http://www.englishworld2011.info/
1971
WILFRED
OWEN
1893-1918
Wilfred Owen was brought up in the backstreets of Birkenhead and Shrewsbury, and
on leaving school he took up a post as lay assistant to a country vicar. Removed from
the influence of a devout mother, he became increasingly critical of the Church's role
in society. His letters and poems of this period show an emerging awareness of the
poor's sufferings and the first stirrings of the compassion that was to characterize his
later poems about the Western Front. In 1913 he broke with the vicar and went to
teach English in France.
For more than a year after the outbreak of war, Owen could not decide whether
he ought to enlist. Finally he did, and from January to May 1917 he fought as an
officer in the Battle of the Somme. Then, suffering from shell shock, he was sent to
a hospital near Edinburgh, where he had the good fortune to meet Siegfried Sassoon,
whose first fiercely realistic war poems had just appeared. The influence of Sassoon's
satiric realism was a useful tonic to Owen's lush, Keatsian Romanticism. Throughout
his months in the hospital, Owen suffered from the horrendous nightmares symptomatic of shell shock. The experience of battle, banished from his waking mind,
erupted into his dreams and then into poems haunted with obsessive images of
blinded eyes ("Dulce et Decorum Est") and the mouth of hell ("Miners" and "Strange
Meeting"). The distinctive music of such later poems owes much of its power to
Owen's mastery of alliteration, onomatopoeia, assonance, half-rhyme, and the pararhyme that he pioneered. This last technique, the rhyming of two words with identical
or similar consonants but differing, stressed vowels (such as groined / groaned, killed
/ cold, hall / hell), of which the second is usually the lower in pitch, produces effects
of dissonance, failure, and unfulfillment that subtly reinforce his themes.
Echoing Dante, Shakespeare, Shelley, Keats, and the Bible, Owen puts literary and
religious language into jarring new relationships with the absurdities of modern war
experience. He recuperates but distorts the conventions of pastoral elegy, relocating
them to scenes of terror, extreme pain, and irredeemable mass death.
In the year of life left to him after leaving the hospital in November 1917, Owen
matured rapidly. Success as a soldier, marked by the award of the Military Cross, and
as a poet, which had won him the recognition of his peers, gave him a new confidence.
He wrote eloquently of the tragedy of young men killed in battle. In his later elegies
a disciplined sensuality and a passionate intelligence find their fullest, most moving,
and most memorable expression.
Owen was killed in action a week before the war ended.
Anthem for Doomed Youth
5
10
W h a t passing-bells for t h e s e w h o die a s cattle?
— O n l y the monstrous anger of the guns.
O n l y t h e s t u t t e r i n g rifles' rapid r a t t l e
C a n p a t t e r o u t t h e i r hasty orisons. 0
N o m o c k e r i e s n o w f o r t h e m ; n o prayers n o r bells;
N o r a n y voice o f m o u r n i n g save t h e c h o i r s , —
T h e shrill, d e m e n t e d c h o i r s of wailing shells;
A n d b u g l e s calling f o r t h e m f r o m sad shires. 0
W h a t c a n d l e s m a y b e h e l d t o s p e e d t h e m all?
N o t in t h e h a n d s of boys b u t in t h e i r eyes
prayers
counties
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1972
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VOICES FROM W O R L D W A R 1
Shall shine t h e holy glimmers of goodbyes.
T h e p a l l o r o f girls' b r o w s shall b e t h e i r pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
A n d e a c h slow d u s k a d r a w i n g - d o w n o f b l i n d s .
Sept.—Oct. 1 9 1 7
1920
Apologia Pro Poemate Meo 1
I, too,
The
War
And
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saw G o d through m u d , —
m u d that cracked o n cheeks w h e n w r e t c h e s smiled.
b r o u g h t m o r e glory t o t h e i r eyes t h a n b l o o d ,
gave t h e i r l a u g h s m o r e glee t h a n s h a k e s a c h i l d .
M e r r y it was to laugh t h e r e —
W h e r e d e a t h b e c o m e s a b s u r d a n d life a b s u r d e r .
For power was on us as we slashed bones bare
N o t to feel sickness or remorse of murder.
