Greater Love Red lips are not so red As the stained stones kissed by the English dead. Kindness of wooed and wooer Seems shame to their love pure. O Love, your eyes lose lure When I behold eyes blinded in my stead! Your slender attitude Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed, Rolling and rolling there Where God seems not to care: Till the fierce love they bear Cramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude. Your voice sings not so soft,— Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,— Your dear voice is not dear, Gentle, and evening clear, As theirs whom none now hear, Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed. Heart, you were never hot Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot; And though your hand be pale, Paler are all which trail Your cross through flame and hail: Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not. Wilfred Owen
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I honestly chose to research Wilfred Owen because I liked his name. I remember from the film that he was a poet, so I was interested in reading some of his works. The first one I read was called "Greater Love." Usually, I'm not that interested in poetry. However, I was blown away by this poem. It contains such power and strength that I was immediately absorbed. As I looked among his other poems, I was surprised that all of his poems contain the same energy and strength as "Greater Love." I am amazed at how he masters such a commanding presence of power in his writing.
Wilfred Owen was born in Oswestry, Shropshire, England in 1893. He attended the Birkenhead Institute, then the University of London. After graduation, he lived in France, and began writing simple poems. He enlisted in the British army in 1915. His experiences in trench warfare caused him to write poems about deeper and more mature material, mainly about the war. He was injured and sent home to a hospital in 1917, where he met a fellow poet named Siegfried Sassoon. Sassoon confided his feelings about to war to Owen, and discussed Owen's poetry with him, making a huge change in Owen's style. In 1918, Owen returned to France as a company commander. He was killed on November 4, 1918, one week before Armistice Day and the end of the war. His poems were later published by Sassoon.
What I think is really interesting about Wilfred Owen and, I guess, the severity of World War I was that Wilfred was so affected by the war that it began to pervade most of his writing. I'm not really surprised though because of the war's enormity. This only showed how broad of a reach the war had, and how powerful of an influence.
ReplyDeleteWhat I really liked about this post was that we can fully understand Wilfred Owen through your representation. It was very nice to see both a picture of him and an example of his poetry, because it gives us an idea in our mind of what Owen was truly like.
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