n
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© The Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society
io
l
Co
n
ary
wor
en
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,w a r i c e n t
d
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 mtrudge.
me
t
ora
Men marched asleep. Many had lost theirm boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
ALCS Poetry
Competition
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 I 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,
August 2014 marks 100 years since the beginning of World War 1.
The war influenced
British
society and
culture
a number of different ways,
His hanging
face, like
a devil’s
sick
of insin;
but poetry particularly came to represent the war.
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
In a time before TV footage could actually show what the horror of war was like to
Come
gargling
thethefroth-corrupted
those
who werefrom
not there,
poetry produced by lungs,
a large number of soldiers from
provided a snapshot of life in the trenches and on the battlefield.
ObsceneWW1
as cancer,
bitter as the cud
Their descriptions of the environment around them and their feelings about
Of vile, incurable
on innocent
tongues,
--the poems which
the events theysores
were living
through were
reflected in
still form part of our learning today.
My friend, you would
not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
What landmark events have inspired you?
Wilfred Owen 1893-1918
2/7
© The Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society
io
l
Co
n
ary
wor
en
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,w a r i c e n t
d
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 mtrudge.
me
t
ora
Men marched asleep. Many had lost theirm boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of Notable
tired, outstripped
Five-Nines
that
dropped
WW1 poets include
Wilfred Owen,
whose
poems, behind.
chaotic in form, reflected
What would we like you to do?
the chaos of the war that he was depicting. He wrote poems about an event that
Gas! GAS! Quick,
boys! -- An
ecstasy
fumbling
he’d experienced,
and that
is whatof
we’d
like you to do.
Being
to write
by an experience,
either good or bad, is very common,
Fitting
theinspired
clumsy
helmets
just in time;
and we’d like you to think of an event in your life that has affected you,
But someone
was
yelling
stumbling
and write still
a poem
about
it, in theout
way and
that Wilfred
Owen wrote about the
events that were happening to him.
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Your poem should be your personal response to an event or experience
Dim, that
through
thehad,
misty
paneslikeand
thick
green
light,you’ve been to
you have
something
moving
house,
a concert
birthhim
of a brother
or sister.
As under I green sea,orIthesaw
drowning.
We don’t mind what type of poem you write either; it could be a traditional sonnet,
or a shape
poem, my
it’s up
to you, but
there’s a limit of 200 words.
In alla limerick
my dreams,
before
helpless
sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
How to enter
If inYousome
smothering dreams you too could pace
can either print out the form on page 5 and use the space provided to write
illustrate
to) him
your poem
Behind the (and
wagon
thatif you
we want
flung
in, and post it to us at:
Competition
And watch the white eyesPoetry
writhing
in his face,
The Writers’ House
His hanging face, like a devil’s
sickStreet
of sin;
13 Haydon
1DB
If you could hear, at everyLondon,
jolt, EC3N
the blood
or you could send your entry to us by email (by scanning the form and emailing it to
Come
gargling from theus froth-corrupted
lungs,
at [email protected]).
Obscene
as cancer,
bitter
theentry
cudin a Word document and post it to the
Alternatively
you could
writeas
your
address or send an email with your entry to [email protected].
Of vile,above
incurable
sores on innocent tongues, -Don’t forget to let us know who you are, your shadowing group
My friend, you would
not tell with such high zest
and how to contact your group leader.
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
Make sure we receive your entry by 23 May 2014.
Wilfred Owen 1893-1918
3/7
© The Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society
io
l
Co
n
ary
wor
en
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,w a r i c e n t
d
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 mtrudge.
me
t
ora
Men marched asleep. Many had lost theirm boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
The prizes!
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone
still was yelling out and stumbling
1st prize – for the winner of the best overall poem
And flound’ring
like a man in fire or lime . . .
Tickets for you and a chaperone to the Carnegie and Greenaway Awards
Ceremony
on 23
Junethick
2014 ingreen
London.light,
Dim, through the misty
panes
and
Tablet drowning.
for you.
As under I green sea, I sawA him
A selection of Carnegie and Greenaway shortlisted books.
In all my dreams,£500
before
my helpless sight,
worth of books for your school library.
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
2 x runners-up prizes
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
A selection of Carnegie and Greenaway shortlisted books .
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His Your
hanging
face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
poem can take the form of any recognised poetry style (ie sonnet, limerick,
shape
poem
but should
more than 200 words.
If you could
hear,
atetc),
every
jolt, bethenoblood
We’d like you
to write
poem inspired by an event
of importance to you.
Come gargling
from
theafroth-corrupted
lungs,
The closing
for entries
Obscene as cancer,
bitter date
as the
cud is 23 May 2014.
one entry per student.
Of vile, incurable sores Only
on innocent
tongues, -My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
Rules
Wilfred Owen 1893-1918
4/7
© The Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society
Bent
double, like old beggars underYoursacks,
Your name (first and last):
age:
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
group: flares we turned
Your library
or school:
TillYour
onshadowing
the haunting
our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Shadowing group leader’s name:
Group leader’s contact details:
Men
marched asleep. Many had lost
their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk
fatigue;
titlewith
of your
poeM: deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas!Your
GAS!