I , t o o , h a v e d r o p p e d off F e a r —
B e h i n d t h e b a r r a g e , d e a d as my p l a t o o n ,
A n d sailed m y spirit s u r g i n g light a n d c l e a r
P a s t t h e e n t a n g l e m e n t w h e r e h o p e s lay s t r e w n ;
And witnessed exultation—2
F a c e s t h a t u s e d t o c u r s e m e , s c o w l f o r scowl,
S h i n e a n d lift up w i t h p a s s i o n of o b l a t i o n , 3
Seraphic0 for an hour; t h o u g h they were foul.
ecstatic
I have made fellowships—
U n t o l d o f h a p p y lovers i n old s o n g .
F o r love i s n o t t h e b i n d i n g o f f a i r lips
W i t h t h e s o f t silk of eyes t h a t l o o k a n d l o n g ,
B y Joy, w h o s e r i b b o n s l i p s , —
But w o u n d with war's hard wire w h o s e stakes are strong;
B o u n d w i t h t h e b a n d a g e o f t h e a r m t h a t drips;
Knit in the webbing of the rifle-thong.
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30
I have perceived m u c h beauty
In t h e hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
H e a r d music in the silentness of duty;
F o u n d peace w h e r e shell-storms spouted reddest spate.
Nevertheless, except you share
W i t h t h e m in h e l l t h e s o r r o w f u l d a r k of hell,
1. This Latin title, m e a n i n g "Apology for My
P o e m , " may have been p r o m p t e d by that of Cardinal Newman's Apologia Pro Vita Sua, "Apology
for His Life." H e r e an apology is a written vindication rather t h a n a r e m o r s e f u l a c c o u n t .
2. Cf. Shelley, A Defence of Poetry: "Poetry is a
mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted. . . . It exalts the beauty of that which is
most beautiful, and it adds beauty to that which is
most deformed; it marries exultation and horror."
3. Sacrifice offered to God.
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OWEN: MINERS
/
1
W h o s e world is b u t t h e trembling of a flare
And heaven but as t h e highway for a shell,
35
You shall not h e a r their mirth:
You shall not c o m e to t h i n k t h e m well c o n t e n t
By any jest of mine. T h e s e m e n are worth
Your tears. You are not worth their m e r r i m e n t .
Nov.—Dec. 1 9 1 7
19
Miners 1
T h e r e was a whispering in my h e a r t h ,
A sigh of t h e coal,
Grown wistful of a f o r m e r earth
It might recall.
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20
I listened for a tale of leaves
And s m o t h e r e d ferns,
Frond-forests, and t h e low sly lives
Before t h e f a u n s .
My fire might show s t e a m - p h a n t o m s s i m m e r
F r o m Time's old cauldron,
Before t h e birds m a d e nests in s u m m e r ,
O r m e n h a d children.
But t h e coals were m u r m u r i n g of their m i n e ,
And m o a n s down t h e r e
Of boys that slept wry sleep, a n d m e n
W r i t h i n g f o r air.
And I saw white bones in t h e cinder-shard,
Bones without n u m b e r .
M a n y t h e muscled bodies charred,
And few r e m e m b e r .
I t h o u g h t of all that worked dark pits
Of war, 2 a n d died
Digging t h e rock w h e r e D e a t h r e p u t e s
P e a c e lies indeed.
25
C o m f o r t e d years will sit soft-chaired,
In rooms of a m b e r ;
T h e years will stretch their hands, well-cheered
By our life's e m b e r ;
1. Wrote a poem on the Colliery Disaster [of Jan.
12, 1918, at Halmerend]: but I get mixed up with
t h e W a r at the e n d . It is short, b u t oh! sour [Owen's
Jan. 14 letter to his mother]. T h e explosion killed
a b o u t 150 miners.
2. Miners who dug t u n n e l s under no-man'sin which to d e t o n a t e mines beneath t h e en
trenches.
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1974
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VOICES
30
FROM W O R L D WAR 1
T h e c e n t u r i e s will b u r n r i c h l o a d s
W i t h w h i c h we g r o a n e d ,
W h o s e w a r m t h s h a l l lull t h e i r d r e a m i n g lids,
While songs are crooned;
B u t t h e y will n o t d r e a m o f u s p o o r lads,
Left in the ground.
Jan. 1918
1931
Dulce Et Decorum Est 1
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25
B e n t d o u b l e , like old b e g g a r s u n d e r sacks,
K n o c k - k n e e d , c o u g h i n g like h a g s , w e c u r s e d t h r o u g h s l u d g e ,
Till o n t h e h a u n t i n g f l a r e s w e t u r n e d o u r b a c k s
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
M e n m a r c h e d a s l e e p . M a n y h a d lost t h e i r b o o t s
B u t l i m p e d o n , b l o o d - s h o d . All w e n t l a m e ; all b l i n d ;
D r u n k with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines2 that dropped behind.
