War Poetry

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War Poetry
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Wilfred Owen- 1893 to 1918
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Born In Shropshire.
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Joined up in 1915 and served with the Manchester
regiment
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• Wilfred Owen finally succumbed to breakdown in
  mid April 1917, after heroic action at the
  beginning of the month, and 12 days in the line
  under harrowing conditions.
• During this time he was a victim of shell blast,
  and had to take refuge in a shelter where he was
  surrounded by the scattered remains of a
  fellow-officer.

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Craiglockhart War Hospital
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• It was here that Wilfred met two important
  figures in his life.
• One was the medical officer Arthur Brock who, in
  his own words, encouraged Owen to face the
  'phantoms of the mind' and even exploit them in
  his poetry
• The other was fellow poet Siegfried Sassoon.

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Returned to the trenches in 1918
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Owen won the military cross for bravery
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He was killed on November 4th 1918
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• He left behind a collection of poems that stand
  as a powerful statement about the truth of all
  wars.

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• This book is not about heroes. English poetry
  is not yet fit to speak of them.
• Nor is it about deeds, or lands, nor anything
  about glory, honour, might, majesty, dominion, or
  power, except War.
• Above All I am not concerned with Poetry.
• My subject is War, and the pity of War.
• The Poetry is in the pity.
• All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the
  true poets must be truthful

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• What does the first line say about English
  poetry? Why do you think Owen states this?
• What does the second line suggest about the
  preconceptions about poetry?
• Why do you think it is so important for poets to
  be truthful?

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Anthem for Doomed Youth

• What passing-bells for these who die as
  cattle?
•     Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
•     Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
• Can patter out their hasty orisons.
• No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
•     Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
• The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells
•     And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

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• What candles may be held to speed them all?
• Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
• Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
•    The pallor of girls' brows shall be their
  pall
• Their flowers the tenderness of silent maids,
• And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.