Poem: Dulce et Decorum est by Wilfred Owen

[janne_d]

WWI poetry is something that everyone I knew seemed to study at school. We didn't do a huge amount, but this poem was one that we did study in detail and it made quite an impression. I know the third verse off by heart because the imagery is so strong I just couldn't forget it.


Dulce et Decorum est

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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped 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.

-- Wilfred Owen


"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" - the translation I've heard is "it is sweet and fitting to die for your country". Those last lines bite.

Comments

[linaerys.livejournal.com]

I've read it many times but it always stings. Thank you for re-posting.

[janne-d.livejournal.com]

It gives me shivers. It is just so brilliantly horrific. And there probably aren't any good ways to die in a war, but the gas attacks were a real nightmare.

Poem

[(Anonymous)]

If you liked this on there is another amazing one by a poet named Patrick Shaw Stewart. I believe it is not formally titled but here it is.

I met a man this morning
Who did not wish to die
I ask and cannot answer
if otherwise wish I

Fair broke the dawn this morning
Against the Dardanelles;
The breeze blew soft, the morn's cheeks
Were cold as cold sea-shells.

But other shells are waiting
Across the Aegean Sea
Shrapnel and high explosive
Shells and hell for me

O hell of ships and cities
Hell of men like me,
Fatal second Helen
Why must I follow thee?

Achilles came to Troyland
And I to Chersonese
He turned from wrath to battle
And I from three days' peace

Was it so hard Achilles,
So very hard to die?
Thou knewest and I know not-
So much the happier am I.

I will go back this morning
From Imbros over the sea
Stand in the trench Achilles,
Flame-capped and shout for me.



One of my all time favorite poems. WWI produced some of the most heart wrenching poetry ever.

Re: Poem

[janne-d.livejournal.com]

I liked that, particularly the last two lines. Very powerful. Thanks for posting it here.