G a s ! GAS! Q u i c k , b o y s ! — A n e c s t a s y of f u m b l i n g ,
F i t t i n g t h e c l u m s y h e l m e t s j u s t in t i m e ;
B u t s o m e o n e still w a s yelling o u t a n d s t u m b l i n g ,
A n d f l o u n d ' r i n g like a m a n in fire or l i m e . . .
D i m , t h r o u g h t h e m i s t y p a n e s 3 a n d t h i c k g r e e n light,
As u n d e r a g r e e n s e a , I s a w h i m d r o w n i n g .
In all my d r e a m s , b e f o r e my h e l p l e s s sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
I f i n s o m e s m o t h e r i n g d r e a m s you t o o c o u l d p a c e
B e h i n d t h e w a g o n t h a t w e f l u n g h i m in,
A n d w a t c h t h e w h i t e eyes w r i t h i n g i n h i s f a c e ,
H i s h a n g i n g f a c e , like a devil's sick of sin;
I f y o u c o u l d h e a r , a t every j o l t , t h e b l o o d
C o m e gargling f r o m t h e f r o t h - c o r r u p t e d lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
O f vile, i n c u r a b l e s o r e s o n i n n o c e n t t o n g u e s , —
M y f r i e n d , 4 you w o u l d n o t tell w i t h s u c h h i g h zest
T o c h i l d r e n a r d e n t f o r s o m e d e s p e r a t e glory,
T h e old Lie: D u l c e e t d e c o r u m e s t
Pro patria mori.
O c t . 1917—Mar. 1 9 1 8
1. T h e f a m o u s Latin tag [from Horace, Odes
3.2.13] m e a n s , of course, It is sweet and meet to
die for one's country. Sweet! And decorous! [Owen's
Oct. 16, 1917, letter to his m o t h e r ] .
2. I.e., 5.9-caliber shells.
3. Of the gas mask's celluloid window.
1920
4. Jessie Pope, to w h o m the p o e m was originally
to have been dedicated, published jingoistic war
p o e m s urging young m e n to enlist. See h e r poems
in ''Representing t h e Great W a r " at Norton Litera t u r e Online.
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OWEN:
STRANGE MEETING
/
1975
Strange Meeting 1
It seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, 2 long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined. 0
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1.
grooved
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,—
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.
With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
"Strange friend," I said, "here is no cause to mourn."
"None," said that other, "save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled. 3
Now men will go content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
None will break ranks, through nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery,
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint. 4
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess 5 of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
Cf. Shelley, The Revolt of Islam, lines 1 8 2 8 - 3 2 :
And one whose spear had pierced me, leaned
beside,
With quivering lips and h u m i d eyes;—and all
Seemed like some brothers on a journey wide
Gone forth, whom now strange meeting did
befall
In a strange land.
T h e speaker of Owen's poem imagines his victim a
poet like himself.
2. Cf. Sassoon's "The Rear-Guard" (p. 1961).
3. My subject is W a r , and t h e pity of War. T h e
Poetry is in t h e pity [Owen's draft preface to his
poems],
4. Cf. "Thoughts that do o f t e n lie too deep for
tears," line 2 0 3 of William Wordsworth's "Ode:
Intimations of Immortality" (1807).
5. Luck, as in t h e phrase bad cess to yon (may evil
befall you), and m u c k or excrement, as in t h e word
cesspool.
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1976
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40
VOICES
FROM W O R L D WAR 1
"I am t h e e n e m y you killed, my f r i e n d .
I k n e w you in this dark: for so you f r o w n e d
Y e s t e r d a y t h r o u g h m e a s you j a b b e d a n d killed.
I parried; b u t my h a n d s were loath a n d cold.
L e t us s l e e p n o w . . . ."
M a y [?] 1 9 1 8
1920
Futility
5
10
Move him into the s u n —
G e n t l y its t o u c h a w o k e h i m o n c e ,
At h o m e , whispering of fields half-sown.
Always i t w o k e h i m , e v e n i n F r a n c e ,
Until this m o r n i n g a n d this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
T h e k i n d old s u n will k n o w .
