Wilfred Owen – Anthem for Doomed Youth

Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) was probably the greatest war poet. He was killed in battle just a week before WW1 ended and his untimely death more than anything is probably the reason he didn’t receive the same fame as his friend and fellow poet, Siegfried Sassoon.

His life ended at just 25, Wilfred’s poetry left us a heartbreaking, beautiful, haunting, honest, soul-searching vision of war.

How easily we send our young off to die. Or really, how easily we send other people’s young off to die. Read some of Wilfred’s amazing poetry and you will never look at the news headlines and our war veterans the same again. We owe them much, most especially, to look after them once they return. If we can’t do this, we don’t deserve their service.

Here are a couple of Wilfred’s poems to remind us what war means to those who fight it. These words are angry, but war is angry, vengeful, ugly, and soul-breaking. Never forget it. Look out for each other.

 

Anthem for Doomed Youth
by Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
      — Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
      Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
      Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
      And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
      Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
      The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

 

The Parable of the Old Man and the Young
by Wilfred Owen

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,

And took the fire with him, and a knife.

And as they sojourned both of them together,

Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,

Behold the preparations, fire and iron,

But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?

Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,

and builded parapets and trenches there,

And stretchèd forth the knife to slay his son.

When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,

Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,

Neither do anything to him. Behold,

A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;

Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,

And half the seed of Europe, one by one.