Great British Writers - Wilfred Owen

We have talked on many occasions of the fables and idiosyncrasies in the English language. We have looked at rules, such as the i before e except after c rule, which have many exceptions. We have also looked at words that are spelt the same, pronounced the same but have different meanings. Yes we know there are funny little quirks. However, that said I still believe English to be a marvellous language, and thought how about we look at some great British writers and poets, who are able to bring the language alive and provide pleasure to a great many people.

I don’t think there could be a better start to our new venture than Wilfred Owen, who is considered one of the leading poets of the First World War. Owen was born in Shropshire, England in 1893, though he was of mixed English and Welsh ancestry. At the age of twenty, in 1913, he went to France for two years to work as a language tutor. His love for writing was already established as he had begun writing poetry as a young teenager, mainly influenced by the romantic writings of Keats and Shelley.

In 1915 he returned to Britain to enlist in the Army and, after initial training was assigned into the Manchester Regiment as a second lieutenant. His regiment left for the Western Front early in 1917 where he witnessed the savagery of the war and such traumatic events that led to him being diagnosed with shellshock and returned to Britain for treatment. Whilst he was convalescing he met the poet Siegfried Sassoon who inspired and encouraged Owen with his poetry. The doctors had advised Owen to write of his experiences as part of his therapy. This coupled with his new friend Sassoon’s passion for realism saw a marked change in Owens writing style, and his work from that date was characterised by his anger at the cruelty and waste of life he witnessed during his active service. In this way Owen became one of the first anti-war poets. Prior to this, war poetry had tended to concentrate on the splendour and glory of war, rather than look at the reality.   

Owen returned to the fighting in France in August 1918 and was awarded The Military Cross for bravery in October. Owen was killed in action on the 4^th November 1918, just one week before the armistice. It is widely believed that his mother actually received the telegram advising of his death on the 11^th November, Armistice Day, as the church bells were ringing out to celebrate the end of hostilities.

For those of you unfamiliar with Wilfred Owens work, here is one of his most famous poems “Anthem for Doomed Youth”:

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing down of blinds.

Below is a rendition of this poem by Sean Bean – I challenge anybody to listen and not be moved.  

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