Quick,
boys! -An ecstasy of fumbling
poem
(200 words
max)
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 I 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,
Copyright notice:
Wilfred
Owen
1893-1918
The copyright
for this
poem will be owned by the author, but we’d like to use the winning and
runners-up poems on our website. If you don’t want your poem to be to be used in this way, please
indicate here:
I don’t want my poem to be published online
5/7
© The Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society
io
l
Co
n
ary
wor
en
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,w a r i c e n t
d
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 mtrudge.
me
t
ora
Men marched asleep. Many had lost theirm boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired,
that appear
dropped
behind.
Wouldoutstripped
you love to see Five-Nines
your poems or stories
in print
or a script you had
Have you ever thought about being a writer?
written appear on the big screen, your original ideas shared with a whole new
generation of children and adults alike?
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling
If it happened,
how would
you feeljust
if someone
then copied or used your work without
Fitting
the clumsy
helmets
in time;
your permission? If it happened a number of times it might mean that you couldn’t
But someone
still
stumbling
afford to carry
on was
writingyelling
as peopleout
wereand
taking
and using your work for free.
AndThe
flound’ring
like &aCollecting
man inSociety
fire or
lime
...
Authors’ Licensing
(ALCS)
is supporting
the Carnegie &
Greenaway Medals Shadowing Scheme because we want you to carry on enjoying
Dim,
through
thea writer
mistyof panes
and
thick
green
books
or become
a book or
a script
if that’s
whatlight,
you want. But we also
want
you
to
understand
that
if
you
copy
someone’s
work
without
their permission, or
As download
under Iagreen
sea, I saw him drowning.
programme or a book from the internet, then you’re directly affecting
their ability to write in the future.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He Writers
plunges need
at me,toguttering,
choking,
drowning.
be paid for
their work,
it’s as simple as that.
that’s where we come in. We want to make sure that all writers get paid for
If everything
inAnd
some
smothering dreams you too could pace
that they’re entitled to, and that includes you too one day if you become a
writer. the
Copyright
is the
law that
to happen,
Behind
wagon
that
we allows
flungthat
him
in, but copyright can sometimes
be tricky to understand. To give you a helping hand in understanding it, ALCS have
And watch
the white
eyesandwrithing
his face,
prepared
some notes
activities forin
teachers
and students for you
to download and use. These can be found at
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
www.alcs.co.uk/copyright
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene
as cancer, bitter as the cud
You may have heard discussion on the news or among your friends about the
ownership
of the pictures
video
clips that are
uploaded-to social media sites such
Of vile,
incurable
soresor on
innocent
tongues,
as facebook or YouTube. Sharing your photos among your friends is fine, but would
Myyou
friend,
youforwould
nottotell
with
such
highSay,zest
be happy
a company
use an
image
of yours?
make a T-shirt with it
and not pay you for the use?
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
Copyright
All types of social media have rules and policies on what they will and won’t do with
the items you add to their sites. Read them carefully before you sign up.
Wilfred Owen 1893-1918
6/7
© The Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society
io
l
Co
n
ary
wor
en
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,w a r i c e n t
d
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 mtrudge.
me
t
ora
Men marched asleep. Many had lost theirm boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Here are a few things that ALCS would like
young
people
to
know
about
copyright:
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling
Copyright is a rule that protects something; if you came up with an idea, and
then created something from the idea (for example you wrote a book) then the
copyright belongs to you, like an invisible shield of protection.
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
Copyright can enable you to make money from selling your work. Would you think
And flound’ring
like
a man
infrom
fireyour
or friend’s
lime .book
. . and then sell it?
it right or wrong
to copy
a story
would
you feel
they did
it to you?
Dim, through theHow
misty
panes
andif thick
green
light,
can give
(licencesea,
or assign)
to someone else, e.g. a publisher, if you
As You
under
I green
I sawcopyright
him drowning.
want to. Then they can make money from selling your creation.
In all my dreams,
sight,in something
Youbefore
can showmy
thathelpless
copyright exists
by writing the symbol ©, for example:
He plunges at me, guttering,
choking, drowning.
© John Smith, 2014
If in some
you toois yours,
couldwhether
pace you’ve written
But, ifsmothering
you created it, dreams
then the copyright
symbol or not. Like we said before, it’s invisible protection,
Behind thethewagon
that we
flung him in,
it doesn’t need a symbol.
And watch
the white eyes writhing in his face,
Copyright continues to protect a work for 70 years after a writer has died.
It carries
work
His hanging face,
likeonaprotecting
devil’s the
sick
ofthat’s
sin;been created.
Copyright
applies
to all jolt,
writtenthe
work,
music, images and more.
If you The
could
hear,
at
every
blood
text books you read were written by an author, just as the songs you
listen to were
written
a songwriter. Just because
Come gargling
from
thebyfroth-corrupted
lungs,you haven’t heard of
them doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t think about their copyright; they might
Obscene as cancer,not
bitter
as the ever
cudagain if you don’t.
write anything
Of vile, incurable
soresyouonenjoy
innocent
tongues,
-We hope
taking part
in this competition.
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
Wilfred Owen 1893-1918
7/7
© The Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society