1944 might well have thought of wartime propaganda, on every side. The phrase suggests that the most dangerous deceptions are the ones we want to believe, and the alliterating verb that follows makes being lied to sound like being lured into a trap.
“on black racks rack me”
The unborn child, Stanza 2, line 7
The rack was an instrument of torture that stretched the victim’s body. Here the noun and the verb repeat each other, and the hard k sounds, with the short vowel of black and racks, make the line sound as cruel as its meaning, while black adds darkness and death. The stanza has moved from walls to drugs to lies to torture, and the rest of this line goes further still, to baths of blood: the child’s fears escalate from being confined to being killed.
“a white light”
The unborn child, Stanza 3, line 10
The third stanza is the only one that asks for good things rather than protection from bad ones: water, grass, trees, sky and birds, the first four personified as companions who play with, grow for, talk to and sing to the child. It ends with a white light deep in the mind to guide it. One reading is that the light is conscience; another is that it is faith, or imagination. Conscience is the more convincing, because the next stanza turns straight to sin and guilt, and the child will need an inner guide to keep hold of its own goodness.
“my death when they live me”
The unborn child, Stanza 4, line 17
The fourth stanza asks forgiveness in advance for sins the world will commit through the child, and its grammar is the key. The child becomes the object of verbs it ought to be the subject of, so that other people speak its words, think its thoughts and even live its life. This last paradox suggests that a life lived for someone else is a kind of death. The clause just before it imagines murder done by means of the child’s own hands, which reads like the fate of a conscripted soldier.
“who thinks he is God”
The unborn child, Stanza 6, line 26
Stanza 6 repeats the plea and the shape of stanza 1, but the monster is now a man, either a beast or someone who believes himself divine. Many readers link him with the dictators of the 1930s and 1940s, though the poem names no one and keeps the warning general. The capital letter matters: a false god is set against the God the prayer is addressed to, so the man is dangerous because he claims a place that is not his.
“dragoon me into a lethal automaton”
The unborn child, Stanza 7, line 30
To dragoon is to force someone into something, and a dragoon is also a mounted soldier, so the verb carries a military threat. An automaton is a machine that moves by itself, or a person who acts without thought. With lethal, the phrase pictures a person turned into a killing machine, and readers often take it as an image of the soldier trained to kill on command. These long, formal words are colder than anything else in the poem, as if the language of the state has entered the prayer.
“a cog in a machine”
The unborn child, Stanza 7, line 31
A cog is one tooth on a gear wheel, and the metaphor pictures a person reduced to a small, replaceable part of a larger system: a factory, an army or a state. The lines that follow reduce the child further, to an object with only one face, and then simply to an object. Learn it exactly: the poem says a machine, not the machine of the everyday idiom, and the indefinite article leaves the machine anonymous. The fear is of any organisation that erases individuals.
“Otherwise kill me.”
The unborn child, Stanza 8, line 39 (the last line)
The last line is three words long and the most shocking in the poem. The final stanza has dropped the refrain, as if there is no longer time to plead, and after asking not to be turned to stone or spilled away, the child sets a condition: if it cannot keep its humanity, it would rather not live. One reading is that this is despair. The more convincing reading is that it is a measure of value, since the child prizes being human so highly that life without it is not worth having.