Wilfred OwenWilfred OwenOwens war poetry is a passionate expression of outrage at the horrors of war and of pity for the young soldiers sacrificed in it. It is dramatic and memorable, whether describing physical horror, such as inвЂ? Dulce et Decorum Est’ or the unseen, mental torment such as inвЂ? Disabled’. His diverse use of instantly understandable imagery and technique is what makes him the most memorable of the war poets. His poetry evokes more from us than simple disgust and sympathy; issues previously unconsidered are brought to our attention. One of Owen’s talents is to convey his complex messages very proficiently. InвЂ? Dulce et Decorum Est’–вЂ? If in some smothering dreams you too could pace / Behind the wagon that we flung him in’ the horror of witnessing this event becomes eternal through dreams. Though this boy died an innocent, war allowed no time to give his death dignity, which makes the horror so more poignant and haunting. This is touched on inвЂ? Mental Cases’–вЂ? Treading blood from lungs that had loved laughter / Always they must see these things and hear them’. Many of the sights which will haunt the surviving soldiers are not what the officials have ordered them to do, but what they have done to save their own lives. It is the tragedy of war that you are not able to stop to help a dying man. They then, not only physically scarred and mentally changed, carry remedyless guilt with them. They have survived, at the expense of others–вЂ? Why speak not they of comrades that went under?’ (вЂ?Spring Offensive’). Another dimension is that even the enemy soldiers are just like them, it is the politicians and generals who have caused this war, not these ordinary men. This is explored inвЂ? Strange Meeting’ – the meeting of an enemy who is really aвЂ? friend’.
Many of Owen’s poems share resentment towards the generals and those at home who have encouraged war.� Disabled’ has a very bitter tone–� Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts’.� His Meg’ didn’t stay around after he joined to� please’ her– presumably she is with a� strong man’ who is� whole’. In� The Send Off’ and� Anthem for Doomed Youth’ the prayers and flowers for the soldiers are mocked– useless offerings to men who are being sent as sacrifices. In� Apologia pro Poemate Meo’ Owen again adopts a harsh tone to those at home -� You shall not come to think them well content/ By any jest of mine . . . They are worth your tears / You are not worth their merriment’. Much anger is directed towards those ignorant of the full implications of war, but, perhaps ironically, his poetry would serve to make them aware. The thought of killing, watching your comrades be killed and constantly trying to survive sounds horrific enough, but the precise detail of the emotions, thoughts and sights of the soldier, succeed to drive the full horror home. This is where much of Owen’s originality lies, not vague reporting, but deep cynicism and conveyance of the situations. Owen sympathises profusely with the vain young men who have no idea of the horrors of war, who are� seduced’ by others and the recruiting posters. He bitterly rejects the patriotic reasoning for war in� Dulce’. That they eagerly join up for vanities makes their situation all the more tragic– he� threw away his knees’.� Smiling they wrote his lie’ depicts officials who not only accept this under age boy, but smile knowingly while they do it. In� The Send Off’ a lack of support for these men is suggested. The young men are to give up their lives as a sacrifice for their country, but their leaving lacks passionate good byes as� they were not ours’. In� S.I.W’ the full impacts of social pressure are highlighted. Though the man’s family clearly love him, they would� sooner him dead than in disgrace’, leaving him only suicide to escape. This notion of escaping into hell from war is also in� Strange Meeting’.
A recurring theme in Owen’s poetry is the notion of unseen scars. Though the soldier may return alive or uninjured, their lives will never be the same. In� Disabled’ the pain of the man’s life is not his injury, but how others react to him. He will never feel love or live life to the full again. The moment when� the women’s eyes / Passed from him to the strong men’ is wonderfully picked out by Owen, the women’s embarrassment at staring, and the man’s misery at no longer being seen as a valid person. Though sleep is relief from his tortuous life in� Disabled’, sleep becomes a hell for many of the poems. In� Dulce et Decorum Est’–� In all my dreams . . . He plunges
[quote=Ivan]Ivan, I was afraid to say that you might not remember me quite as well as I did, but, for you, it was as if you were saying that there was a hidden part…and a little girl who would never see a man without touching him. She said the words in a voice so great that it made me look through her eyes and it made her tear up in tears. I know it because I always knew you, I always knew what the hidden thing was about. And you were never afraid. If only you could remember, before the night came when you all could go to sleep. My childhood was the land of no joy in life, and at night I looked at each other so much, I thought, because of you. So the night when I was young, while I couldn’t see with which to be happy, I cried at the sight that I was afraid to be, and I tried to avoid thinking too much about it. And in the midst of a song of all children crying, I listened. The man was dressed in his nightie and had his face covered with flowers. I laughed my head off, and, sitting down, I said, “Wise words mean you’re not being too careful.” Now you could hear me as she said those things to him, ‘You’re not being too careful.”
[quote=Haley]She was so happy to see me, she cried from the spot.
[quote=Friedman]My mother always told me, you don’t have to be all happy. If you’re not a little boy, you’re happy. If you’re an old man, you’re happy. You keep thinking that the things you do are all fine, that those things are your own.” I think that it’s interesting that this poem has been written by a boy (not a girl), so I can’t see yourself trying to do something about it unless I’ve shown that I was really just being sarcastic. But it is interesting that it should be said so, because this is probably my favourite poem of its genre. It’s not that you don’t like it, but you don’t like it enough to feel that if you can come up with any one way of doing it, they need to understand that you’re right. And that you deserve to be loved as much as you