Think how it wakes the seeds—
W o k e o n c e t h e clays of a c o l d s t a r .
A r e l i m b s , so d e a r a c h i e v e d , a r e sides
F u l l - n e r v e d , still w a r m , t o o h a r d t o stir?
W a s i t f o r t h i s t h e clay g r e w tall?
— O w h a t m a d e f a t u o u s s u n b e a m s toil
T o b r e a k e a r t h ' s s l e e p a t all?
May 1918
1920
S.I.W. 1
I will to the King,
And offer him consolation in his trouble,
For that man there has set his teeth to die,
And being one that hates obedience,
Discipline, and orderliness of life,
I cannot mourn him.
w . B . YEATS 2
I.
s
The
Prologue
P a t t i n g g o o d b y e , d o u b t l e s s t h e y told t h e l a d
H e ' d always s h o w t h e H u n 3 a b r a v e m a n ' s f a c e ;
Father would sooner him dead than in disgrace,—
W a s p r o u d t o s e e h i m g o i n g , aye, a n d glad,
P e r h a p s his m o t h e r w h i m p e r e d h o w s h e ' d f r e t
Until he got a nice safe w o u n d to n u r s e .
S i s t e r s w o u l d w i s h girls t o o c o u l d s h o o t , c h a r g e , c u r s e . . .
1. Military abbreviation for self-inflicted w o u n d .
2. Irish poet and playwright ( 1 8 6 5 - 1 9 3 9 ) . T h e
passage from the play The King's Threshold (1906)
describes t h e poet S e a n c h a n ' s heroic resolve to die.
3. G e r m a n soldier; in the fourth century a
nomadic people feared for their military prowess.
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OWEN:
10
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DISABLED
B r o t h e r s — w o u l d s e n d his f a v o u r i t e c i g a r e t t e .
Each week, m o n t h after m o n t h , they wrote the same,
T h i n k i n g h i m s h e l t e r e d in s o m e Y . M . H u t , 4
B e c a u s e h e said so, w r i t i n g o n h i s b u t t °
W h e r e o n c e a n h o u r a b u l l e t m i s s e d its a i m .
A n d misses teased the h u n g e r of his brain.
H i s eyes g r e w old w i t h w i n c i n g , a n d h i s h a n d
R e c k l e s s w i t h a g u e . 0 C o u r a g e l e a k e d , as s a n d
From the best sandbags after years of rain.
B u t n e v e r leave, w o u n d , f e v e r , t r e n c h - f o o t , s h o c k ,
U n t r a p p e d t h e w r e t c h . A n d d e a t h s e e m e d still w i t h h e l d
F o r t o r t u r e o f lying m a c h i n a l l y s h e l l e d ,
At t h e p l e a s u r e of t h i s w o r l d ' s P o w e r s w h o ' d r u n a m o k .
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1977
rifle's stock
fever
He'd seen m e n shoot their hands, on night patrol.
T h e i r p e o p l e n e v e r k n e w . Yet t h e y w e r e vile.
' D e a t h s o o n e r t h a n d i s h o n o u r , t h a t ' s t h e style!'
S o F a t h e r said.
II.
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Action
O n e dawn, our wire patrol
Carried him. This time, Death had not missed.
We could do n o t h i n g but wipe his bleeding cough.
C o u l d it be a c c i d e n t ? — R i f l e s go off . . .
N o t s n i p e d ? N o . ( L a t e r t h e y f o u n d t h e E n g l i s h ball.)
III.
30
The
The
Poem
It w a s t h e r e a s o n e d crisis of his soul
A g a i n s t m o r e days of i n e s c a p a b l e t h r a l l ,
A g a i n s t i n f r a n g i b l y 0 w i r e d a n d b l i n d t r e n c h wall
C u r t a i n e d w i t h fire, r o o f e d i n w i t h c r e e p i n g f i r e ,
Slow grazing fire, that would not b u r n him whole
Rut kept him for death's promises and scoff,
A n d life's h a l f - p r o m i s i n g , a n d b o t h t h e i r riling.
IV.
The
unbreakably
Epilogue
W i t h h i m t h e y b u r i e d t h e m u z z l e his t e e t h h a d kissed,
And truthfully wrote t h e m o t h e r , 'Tim died smiling.'
