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Peter Lagosky Dr. Lee English 3554 November 14, 2012 250564836 W.B. Yeats Was Wrong W.B. Yeats name is synonymous with excellence in the world of poetics. His works are known around the English-speaking world as timeless masterpieces that help define the canon of early twentieth century English literature; and few would disagree that he was a respected member of the writing community. Since W.B. Yeats is famous for being an author, not as many people remember or even know that at one point he was an anthologizer of poems. While Yeats may have succeeded at writing poems, his skills as an anthologizer were mediocre at best: his own personal biases, when compared to the opinions of contemporary scholars and many of his peers, reveal a poet who is out of touch with the society to which he belongs and the art he is so well-known for. Such uncharacteristic naivet is evident in his 1935 compilation, the Oxford Book of Modern Verse; where perhaps most notably, Yeats refused to include the poetry of Wilfred Owen and Isaac Rosenberg, describing their poetry as all blood, dirt, and sucked sugar stick (Yeats 874) and all windy rhetoric (Crawford 202) respectively. Through extensive analysis of the two rejected poets and their writing (with a specific focus on their wartime poetry), I will attempt to explain exactly what Yeats may have

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meant in making his comments, as well as why he made them. It is by completely contextualizing this event and all parties involved that Yeats aesthetic criteria reveals itself as blissful ignorance veiled by his celebrity, and an important error in judgment that continues to puzzle scholars and students alike 77 years later. Before we begin to examine Owen and Rosenberg in further detail, we must first situate British poetry in the early twentieth century and World War 1, as well as clarify exactly what war poetry is. Many literary critics can identify a period in time when the majority of poetry written could be classified as war poetry, and the poets responsible for their works war poets. Owen and Rosenberg are therefore known in the literary world as trench poets, whose writing portrays the squalor and decay of the war, as both men extensively wrote about, and sometimes from, the trenches. Philippa Lyon disagrees with this dangerous generalization: Is [] war poetry simply about the experiences of fighting men?[] Despite the fame of particular soldier-poets, the answer to this is, in many senses, no [] much poetry has been written by individuals who were not necessarily in the thick of battle. Equally, war poetry is not always simply seen as personal suffering made into art: [it] poses direct questions about motivation, intent and fairness; that is to say, about the nature, morality and politics of war (1.2). Since W.B. Yeats made his dislike for both Owen and Rosenberg public, the notion of what makes a war poet, specifically a good one, has been under debate. Both men wrote extensively about their motivations, intent, and about fair-

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ness; yet their works remain an afterthought in many circles and only long after their writing days did either poets work resonate with the public. Why is this? A popular conclusion that critics have come to is that Owens and Rosenbergs poems simply did not fit in - that is to say, their style of writing and the version of war presented by both was in sharp contrast to what Britons wanted to read. W.B. Yeats, in compiling his Oxford Book of Modern Verse, employed what many are willing to call modernist aesthetic criteria. This is evident in what Yeats believes is a good war poem, An Irish Airman Forsees His Death: I know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that fight I do not hate, Those that I guard I do not love (Yeats 1937, 87). The first thing readers tend to notice about Yeats poem when compared to Owens or Rosenbergs trench poetry is a clear absence of the mechanisms of war: there is no combat, no carnage, and most notably in this poem about an airman, no airplane. The shocking lack of action in Yeats poem makes his airman a neutral party, an individual we involuntarily support because he is fighting for good; even though he is not actually fighting. In a sense Yeats play is almost ironic, as he is definitely not considered a war poet, and his attempt at becoming one portrays an airman, out of combat, flying high above the macabre of the trenches containing the same poets (writing from a first-hand experience) he so vehemently rejected. While Yeats editorial work may have reflected the demands of a culture, as a poet he should have

