Owen still rules


10. Sep. 2005, 20:23

Today I've been tackling my English homework, which is basically analysing a poem by Wilfred Owen, (the poem's called 'Futility'). I don't adore this poem, although that may be to do with the fact that I haven't understood it totally yet.
Last year we studied 'Dulce Et Decorum Est', for english lit. GCSE. The fact that we studied it proves that the people in charge of the education system have failed to totally ruin the English GCSE. I'm sure they're working on it though.

I'm having difficulty writing about the structure of 'Futility', and why it's important. I'm sure it is though, I just don't get it yet. All the other areas to write about have been easy - Owen's a great poet, so I always have stuff to write about.

This evening I've been listening to some early Helloween, Rhapsody, and now Explosions in the Sky
I feel like listening to something new, so I'll try out the similar artist radio and play some Guild Wars at the same time.

Here's a copy of that brilliant poem. If you're unfamiliar with it, please read it.

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

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 devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen


  • Rainbowskies

    I remeber studyin that too, though it wasn't in our anthology's, we did it in year 9 or something similar. Twas fantastical.

    11. Sep. 2005, 8:49
  • marxeonist

    Finally finished that essay. It's a bit weird - I don't think it came out how I'd usually write, but it's finished now at least.

    11. Sep. 2005, 14:57
  • Rainbowskies

    Go for it :P

    12. Sep. 2005, 17:09
  • ShakingSpirit

    I also studied Dulce Et Decorum Est for my GCSE :) Tis a good poem :)

    13. Sep. 2005, 0:43
  • marxeonist

    It certainly is :)

    13. Sep. 2005, 16:28
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