Sept. 1917, May 1918
1920
Disabled
He sat in a w h e e l e d c h a i r , w a i t i n g f o r d a r k ,
A n d s h i v e r e d in h i s g h a s t l y s u i t of grey,
Legless, s e w n s h o r t a t e l b o w . T h r o u g h t h e p a r k
4. Hostel of the Young Men's Christian Association.
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1978
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VOICES FROM W O R L D WAR 1
5
V o i c e s of boys r a n g s a d d e n i n g like a h y m n ,
V o i c e s of play a n d p l e a s u r e a f t e r day,
Till g a t h e r i n g s l e e p h a d m o t h e r e d t h e m f r o m h i m .
• • •
10
A b o u t t h i s t i m e T o w n u s e d t o s w i n g s o gay
W h e n g l o w - l a m p s b u d d e d i n t h e light b l u e t r e e s ,
A n d girls g l a n c e d lovelier a s t h e air g r e w d i m , —
In t h e old t i m e s , b e f o r e he t h r e w a w a y h i s k n e e s .
N o w h e will n e v e r f e e l a g a i n h o w slim
Girls' waists are, or h o w w a r m their subtle h a n d s .
All o f t h e m t o u c h h i m like s o m e q u e e r d i s e a s e .
•
is
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•
T h e r e w a s a n a r t i s t silly f o r h i s f a c e ,
F o r i t w a s y o u n g e r t h a n h i s y o u t h , last y e a r .
N o w , h e i s old; h i s b a c k will n e v e r b r a c e ;
H e ' s lost his c o l o u r very f a r f r o m h e r e ,
P o u r e d i t d o w n s h e l l - h o l e s till t h e v e i n s r a n dry,
A n d half his l i f e t i m e l a p s e d i n t h e h o t r a c e
A n d l e a p of p u r p l e s p u r t e d f r o m h i s t h i g h .
•
25
•
•
•
O n e t i m e h e liked a b l o o d - s m e a r d o w n his leg,
After the matches, carried shoulder-high.1
I t w a s a f t e r f o o t b a l l , w h e n h e ' d d r u n k a peg, 2
He t h o u g h t he'd better j o i n . — H e wonders why.
S o m e o n e h a d said h e ' d l o o k a g o d in kilts,
T h a t ' s why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
Aye, t h a t w a s it, t o p l e a s e t h e giddy jilts 3
H e a s k e d t o j o i n . H e d i d n ' t h a v e t o beg;
S m i l i n g t h e y w r o t e h i s lie: a g e d n i n e t e e n years. 4
G e r m a n s he s c a r c e l y t h o u g h t of; all t h e i r guilt,
A n d A u s t r i a ' s , did n o t m o v e h i m . A n d n o f e a r s
O f F e a r c a m e yet. H e t h o u g h t o f j e w e l l e d hilts
F o r d a g g e r s i n plaid socks; 5 o f s m a r t s a l u t e s ;
A n d c a r e o f a r m s ; a n d leave; a n d pay a r r e a r s ;
E s p r i t de c o r p s ; 6 a n d h i n t s f o r y o u n g r e c r u i t s .
And soon, he was drafted out with d r u m s and cheers.
• • •
S o m e c h e e r e d him h o m e , but not as crowds c h e e r Goal.
Only a solemn m a n who brought him fruits
Thanked h i m ; a n d t h e n e n q u i r e d a b o u t h i s soul.
• • •
40
N o w , he will s p e n d a f e w sick years in i n s t i t u t e s ,
A n d d o w h a t t h i n g s t h e r u l e s c o n s i d e r wise,
1. Cf. H o u s m a n ' s "To an Athlete Dying Young"
(p. 1949, lines 1^1).
2. Slang for a drink, usually brandy and soda.
3. Capricious w o m e n .
4. T h e recruiting officers entered on his enlistm e n t form his lie that he was nineteen years old
and, therefore, above t h e m i n i m u m age for military
service.
5. Kilted Scottish Highlanders used to carry a
small o r n a m e n t a l dagger in the top of a stocking.
6. Regard for t h e honor a n d interests of an organization or, as here, a military unit. "Pay arrears":
back pay.
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OWEN: LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER
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1979
A n d t a k e w h a t e v e r pity t h e y m a y d o l e .
T o n i g h t h e n o t i c e d h o w t h e w o m e n ' s eyes
Passed from him to the strong m e n that were whole.
H o w c o l d a n d l a t e i t is! W h y d o n ' t t h e y c o m e
And put him into bed? W h y don't they come?
