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aaronnhall's review
5.0
Wow.
Everybody needs to read the poetry of Wilfred Owen. I've never read such forward prose on the atrocities of war.
Everybody needs to read the poetry of Wilfred Owen. I've never read such forward prose on the atrocities of war.
9magix's review
challenging
dark
emotional
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
5.0
charlie_barr's review
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
4.5
spacestationtrustfund's review
4.0
Normally I don't care for war poetry, because it's either "war is glory" or "war is hell," seldom anything in between. And by war poetry I don't mean "poetry written during a war," because that could be any poetry, nor do I mean "poetry which mentions a war," because that could be half of poetry, not counting the ones that use a war as a metaphor, because then it would be all poetry; all poetry is about love, especially when it's about war, and especially when it's about death. That's why Keats wrote such good and sexy poetry, after all.
Anyway, war poetry is typically boring, comparatively speaking. Sturgeon's law: 90% of poetry is bad, and a lot of war poetry is bad because it's about trying to convince yourself that going to war is good, or it's about trying to convince other people that going to war is good, or it's about how going to war is bad because war is hell and you're dying horribly and you miss home and you're just a kid and life is a nightmare. One of those. But Wilfred Owen was one of those rare few who could write about all that stuff and make it good. His most overused poem is just that: overused, but fuck if it isn't sexy:
Anyway, war poetry is typically boring, comparatively speaking. Sturgeon's law: 90% of poetry is bad, and a lot of war poetry is bad because it's about trying to convince yourself that going to war is good, or it's about trying to convince other people that going to war is good, or it's about how going to war is bad because war is hell and you're dying horribly and you miss home and you're just a kid and life is a nightmare. One of those. But Wilfred Owen was one of those rare few who could write about all that stuff and make it good. His most overused poem is just that: overused, but fuck if it isn't sexy:
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
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 trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
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 a 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,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.