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looked beyond cultural demands in favor of producing the best possible anthology of wartime poetry. Now that we have a sense of what W.B. Yeats may have been thinking, we must now consider his biases with respect to Wilfred Owens and Isaac Rosenbergs poems. Why did the anti-war undertones evident in both Owens and Rosenbergs poetry completely contrast the hyper-patriotic fervor on the home front and in the media during the war (Norris 144)? As mentioned earlier, their work just did not fit in: Futurism and Vorticism, with their celebration of energy, technology, and violence made a virtual mockery of their experiences in the trenches [] and Modernism, with its pressure to restrain feeling and maintain impersonality further deprived them of the new vehicle of Modernisms highly crafted and controlled poetic forms to express their experiences (Norris 144). As a result, both Owen and Rosenberg found it increasingly difficult to achieve any sort of prominence, and fought a cultural battle in addition to the one they were fighting in the trenches. I would now like to look at Wilfred Owen in further detail, and try to contextualize his struggle to fit into the climate of British poetry. Growing up in the backstreets of Birkenhead and Shrewsbury (near Liverpool), Owen lacked the care of a devoted mother, and as a result began to develop a clear skepticism towards the Church and a compassion towards the suffering of the poor (Reidhead 2034). After struggling to decide whether or not to enlist, he served from January to May 1917 and fought as an officer in the battle of Somme (2034). Owens time fighting on the Somme lacked any sort of

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meaning or plot and the shocking reality of warfare paralyzed his writing of poetry (Norgate 528). After developing shellshock (which literally threatened his sanity (528)) and spending time at Craiglockheart Hospital in Edinburgh, he met Siegfried Sassoon and was instantly influenced by his satiric realism (Reidhead 2034). Powered by vivid nightmares and influenced by earlier writers, Owen combines literary and religious language to emphasize the absurdities of war, and uses principles like the pastoral elegy to describe mass suffering (2034). Owen died a week before the war ended in 1918, long before Yeats compiled his anthology. In his later years of life, Owen matured as a poet, sharpening the expression of his own response to war, his poetry shaping itself in contradistinction to the pervading popular sentiment (Norgate 516). This popular sentiment, the same that Rosenberg fell victim to, involved Thousands [] chang[ing] their attitude towards poetry and [becoming] impelled by the war to seek expression in verse (517). Publications were, at the time, full of war poems and sold to raise money for patriotic or charitable causes; essentially ruining the purity of the poetry straight from the trenches. Lines were so blurred between who could and could not write a war poem, that few raised any question about the essential rightness of the war or doubted the wisdom of its continued prosecution (517). One of Owens most notable poems, Dulce et Decorum Est, does not try to remedy this situation. Rather it attacks the ignorance of non-soldiers and instead of pandering for the support of the home front, rejects it as misguided brainwash. The poem focuses on the mass of nameless soldiers that

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suffer and die, and with persistent emphasis on its degrading, nightmarish setting [] images a random and futile death, far removed from any meaningful action and whose memory offers no comfort or heroic reassurance (Norgate 521): [] All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind (Reidhead 2037) Owen takes the depersonalization of the soldier to another level in the second half of his poem, appealing directly to the reader to try and relate to the unthinkable: 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 devils sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs [] My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum set Pro patria mori (2037) This part of the poem is specifically directed at Jessie Pope (for whom the poem was originally written) who published patriotic war poems urging young men to enlist (2037), but after revision and review, Owen decided to widen the spectrum of his poem, attacking not only Pope but all civilian noncombatants who ignorantly support the war they know nothing about, as well as certain soldiers who have participated, [] must have watched and heard, but who apparently still do not really see (Norgate 521). Owens language of rejection, whether straightforward or implied, suggests that the Great War is a hypocrisy; a terrible event whose reputation is based on