O c t . 1917—July 1 9 1 8
1920
From Owen's Letters to His Mother
16 J a n u a r y 1 9 1 7
*
#
s
I c a n s e e no e x c u s e f o r d e c e i v i n g you a b o u t t h e s e last 4 days. I h a v e s u f f e r e d
s e v e n t h hell.
I have n o t b e e n at t h e f r o n t .
I have b e e n in f r o n t of it.
I h e l d an a d v a n c e d p o s t , t h a t is, a ' d u g - o u t ' in t h e m i d d l e of No M a n ' s L a n d .
We h a d a m a r c h of 3 m i l e s over s h e l l e d r o a d t h e n n e a r l y 3 a l o n g a f l o o d e d
t r e n c h . A f t e r t h a t w e c a m e t o w h e r e t h e t r e n c h e s h a d b e e n b l o w n flat o u t a n d
h a d t o g o over t h e t o p . I t w a s o f c o u r s e d a r k , t o o d a r k , a n d t h e g r o u n d w a s
n o t m u d , n o t sloppy m u d , b u t a n o c t o p u s o f s u c k i n g clay, 3 , 4 , a n d 5 f e e t
d e e p , relieved only b y c r a t e r s f u l l o f w a t e r . M e n h a v e b e e n k n o w n t o d r o w n
i n t h e m . M a n y s t u c k i n t h e m u d & only got o n b y leaving t h e i r w a d e r s , e q u i p ment, and in some cases their clothes.
H i g h explosives w e r e d r o p p i n g all a r o u n d o u t , a n d m a c h i n e g u n s s p l u t t e r e d
every f e w m i n u t e s . B u t i t w a s s o d a r k t h a t e v e n t h e G e r m a n flares did n o t
reveal u s .
T h r e e quarters dead, I m e a n each of us % dead, we reached the dug-out,
a n d relieved t h e w r e t c h e s t h e r e i n . I t h e n h a d t o g o f o r t h a n d f i n d a n o t h e r d u g o u t f o r a still m o r e a d v a n c e d p o s t w h e r e I l e f t 18 b o m b e r s . I w a s r e s p o n s i b l e
for other posts on t h e left b u t there was a j u n i o r officer in charge.
My d u g - o u t h e l d 25 m e n tight p a c k e d . W a t e r filled it to a d e p t h of 1 or 2
f e e t , leaving say 4 f e e t of air.
O n e e n t r a n c e had been blown in & blocked.
So far, the o t h e r remained.
T h e G e r m a n s k n e w w e w e r e staying t h e r e a n d d e c i d e d w e s h o u l d n ' t .
T h o s e f i f t y h o u r s w e r e t h e a g o n y o f m y h a p p y life.
Every t e n m i n u t e s o n S u n d a y a f t e r n o o n s e e m e d a n h o u r .
I n e a r l y b r o k e d o w n a n d let myself d r o w n i n t h e w a t e r t h a t w a s n o w slowly
rising over m y k n e e s .
T o w a r d s 6 o'clock, w h e n , I s u p p o s e , you w o u l d be g o i n g to c h u r c h , t h e
s h e l l i n g g r e w less i n t e n s e a n d less a c c u r a t e : so t h a t I w a s m e r c i f u l l y h e l p e d
t o d o m y d u t y a n d crawl, w a d e , c l i m b a n d f l o u n d e r over N o M a n ' s L a n d t o
visit m y o t h e r p o s t . I t t o o k m e half a n h o u r t o m o v e a b o u t 1 5 0 yards.
I was chiefly annoyed by our own m a c h i n e guns from behind. T h e seengseeng-seeng of the bullets reminded me of Mary's canary. On the whole I can
support1 the canary better.
I. Tolerate. Mary: O w e n ' s sister.
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1980
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VOICES
FROM W O R L D WAR 1
I n t h e P l a t o o n o n m y l e f t t h e s e n t r i e s over t h e d u g - o u t w e r e b l o w n t o n o t h ing. O n e of t h e s e p o o r f e l l o w s w a s my first s e r v a n t w h o m I r e j e c t e d . If I h a d
k e p t h i m h e w o u l d h a v e lived, f o r s e r v a n t s d o n ' t d o S e n t r y D u t y . I k e p t m y
o w n s e n t r i e s half way d o w n t h e stairs d u r i n g t h e m o r e terrific b o m b a r d m e n t .
