The first part of the 20th Century saw many poets who experienced the wages of war, either in the Great War or in the smaller battles in Ireland . Rupert Brooke, Siegfried Sassoon, Robert Graves, Wilfred Owen, the American Joyce Kilmer, Canadian John McCrae, and many others define the experience of the Great War in a way different from almost any other conflict. This period remains defined and understood by its poetry, yet I am sure the works of these men are so little read today. If we are to really to understand the agonies they endured, we need to look at some of their poems.
“The First World War inspired profound poetry – words in which the atmosphere and landscape of battle were evoked perhaps more vividly than ever before.
The poets – many of whom lost their lives – became a collective voice , illuminating not only the war’s tragedies and their irreparable effects, but the hopes and disappointments of an entire generation.”
These men were scarred by the horrors they saw, and many of them struggled to reconcile their trauma with the ordinary events of daily life through their poetry.
Brooke, McCrae, Owen |
RUPERT BROOKE was already an established poet and
literary figure before the outbreak of the First World War. When war broke
out he joined a newly-formed unit, the 2nd Naval Brigade, Royal Naval Division.
In the last
months of 1914 he wrote the five 'war sonnets' that were to make him famous,
including 'Peace' and 'The Soldier'. He was travelling to the Dardanelles with
the Hood Battalion, in March 1915, when he was taken ill in Egypt . Although
weak, he continued to the Greek island
of Skyros.
There, he suffered an insect bite which became infected and he died of blood
poisoning on 23 April. He was buried in an olive grove on the island.
ROBERT GRAVES was the son of a British father and
a German mother. He won a classical scholarship to St
John's College , Oxford , in 1914, but
instead obtained a commission in the Royal Welch Fusiliers.
He was sent
to France
in May 1915, where he took part in the Battle of Loos. In July 1916, three
weeks into the Battle of the
Somme, he was badly wounded and reported dead. His parents were
informed and a notice of his death appeared in The Times before they
realized he had survived. He returned to the front several months later, but
his lungs had been permanently damaged and he was declared unfit for active
service.
While in France , Graves
became a close friend of fellow officer, Siegfried
Sassoon, and supported him during his notorious anti-war 'protest'.
Sassoon's influence showed in Graves 's early
poems. His acclaimed autobiography, “Goodbye to All That”, based largely
on his wartime experiences, was published in 1929. He moved to Majorca that year and worked as a poet, scholar, dramatist,
critic and novelist until his death at the age of 90.
WILFRED OWEN was in France
working as a private tutor when war was declared He returned to England and
joined the Artists' Rifles in October 1915. He was subsequently commissioned
into the Manchester Regiment and was sent to France in December 1916. In April
1917, after a traumatic period of action, he was diagnosed with what became
known as shell-shock,
and was sent back to Britain .
While recovering in Craiglockhart
War Hospital
he met Siegfried Sassoon. There, with Sassoon's support, he found his poetic
voice and wrote the famous poem, “Anthem for Doomed Youth”.
Owen
returned to France
in August 1918 and was awarded the Military Cross in October. He was killed in
action on 4 November, just a few days before the Armistice.
Lieutenant Colonel JOHN McCRAE, MD was a Canadian poet,
physician, author, artist and soldier during World War I,
and a surgeon during the Second Battle of Ypres, in Belgium.
He is best known for writing the famous war memorial poem "In Flanders Fields". McCrae died of pneumonia near
the end of the war.
In April
1915, McCrae was stationed in the trenches near Ypres ,
Belgium , in an area known as
Flanders , during the bloody Second Battle of
Ypres. In the midst of the tragic warfare, McCrae’s friend, twenty-two-year-old
Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, was killed by artillery fire and buried in a
makeshift grave. The following day, McCrae, after seeing the field of makeshift
graves blooming with wild poppies, wrote his famous poem “In Flanders Fields,” which
would be the second-to-last poem he would ever write.
“In
Flanders Fields” became popular almost immediately upon its publication. It was
translated into other languages. The poppy soon became known as the flower of
remembrance for the men and women in Britain ,
France , the United States , and Canada who have died in service of
their country. Today, McCrae’s poem continues to be an important part of
Remembrance Day celebrations in Canada
and Europe, as well as Memorial Day and Veterans Day celebrations in the United States .
Soon after
writing “In Flanders Fields,” McCrae was transferred to a hospital in France ,
where he was named the chief of medical services. Saddened and disillusioned by
the war, McCrae found respite in writing letters and poetry, and wrote his
final poem, “The Anxious Dead.” In the summer of 1917, McCrae’s health took a
turn, and he began suffering from severe asthma attacks and bronchitis. McCrae
died of pneumonia and meningitis on January 28, 1918.
"In Flanders Fields"
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead, short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
InFlanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead, short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
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