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heroic, patriotic rhetoric that perpetuates the myth of soldiers being righteous and gallant individuals. When compared to the lifeless, inorganic poetry of Wilfred Owen; the populace of rambunctious pro-war citizens and even soldiers who wrote well-received war poetry portraying gallant acts of heroism become puppets in a play controlled by misinformation. Wilfred Owen must be freed from the label of war poet and instead regarded as a writer with his own style, whose poems have influenced subsequent English poetry in ways that go beyond the rendering of war, or even the pity of war (Hynes 623). Instead of recognizing his undeniable talent, Yeats shrugged Owen to the side and handicapped his anthology accordingly; he further damaged his reputation by doing the same to Isaac Rosenberg. Rosenberg, born in Bristol to poor Jewish parents, was actually an aspiring artist before he became a poet. With his sisters encouragement, he began to produce copies of his poems and circulate them among Londons literary scene (Reidhead 2029). Never achieving literary prominence, Rosenberg decided to enlist in the army in 1915 to help support his mother, and died in 1918. Rosenbergs placement outside of the mainstream is almost an extension of himself as a misfit; being born to Yiddish-speaking immigrant parents subjected him to the normal ration of Edwardian anti-Semitism in the war (Perry 8). Thus, Isaac Rosenberg is an interesting poet in the gamut of war poetry, the quintessential outsider: but was he a war poet? Many of his best poems did come from his time spent on the frontlines, specifically Break of Day in the Trenches, which is revered as a typical day in the

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trenches, devoid of the mock-elevated status attributed to soldiers in popular war poetry at the time. While Rosenbergs poetry may be a de facto representation of the soldiers experience, it does little in the way to embellish or falsify the war and approaches the topic of suffering head-on; something very few of his peers did. Rosenberg used the war to confirm his feelings and sharpen his outlook on the world and human condition, rather than use it as a formative experience like Owen (Perry 8). Rosenberg, already an outsider, must then also be considered an outsider of war poetry, but for very different reasons than that given by Yeats for excluding his work from his anthology. Rosenbergs work is best known for its sense of some perpetual and primal wrong, the condition of a universe governed by the unthinkable rotting god (Perry 8). Unlike Owen, who brings the carnage of warfare into the personal and intimate scope, Rosenberg finds horrors continuation by different means, usually through the divine, or in nature. His poems reflect the futility of humanity in the face of war, where danger is at every turn and ones life is never guaranteed (Perry 8). Rosenberg, like many of the soldier poets, was able to sustain positivity and idealism among abhorrence and decay by referring to the same terms that have given past wars meaning in social and literary culture: terms like religion, nation, duty, or sacrifice. This practice of withholding language in First World War popular poetry produced a clique of experience, whereby understanding of the war could be 'held in' and limited to what was acceptable or could be coped with by society. The

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poets felt it necessary to recount their war experience as it is, and unfortunately, what they wanted to see in a poem about war was not what the war poets necessarily wanted to communicate about war. The same sentiments that effected Owens reception in the public eye also befell Rosenberg, whose exclusion from early anthologies of war left him largely unknown until later in the century, years after his death. Rosenbergs lack of published poetry was likely the actual reason behind his exclusion from the Oxford Book of Modern Verse, not because his poems were all windy rhetoric as Yeats dismissed them. Rosenbergs sister persistently sent his poetry to be published, convinced of his genius, to no avail until 1922 when Gordon Bottomley edited Rosenbergs Collected Poems (Banerjee 744). Authenticity doubts arose and a more reliable volume was not made until 1937, two years after Yeats anthology was made (745). Rosenbergs lack of credible, attributable and edited poems during the time of Yeats presumed collection for his anthology seems almost primarily responsible for Yeats misconceived opinion on his poetry. It took until 1975 for Rosenbergs poetry to truly enter the mainstream and get the appreciation it deserved, when Paul Fussell called Break of Day in the Trenches the greatest poem of the war in his all-encompassing study on Great War literature, The Great War and Modern Memory (250). Fussells work re-explores Rosenberg in a way that Yeats never did, and never could have amid the popular opinion of poetry: in retrospection.

