British War Poets seminar 1

Rupert Brooke (1887 - 1915) The Soldier If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust hom England bore, sha!ed, made a are, "ave, once, her flo ers to love, her ays to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, #ashed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed a ay, A !ulse in the eternal mind, no less "ives some here back the thoughts by England given; $er sights and sounds; dreams ha!!y as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at !eace, under an English heaven. Wilfred O en (189! - 1918) %ulce et decorum est &ent double, like old beggars under sacks, 'nock(kneed, coughing like hags, e cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares e turned our backs And to ards our distant rest began to trudge. )en marched aslee!. )any had lost their boots &ut lim!ed on, blood(shod. All ent lame; all blind; %runk ith fatigue; deaf even to the hoots *f tired, outstri!!ed +ive(,ines that dro!!ed behind. "as- "as- .uick, boys- / An ecstasy of fumbling, +itting the clumsy helmets 0ust in time; &ut someone still as yelling out and stumbling, And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . . %im, through the misty !anes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I sa him dro ning. In all my dreams, before my hel!less sight, $e !lunges at me, guttering, choking, dro ning. If in some smothering dreams you too could !ace &ehind the agon that e flung him in, And atch the hite eyes rithing in his face, $is hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every 0olt, the blood 1ome gargling from the froth(corru!ted lungs, *bscene as cancer, bitter as the cud *f vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, )y friend, you ould not tell ith such high 2est To children ardent for some des!erate glory,

The old 3ie; %ulce et %ecorum est 4ro !atria mori. "d ard #homas (1878 - 1917) 5ain 5ain, midnight rain, nothing but the ild rain *n this bleak hut, and solitude, and me 5emembering again that I shall die And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks +or ashing me cleaner than I have been Since I as born into this solitude. &lessed are the dead that the rain rains u!on: &ut here I !ray that none hom once I loved Is dying tonight or lying still a ake Solitary, listening to the rain, Either in !ain or thus in sym!athy $el!less among the living and the dead, 3ike a cold ater among broken reeds, )yriads of broken reeds all still and stiff, 3ike me ho have no love hich this ild rain $as not dissolved e6ce!t the love of death, If love it be for hat is !erfect and 1annot, the tem!est tells me, disa!!oint. $saa% Rosen&er' (189( - 1918) &reak of %ay in the Trenches The darkness crumbles a ay It is the same old druid Time as ever, *nly a live thing lea!s my hand, A 7ueer sardonic rat, As I !ull the !ara!et's !o!!y To stick behind my ear. %roll rat, they ould shoot you if they kne 8our cosmo!olitan sym!athies, ,o you have touched this English hand 8ou ill do the same to a "erman Soon, no doubt, if it be your !leasure To cross the slee!ing green bet een. It seems you in ardly grin as you !ass Strong eyes, fine limbs, haughty athletes, 3ess chanced than you for life, &onds to the hims of murder, S!ra led in the bo els of the earth, The torn fields of +rance. #hat do you see in our eyes At the shrieking iron and flame $urled through still heavens9

#hat 7uaver ( hat heart aghast9 4o!!ies hose roots are in men's veins %ro!, and are ever dro!!ing; &ut mine in my ear is safe, :ust a little hite ith the dust )ie'fried )assoon (188* - 19*7) "lory of #omen 8ou love us hen e're heroes, home on leave, *r ounded in a mentionable !lace. 8ou orshi! decorations; you believe That chivalry redeems the ar's disgrace. 8ou make us shells. 8ou listen ith delight, &y tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled. 8ou cro n our distant ardours hile e fight, And mourn our laurelled memories hen e're killed. 8ou can't believe that &ritish troo!s ;retire; #hen hell's last horror breaks them, and they run, Tram!ling the terrible cor!ses ( blind ith blood. * "erman mother dreaming by the fire, #hile you are knitting socks to send your son $is face is trodden dee!er in the mud. +ere are se,eral topi%s to ta%kle1. Wh/ is Rupert Brooke0s poem 1#he )oldier1 &elie,ed to ser,e as an e2ample of 3eor'ian poetr/4 5is%uss the use of 6positi,e ima'er/7 in des%ri&in' death durin' arfare. 8. 5is%uss the fun%tion of iron/ in O en7s poem. 9onsider the differen%es &et een proar sentimentalism and anti- ar realism. !. +o does Romanti% solilo:u/ disinte'rate into modern inade:ua%/ in "d ard #homas7s ;Rain<4 =. What does the s/m&oli% ima'e of the 6rat7 and 6popp/7 stand for in Rosen&er'7s poem4 5. +o is the theme of futilit/ illustrated in these poems4