At the going down of the sun

[surexit]

So I know it's cliched and boring to post war poetry today, and I'm not even posting a particularly interesting piece of war poetry: this is an extract from one of Wilfred Owen's most famous poems, and he's probably the most famous British war poet.

I'm going to do it anyway.

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Comments

[seschat]

Dulce Et Decorum Est is an amazing poem. Also, Siegfried Sassoon:

Glory of Women

You love us when we're heroes, home on leave,
Or wounded in a mentionable place.
You worship decorations; you believe
That chivalry redeems the war's disgrace.
You make us shells. You listen with delight,
By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.
You crown our distant ardours while we fight,
And mourn our laurelled memories when we're killed.
You can't believe that British troops "retire"
When hell's last horror breaks them, and they run,
Trampling the terrible corpses - blind with blood.

O German mother dreaming by the fire,
While you are knitting socks to send your son
His face is trodden deeper in the mud.

[surexit]

I ♥ Sassoon, I find him really fascinating.

(And I entirely and with all my heart ship Sassoon/Owen. :D)

[seschat]

Oh my god, I SHIP IT SO HARD. So much angst! So much poetry! SOMEONE SHOULD WRITE IT. *nudge nudge*

[surexit]

SO MUCH NEED FOR RESEARCH, ARGH. But yeah, it would be glorious.

[mercuriazs]

This one's actually my favorite. >.> I read it in high school and it grabbed me.

[surexit]

Yeah, it always gets me by the throat.