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Break of Day in the Trenches, often described as a typical morning in the life of a trench fighter, is Rosenbergs crown jewel. The level of detail given to the mundane amidst such a catastrophe is spectacular, and subverts the rhetoric of other wartime poetry. His poem begins at dawn: The darkness crumbles awayIt is the same old druid Time as ever. Only a live thing leaps my hand- In a letter to Edward Marsh, Rosenberg suggests that he might object to the second line as vague, but [it] was the best way [he] could express the sense of dawn (Liddard 426). Apart from the unusual way that night gives way to day (by crumbling), Rosenberg presents us with a scene of daybreak with which we are very familiar; except on this occasion, a rat has crawled onto and subsequently jumped off of his hand, a light-hearted interruption. No fighting is happening, and for the first time in a long time, Rosenberg has intimate contact with a living thing other than the depressed members of his unit or the enemy. The focus of the poem is on this rat who so arrogantly wanders amid the battlefield and in the trenches, as if it knows that its size and speed will let it outlive the soldiers. The rat, of course, alludes to everything sinister and underhanded in the world, the slimy gutter creature that feeds off of mankinds waste and thrives in squalor. In this case however, Rosenberg presents a role reversal where humans, who typically outlive animals, are at a disadvantage in this setting; a rare occurrence anywhere else. While the poem may begin with the pastoral imagery of dawn, it ventures into images of terror:

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It seems you inwardly grin as you pass Strong eyes, fine limbs, haughty athletes, Less chanced than you for life, Bonds to the whims of murder, Sprawled in the bowels of the earth, The torn fields of France. (Reidhead 2030) The pessimistic tone, coupled with the horrifying subject matter, contradict Rosenbergs pastoral start to the poem. Just like the uncertainty, horrors and dangers that lurk in the night crumbled away, the soldiers are broken down into body parts and sprawled across a torn landscape. The same fragmentary diction used by Rosenberg to induce feelings of calm and tranquility also communicate the sheer deconstruction of life and limb, as well as nature. This trend does not continue however, as Rosenberg restores the pastoral by poems end: Poppies whose roots are in mans veins Drop, and are ever dropping; But mine in my ear is safeJust a little white with the dust (2030). Aware that the blood of the dead nourished poppies to grow, Rosenberg keeps his poppy behind his ear, which is where he would be shot if he were to leave the trenches instead of hiding in a hole, like a rat is supposed to do (Fussell 252). Unlike those that grow over the graves of the dead, Rosenbergs poppy, although slightly white with dust, is safe: a small hint of beauty and color to contrast the grey skies and muddy trenches. The way Break of Day in the Trenches is written speaks volumes about Rosenbergs time in the military, as well as alludes to his upbringing and voice as an author: he was, as earlier described, the quintessential outsider. A victim of anti-Semitism

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most of his life and a cast away of the literary community, Isaac Rosenberg acts is like a sponge who absorbs all which is around him. The war did not give him his ideologies, it confirmed them and strengthened them. Unlike Wilfred Owen, Isaac Rosenberg never had a chance to have his works read by a large audience or by other poets at the time. He wrote entirely without feedback or a fanbase, and posthumously gained any recognition for his artistry. With so many people revering Rosenberg as one of the greatest poets of the war, it seems outright ridiculous that W.B. Yeats would not include any of his works in his anthology. If Yeats is willing to call Rosenbergs poetry nothing but windy rhetoric, one truly has to question whether at one point rhetoric had a different meaning, as Rosenbergs poetry can be described as anything except it. Yeats comments, in perspective of the wide world of poetry and literature, are so incredibly swell-headed and especially when considered in light of modern criticism, hold very little weight. A year after writing his anthology, Yeats was still content with his editorial decisions, claiming that his anthology continues to sell & the critics get more & more angry (Wellesley 113). Not content with selling his artistic soul to the British populace, Yeats continually stood by his decision and only substituted Herbert Reads End of War written long after (113). As a prominent poet, Yeats aesthetic criteria seems completely out of sync with longstanding opinions and beliefs held about poetry and writing. Initially, it makes sense to dismiss Yeats decision as a misguided and biased faux pas. His Oxford Book of Modern Verse is very

