If you have never read the poetry of Wilfred Owen, do it now.
Today is his birthday.
This bio comes from Garrison Keillor’s “Writer’s Almanac.”
“It’s the birthday of poet Wilfred Owen (books by this author), born in Shropshire, England (1893). When he was young, his family was well-off, living in a house owned by his grandfather, a prominent citizen. But then his grandpa died, and it turned out that the old man was broke, and the family had to leave and move into working-class lodgings in an industrial town.
“He started writing poems as a boy, and he was good at literature and science, but he didn’t do well enough on his exams to get a scholarship at a university. He enlisted to fight in World War I, and he became a lieutenant. In 1917, he was wounded, diagnosed with shell shock, and sent to a hospital to recuperate. There he met another soldier diagnosed with shell shock, Siegfried Sassoon, who was an established poet and mentored Owen. At the hospital, Owen wrote many of his most famous poems, including “Dulce et Decorum Est” and “Anthem for Doomed Youth.” He was one of the first poets to depict the horrifying realities of war, instead of writing glorified, nationalistic poems.
“But the next year, he went back to fight, and he was killed in battle at the age of 25. Two years later, Poems of Wilfred Owen (1920) was published.”
The old lie
Still works, every time
Sylvia Pankhurst published his poems in her newspaper, the Women’s, later the Workers’ Dreadnought.
World War 1 was a particularly gruesome war as most wars are, but in those days it was more personally fought than modern warfare. Reading Owen’s poems, I was reminded of seeing the film, All Quiet on the Western Front, which depicted the toll that chronic warfare takes on body and soul. To this day in Le Parc Naturel de Lorraine, France, munition experts gather each spring to collect undetonated bombs from the Battle of Verdun, the longest battle in modern history.
All Quiet on the Western Front. An unforgettable book. That and Johnny Got His Gun.
Another of the greatest antiwar pieces ever:
World War I was truly the war of poets. There is a wonderful site featuring this at the Poetry Foundation: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/70139/the-poetry-of-world-war-i
I’ve quoted Dulce et Decorum Est here a few times. Love Owen. If anyone has forgotten why poets sing or why people listen, now would be a good time to remember. Thank you for this post, Diane. Happy Birthday, Wilfred Owen.
Poetry is so much more important than scaffolding and close reading. Just hear the music of the words.
And speaking of things poetic in the world, big shout-out to Mitzi and all the good dogs. You know who you are. Don’t you. Don’t you know who’s a good dog! Yes you do! Good dog. https://dianeravitch.net/2018/01/06/our-dog-mitzi-in-the-snow-she-loves-it/
HAAAA!!!! Hi, Mitzi, from sunny Flor-uh-duh!!!!
LCT,
Mitzi thanks you for the well-Deserved recognition. Lately, she’s been a bit concerned about her socks and bones, and she missed the snow this winter (there was none). But she’s passed the test of “Sit” and “Paw.” She knows she’s loved, no matter what.
I posted elsewhere that I am sure the Covid was a huge plot by the dogs to get more attention. What if they win? Will we all dissolve into dog scratching behind the ear or at the top of the tail? What will this do to poetry?
Robert Frost
Stopping by the woods with my Dog on a Covid Evening