I, too, saw God through mud—
The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.
War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,
And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.
Merry it was to laugh there—
Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.
For power was on us as we slashed bones bare
Not to feel sickness or remorse of murder.
I, too, have dropped off fear—
Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon,
And sailed my spirit surging, light and clear,
Past the entanglement where hopes lie strewn;
And witnessed exhultation—
Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl,
Shine and lift up with passion of oblation,
Seraphic for an hour, though they were foul.
I have made fellowships—
Untold of happy lovers in old song.
For love is not the binding of fair lips
With the soft silk of eyes that look and long.
By joy, whose ribbon slips,—
But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong;
Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips;
Knit in the webbing of the rifle-thong.
I have perceived much beauty
In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
Heard music in the silentness of duty;
Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.
Nevertheless, except you share
With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,
Whose world is but a trembling of a flare
And heaven but a highway for a shell,
You shall not hear their mirth:
You shall not come to think them well content
By any jest of mine. These men are worth
Your tears: You are not worth their merriment.
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
-
David Patterson you're wrong
From guest ben draper (contact)
it's actually Knit in the welding of the rifle-thong -
Yeats felt it was not the poets place to judge, he felt this was unproductive and unpatriotic.
From guest Chuck Lewis (contact)
Wasn't Owen't more of a soldier who used poetry as a medium for his experiences than just some poet who commented on the war? -
-
Owen was a poet first
Owen was a committed poet before he was sent to the front; it was only after undergoing psychotherapy for what is now termed 'post traumatic shock', plus guidance from Seigfried Sassoon, did his poetry flower into what is often considered the greatest written during that war.
As for Yeats, he wrote plenty of political poetry - and he wasn't the one blown up and buried in a trench along with the body parts of his comrade for a day or so, as Owen was. Owen could not help but write of what he did, and struggled with the concept that even poetry written about ugliness should be art.
-
-
Apologia Pro Poemate Meo
From guest David Patterson (contact)
Please correct typo in stanza 6. I believe it should be 'webbing of the rifle thong'. -
Apologia Pro Poemate Meo
From guest David Patterson (contact)
Oh how I love this poem and particularly, the last 2 stanzas. Owen at his most brilliant, sardonic self! I always think of this as him commenting on the movie pictures coming from the front, showing the men in groups, smiling/laughing BEING. He utterly excludes all non-military types - especially women, I think - as he sees this group as the 'profiteers' (which in a sense they all are). Oh how he stands up for the soldier - as he said he would. Brilliant. -
From guest ren (contact)
i see the last stanza as something of an honourary speech. "these men are worth your tears.." is like saying "honour the people that died to free your country." powerful poem. :) -
-
Hi Ren.
It's far more than 'honour these men'! He's saying, 'unless you understand what they are going through (and you can only do that by being at the Front), don't you DARE smile at pictures of them or consider them in any sense 'at home' in their environment; in fact, don't even think anything about them, because they warrant your deepest pity - your TEARS - ONLY. Owen doesn't use italics, but if he had, he probably would have italicised 'tears'. He's saying, the images of these poor wretches should be cried over, not seen as some sort of amusement for outsiders.
-
-
it doesnt mean sorry for my poetry it means sorry for my life, as in he is sorry for everything that he missed out on and bitter about the war
-
You shall not hear their mirth:
You shall not come to think them well content
By any jest of mine. These men are worth
Your tears: You are not worth their merriment.
In a sense it could be seen that this is of similarity to WB Yeats' 'On being asked for a war poem'
-
-
In a sense it could be seen that this is of similarity to WB Yeats' 'On being asked for a war poem'
Ouch, Ouch and double Ouch. I will never yeats and Owen in the same catagory. As Yeats refused to include Owen in his anthology of War poems, since Owen's poetry protested the war. Yeats felt it was not the poets place to judge, he felt this was unproductive and unpatriotic.
-
-
It means "Apology for my Poetry", but apology in the old sense of justification, explanation - as in Socrates' "Apologia" in which he justifies, explains, his philosophy to his accusers.
-
Does anyone know what 'Apologia Por Poemate Meo' means
-
9/10
I love the beginning of this piece, it works out well in the flow and vernacular. The rhythmn is great. It drops through the middle and kind of picks up towards the end, but, over all it is still a great piece here.
Adding your comment:
1 - 8 of 8
