The war poets

[Katie Elizabeth Stewart]

What is anyone's favourtie war poet, and why?

[AlanCurragh]

Katie - not so much favourite poet, but favourite poem - Before Action by William Noel Hodgson. I find the last couple of lines almost indescribably poignant, especially when read at his grave at the Devonshire Cemetery - he died on 1st July 1916.....

Before Action

By all the glories of the day,

And the cool evening's benison:

By the last sunset touch that lay

Upon the hills when day was done:

By beauty lavishly outpoured,

And blessings carelessly received,

By all the days that I have lived,

Make me a soldier, Lord.

By all of all men's hopes and fears,

And all the wonders poets sing,

The laughter of unclouded years,

And every sad and lovely thing:

By the romantic ages stored

With high endeavour that was his,

By all his mad catastrophes,

Make me a man, O Lord.

I, that on my familiar hill

Saw with uncomprehending eyes

A hundred of Thy sunsets spill

Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice,

Ere the sun swings his noonday sword

Must say good-bye to all of this: --

By all delights that I shall miss,

Help me to die, O Lord.

[Katie Elizabeth Stewart]

Katie - not so much favourite poet, but favourite poem - Before Action by William Noel Hodgson. I find the last couple of lines almost indescribably poignant, especially when read at his grave at the Devonshire Cemetery - he died on 1st July 1916.....

Before Action

By all the glories of the day,

And the cool evening's benison:

By the last sunset touch that lay

Upon the hills when day was done:

By beauty lavishly outpoured,

And blessings carelessly received,

By all the days that I have lived,

Make me a soldier, Lord.

By all of all men's hopes and fears,

And all the wonders poets sing,

The laughter of unclouded years,

And every sad and lovely thing:

By the romantic ages stored

With high endeavour that was his,

By all his mad catastrophes,

Make me a man, O Lord.

I, that on my familiar hill

Saw with uncomprehending eyes

A hundred of Thy sunsets spill

Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice,

Ere the sun swings his noonday sword

Must say good-bye to all of this: --

By all delights that I shall miss,

Help me to die, O Lord.

I have read that very carefully before replying - it's too terrible (!) I will show it to my English teacher. It has an almost hymn-like feel to it - probably intentional.

It is a soldier's last primitive plea for help, isn't it? He is alone with God and his fear. It reminds me of both 'Spring Offensive' and 'At a Calvary near the Ancre' a little - the soldier is suddenly conscious of his blessings, now that he has set his feet on the 'last hill.' He is also asking God, I suppose, to let him give back the life that He gave him without hating.

[truthergw]

My favourite war poem was written by an established poet and novelist, Violet Jacob who's work is now forgotten. Her poetry was written in the Doric of the North East of Scotland. Violet lost her only son , a Captain, at the Somme. I will only quote one verse of a poem called The Brig. ( the Bridge)

Oot o'er yon sea, through war and strife

Ye tak yer road nae mair,

For ye've crossed the brig to the fields o' life

And ye walk for ever there.

[PoW1988]

I can't say I have a favourite poet Katie due to my lack of knowledge of Great War poetry. The only person's work I have studied seriously has been Wilfred Owen's but that was for Higher English not in a historical capacity.

Lynz

[Steven Broomfield]

I think it invidious to have favourites, but I have to say "Reconciliation" by Sassoon ("When you are standing at your hero's grave..."), coupled with a couple of visits to Germany and having dealings with young Germans (and their parents!) through my daughter's school exchanges and at work has really given me a fresh thought about 20th century wars.

Don't start me on the old currant bun...

[marc glorieux]

Katie

Two warpoems , between many others, that I like :

"dulce et decorum est" - Owen. why: when you are living in or near the Yores Salient, and pass along the warcemeteries ...

"Robin's song" - Francis Ledwidge. why: sorry, personal & emotionel reason , but very moving text for me.

marc

[sjustice]

Hmmmm...

I don't think I actually have a favourite war poet. I find that each of what I'd label a fine poem stands magnificently by itself.

In that sense, I believe that each poem about The Great War and particularly the Fallen is as identical and unique as a Cross of Sacrifice.

I will say that my favourite poem is "In Memoriam" by Ewart Alan Mackintosh. Why? Because we all have or had a father. We know what he means.

...Oh, never will I forget you,

My men that trusted me,

More my sons than your fathers',

For they could only see

The little helpless babies

And the young men in their pride.

They could not see you dying,

And hold you while you died...

Amen.

Good question.

Kind Regards,

SMJ

What is anyone's favourtie war poet, and why?

[marina]

Katie - there are dozens of fine war poems on this thread:

http://1914-1918.invisionzone.com/forums/i...showtopic=15299

Enjoy!

Marina

[Katie Elizabeth Stewart]

Hmmmm...

I don't think I actually have a favourite war poet. I find that each of what I'd label a fine poem stands magnificently by itself.

In that sense, I believe that each poem about The Great War and particularly the Fallen is as identical and unique as a Cross of Sacrifice.

I will say that my favourite poem is "In Memoriam" by Ewart Alan Mackintosh. Why? Because we all have or had a father. We know what he means.

...Oh, never will I forget you,

My men that trusted me,

More my sons than your fathers',

For they could only see

The little helpless babies

And the young men in their pride.

They could not see you dying,

And hold you while you died...

Amen.

Good question.

Kind Regards,

SMJ

That reminds me of Rudyard Kipling.

[Katie Elizabeth Stewart]

What is anyone's favourtie war poet, and why?

Let's reply to my own question!

Two Hundred Years After

Trudging by Corbie Ridge one winter's night

(Unless old hearsay memories tricked his sight)

Along the pallid edge of the quiet sky

He watched a nosing lorry grinding on,

And straggling files of men; when these were gone

A double limber and six mules went by,

Hauling the rations up through ruts and mud

To trench-lines digged two hundred years ago.

Then darkness hid them with a rainy scud,

And soon he saw the village lights below.

But when he'd told his tale, an old man said

That he'd seen soldiers pass along that hill;

'Poor silent things, they were the English dead

Who came to fight in France and got their fill.'

Siegfried Sassoon

Gets across how the landscape itself from the First World War was scarred by what happened there. Also, the elegiac feel of future generations looking back, and at the same time, how soldiers in the trenches could not imagine it ever ending, and thought there was no place, and nothing beyond what they could see.