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much like so many CD compilations sold over infomercials on television today, claiming to capture the sound of the seventies, or the soul of the sixties, or some other outrageous generalization. Inevitably, some artists will be included and some will be left out, much to the chagrin of their supporters; but no blatant errors in judgment are made and as a whole, the CDs mostly capture the nostalgia and memories of the sixties or seventies. Yeats may have simply wanted to include poets and authors that held relevance in England and would be recognized as the voices of the war. To adopt this position and legitimately support Yeats in his decision would be senseless and ignorant of the truth of the war and its poets. It is representative of everything wrong with art, and reflexive of the general decline that art has taken in the past century. Once an artist choses the pursuit of profit over the pursuit of meaning in life, their reputation is soiled, they become a sell-out and thus an outcast in the artistic community. W.B. Yeats did not have to worry about this scrutiny, however, as he was already a renowned poet. He wanted to brand the early twentieth century with his name, and go down in history as a great anthologizer of the times in addition to being a good poet. Unfortunately, I dont buy it for a second. W.B. Yeats as an artist should be able to notice talent when he sees it. Instead, he sacrificed artistic ability and editorial integrity for the pursuit of fame, fortune, and in name of furthering his own personal agenda. Thus, his Oxford Book of Modern Verse is more like the Fox News of early twentieth century poetry, reporting at will, and with Yeats acting as Bill OReilly or Glenn Beck blindly

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and aggressively defending a flawed ideology. Perhaps Yeats may have thought Owens poetry was still in its formative stage and lacked any kind of unique voice of his own. Maybe he just did not see enough reliable, edited poetry from Rosenberg to include him in such an important anthology. Regardless of his reasoning, Yeats should not be pardoned from this inextricable display of egocentric arrogance. The fact that he did not include Owen or Rosenberg in his anthology, even in memoriam, shows that Yeats is more than an artistically-challenged impostor fueled by greed and fame: he is also a despicable individual who cant even set aside his artistic criterion to pay respects to the soldiers who have not only fought and died in the war, but accurately and beautifully represented it in a way that his amateur editorial never could. Simply put, W.B. Yeats was wrong.

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Works Cited Banerjee, A. "The Poems of Isaac Rosenberg." English Studies 89.6 (2008): 744-45. Jstor.org. Web. Crawford, Fred D., ed. British Poets of the Great War. Cranberry: Associated University Presses, 1998. Fussell, Paul. The Great War and Modern Memory. Oxford University Press USA, 2000. Hynes, Samuel. "Wilfred Owen and the Poetry of War." The Sewanee Review 93.4 (1985): 618-23. Jstor.org. Web.

Lillard, Jean ed. Isaac Rosenberg: Selected Poems and Letters. Philadelphia: Enitharmon Press in ciety, 2003. Lyon, Philippa, ed. Twentieth-Century War Poetry: A Reader's Guide to Essential Criticism. Bakingstoke: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005. association with the European Jewish Publications So-

Norgate, Paul. "Wilfred Owen and the Soldier Poets." The Review of English Studies ns 40.160 (1989): 516-30. Jstor.org. Web.

Norris, Margot. "Teaching World War I Poetry: Comparatively." College Literature 32.3 (2005): 136-53. Jstor.org. Web.

Perry, Seamus. "Old Druid Time." The Times Literary Supplement 5356 (2005): 8. Web.

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Reidhead, Julia ed. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Twelfth Century and After. Vol. F. New York: Norton, 2012.

Wellesley, Dorothy. Letters on Poetry from W.B. Yeats to Dorothy Wellesley. New York: Read Books, 2007. Yeats, William Butler, ed. 1937. The Oxford Book of Modern Verse 1892-1935. New York: Oxford University Press.