In spite of t h i s o n e lad w a s b l o w n d o w n a n d , I am a f r a i d , b l i n d e d . 2
31 December 1917
L a s t year, a t t h i s t i m e , (it i s j u s t m i d n i g h t , a n d n o w i s t h e i n t o l e r a b l e i n s t a n t
of t h e C h a n g e ) last y e a r I lay a w a k e in a w i n d y t e n t in t h e m i d d l e of a vast,
dreadful e n c a m p m e n t . It seemed neither France nor England, b u t a kind of
p a d d o c k w h e r e t h e b e a s t s a r e k e p t a f e w days b e f o r e t h e s h a m b l e s . I h e a r d
t h e revelling o f t h e S c o t c h t r o o p s , w h o a r e n o w d e a d , a n d w h o k n e w t h e y
w o u l d be d e a d . I t h o u g h t of t h i s p r e s e n t n i g h t , a n d w h e t h e r I s h o u l d i n d e e d —
w h e t h e r w e s h o u l d i n d e e d — w h e t h e r you w o u l d i n d e e d — b u t I t h o u g h t n e i t h e r
l o n g n o r deeply, f o r I am a m a s t e r of elision.
B u t chiefly I t h o u g h t of t h e very s t r a n g e l o o k on all f a c e s in t h a t c a m p ; an
i n c o m p r e h e n s i b l e look, w h i c h a m a n will n e v e r s e e i n E n g l a n d , t h o u g h w a r s
s h o u l d b e i n E n g l a n d ; n o r c a n i t b e s e e n i n a n y b a t t l e . B u t only i n E t a p l e s . 3
It was n o t d e s p a i r , or t e r r o r , it w a s m o r e terrible t h a n t e r r o r , f o r it w a s a
b l i n d f o l d look, a n d w i t h o u t e x p r e s s i o n , like a d e a d rabbit's.
It will n e v e r be p a i n t e d , a n d no a c t o r will ever seize it. A n d to d e s c r i b e it, I
think I must go back and be with them.
Preface 1
T h i s b o o k i s n o t a b o u t h e r o e s . E n g l i s h p o e t r y i s n o t yet f i t t o s p e a k o f t h e m .
N o r i s i t a b o u t d e e d s , o r l a n d s , n o r a n y t h i n g a b o u t glory, h o n o u r , m i g h t ,
majesty, dominion, or power, except W a r .
Above all I am n o t c o n c e r n e d w i t h P o e t r y .
M y s u b j e c t i s W a r , a n d t h e pity o f W a r . 2
T h e P o e t r y i s i n t h e pity.
Yet t h e s e elegies a r e t o t h i s g e n e r a t i o n i n n o s e n s e c o n s o l a t o r y . T h e y m a y
b e t o t h e n e x t . All a p o e t c a n d o t o d a y i s w a r n . T h a t i s w h y t h e t r u e P o e t s
must be truthful.
(If I t h o u g h t t h e l e t t e r of t h i s b o o k w o u l d last, I m i g h t h a v e u s e d p r o p e r
n a m e s ; b u t i f t h e spirit o f i t s u r v i v e s — s u r v i v e s P r u s s i a 3 — m y a m b i t i o n a n d
t h o s e n a m e s will h a v e a c h i e v e d f r e s h e r fields t h a n F l a n d e r s . 4 . . . )
1918
2. This incident p r o m p t e d Owen's p o e m "The
Sentry."
3. Until 1914, a fishing port of 5 , 8 0 0 inhabitants,
Etaples and its s u r r o u n d i n g hills h o u s e d 100,000
soldiers on their way to and from t h e f r o n t in 1917.
1. In May 1918 Wilfred Owen was posted in
Ripon, North Yorkshire, England, and was preparing a book of his war poems. Around this time he
drafted this unfinished preface, which was published posthumously, along with most of his
poems, in Poems (1920), edited by his friend t h e
poet Siegfried Sassoon. T h e text is reprinted from
1920
The Poems of Wilfred Owen (1985), ed. Jon Stallworthy.
2. Cf. J u d e 1.25: "To t h e only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power,
both now and ever."
3. D o m i n a n t region of the G e r m a n Empire until
t h e e n d of World W a r I.
4. In western Belgium, site of t h e f r o n t line. T h e
C a n a d i a n p o e t J o h n M c C r a e ( 1 8 7 2 - 1 9 1 8 ) memorialized o n e devastating 1915 battle in his famous
p o e m "In Flanders Fields."