Once again, I have no idea if anyone will care to read my fascinations with either music or writing, but I feel like writing today, as once again I feel inspired and I have the erge to write it down. The fact that I don't want to take a picture or maybe even discuss it with somebody, but write it down; intrigues me - but I suppose that's why I'm taking English as a subject - I'm a little geeky really :D.
Just be warned, the poem I'm about to talk about, quite graphically describes the absolute horror of war and so could be a quite sensitive subject to some, sorry!
After finishing college early, I need a day to just chill and have found myself in the Library. It seems that, even though I obviously really enjoy it, taking English at A Level, means I never have time to read for enjoyment - so I thought now's a good a' time as any!
Being fascinated by the war (and fundamentally the effect it had on the people, more so than in the geographical sense) I thought I'd look at a collection of war poems by Wilfred Owen. I think this was because, along with Rupert Brooke and Siegfried Sassoon, he was one of the poets I had to study in both English and History at GCSE and I feel a strange sort of affection to look back on things that made me think when I was 14/15. Just to see how I feel about a particular poem now, it makes me wonder, will I see something I didn't before?
Not sure if I'm the only one who does this?! :D
Anyway, I happened to open the page of the anthology on one of the poems I studied in detail, and that's 'Dulce Et Decorum Est'.
It's a poem perhaps familiar to many.
Just to give a little background detail, incase it's a completely new one to you, Owen was a soldier in The First World War and was sadly killed in battle just a few days before the Armistice. During his time in the trenches he wrote many poems about the horrors of war and 'Dulce..' is a poem highlighting the contrast between the bravery and honour associated with war, and the monstrosity of living through it. It highlights whether this gallant idea of war is a lie, that we tell our children "ardent for some desperate glory". It's quite deep, quite graphic, and quite upsetting, but that's what makes it so moving. It was interesting for me to read it a few years since I last did, and I was shocked to find it made me cry within the first few lines.
Here it is in full:
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Like any poem, you could literally spend hours dissecting the structure, rhyme scheme, stanzas, phonology etc... But even on the most fundamental level, the story is gripping.
It fascinates me just how resilient the war proved humans to be and it's so unimaginable to those who are lucky enough not to have had to witness it first hand, that the poetry left over is the only thing that we can begin to somehow understand.
The title is Latin and I can remember being completely confused when I first read it, but it ultimately means "It is sweet and proper" and then on the last line, is followed by 'pro patria mori' - meaning "to die for your country". Again it is all about the unbearable irony of the war being seen as triumphant, regardless of the overall outcome and what men (on both sides) had to witness, that left awful and sometimes irreparable physical and physiological scars.
I know it's quite a deep subject to be thinking about, but I think, if you have time, some things need to be looked at and thought about every so often.
It makes me feel so completely grateful that I have not had to live through anything as awful as what those soldiers did and I feel honoured and astounded, at the infinite hope people had in the most testing times.
Of course there are many other wonderfully talented poets (some of which mentioned above) that I could write about, Owen is just one, but if you're interested he wrote many other thought-provoking poems. 'Conscious' and 'Anthems For Doomed Youth' particularly stand out for me - all of which mainly surrounding the darkness of war. Again I don't want to depress people, but I just feel in respect, poetry should be regarded, whether happy or sad!
I hope this has made you think, and possibly intrigued you to search into someone you may not be to familiar with!
Thank you for reading :)
Molly x
