In April 1951 Randall Jarrell sent a short poem titled “A War” to his friend Robert Lowell: There set out, slowly, for a Different World, At four, on winter mornings, different legs… You can’t break eggs without making an omelette —That’s what they tell the eggs. The poem is unnervingly odd, with its disjointed second line that evokes, for me, Bruegel’s ominous Hunters in the Snow, who bring no good tidings to the village they’re approaching.