Poem ~ Edward Thomas: The Road Taken - Tuesday, 10 April 1917 - Wednesday, 11 April 1917

Source: File: Company of Hut 35: Edward Thomas second row, second from left. See an original image at: <http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/03319/thomas7_3319732b.jpg> [Accessed 10 April 2017]

When might a poet emerge from night?

As some day without date

Or significance - as a wind might push

Unpredictable weather;

As a sun that warms, or settling of frost.

Perhaps by challenging companionship

On long walks over long grass,

Reaching divergence of yellow wooded

Paths, where friends debate

In lost sunshine - a final step was taken.

Successful novelist, essayist and critic

Edward Thomas received

A friend’s poem by post - Robert Frost's

'The Road Not Taken,'

Pushed his friend along a new direction.

English Thomas had reacted to American

Friend Frost, to feel insulted.

This prompted the London born man into

Armed services; taking him

On a decisive path to join Artists Rifles.

July 1915's enlistment had broken

Any lingering indecision -

Despite marriage and middle aged,

Edward Thomas felt

Personal need to undertake his duty.

November 1916 - over many months

Of training had gained

Thomas' promotion, from Corporal's

Two bar chevron to take

Commission as Second Lieutenant.

By shrugged off indecisive creativity

Edward Thomas found

His path to poetry - then indirectly

Spoke of war, along

With a favored subject of countryside.

Evoking own deeper emotions, mostly

Written prior to stepping

Onto foreign soil, Thomas would reach

The borders of sleep,

And become lost within a deep forest.

A man's self struggle with love of both

Wife, children and pride

For country - Thomas continued to write

When finally he arrived

In France for 1917, then ready to fight.

As commissioned Second Lieutenant

With the Royal Garrison

Artillery, Thomas headed towards Arras.

This enigmatic man, despite

Success, carried depressive tendencies.

Historic legacy of phantoms had haunted

Thomas - old depression

Had led him to unsuccessful suicide trials -

But perhaps war gave

Him reason - he crumbled pinched earth.

By way of explanation of why he wanted

To fight, Thomas sought

An urgent transfer to the frontline - keen

Impatient to be shot at.

Suicidal or patriotic Thomas gained wish.

A new day dawned on Easter Monday,

9th April 1917 - destruction

Commenced the second battle of Arras.

Vimy Ridge under a heavy

Canadian attack, saw a dawn of shellfire.

A distance of some seven miles existed

Between Vimy and Arras -

An area where writer Second Lieutenant

Edward Thomas took duty,

Having spent relatively little time in France.

Then with 143 poems to his name, Thomas

Took a break - lack of caution

Perhaps, took him outside. Morning shells

Still fired, as he decided

To loiter, close beside a parapet for a smoke.

Such a place he had written about - where

Children ran along, as a path

That gave them a view below their feet.

If then there they would see

Their creator lingering to light-up his pipe.

As tobacco ignited he drew in the flame

With final breath, as some

Shell impacted close by - sending him

To the borders of sleep -

A concussive wave sped over his body.

The impact of the blast wave rocked

Vital organs; Edward

Thomas fell dead. Later Helen Thomas

Would read how there

Was no mark on her husband's body.

Such an official version had spared his 

Wife a little grief - though

Commanding officer Franklin Lushington,

Years later revealed how

Thomas had been shot through the chest.

by Jamie Mann.

Source: File: Edward Thomas Poet. Wikipedia. Available at: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Thomas_(poet)> [Accessed 10 April 2017]

Source: File: Edward Thomas (1878-1917), War Poets Association. Available at: <http://www.warpoets.org/poets/edward-thomas-1878-1917/> [Accessed 10 April 2017]

Source: File: Edward Thomas: an acute depressive who loved the English countryside. The Daily Telgrapgh. Available at: <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/bookreviews/11628589/Edward-Thomas-an-acute-depressive-who-loved-the-English-countryside.html/> [Accessed 10 April 2017]

Mann, J., 2016. 100 years Ago - Poems by Jamie Mann. [letter] (Personal communication, 10 April 2017). 

http://worldwaroneblogger.blogspot.co.uk/

#WW1 #WW1centenary #GreatWar #WW1poem #GreatWar #WW1centenary #worldwarone #worldwaroneremembered #WW1Poets 

Poem ~ Gurney: Trench Songs - Sunday, 1 April 1917 - Monday, 2 April 1917

Impression sketch of Ivor Gurney composing music in a disused mortar trench by Jamie

With promising abilities as musician,

A scholarship for young Ivor Gurney

Gained his place at Royal College of music, under

The tutorship of Charles Villers Stanford;

Yet a talented student was unteachable.

A personality of dynamism had been

Tainted by mood swings - effects hurt

His abilities to study. By 1913 Gurney succumbed

To a mental breakdown; on recovery

He returned, enlisting at war's start.

Poet and composer Gurney would

Not let war defer his need to create

Music  - summer 1916, Private Ivor Gurney sought

A quiet place on the front, to find this

In some disused mortar trench.

Within his pocket was a likely copy

Of a poem, sent him by Marion Scott.

John Masefield's 'By a Biersides,' centred on subject

Of death - sitting in an open box

Of earth Gurney set out his music.

In the very setting of Masefield's

Words, Gurney envisioned a scene;

Evoking a classical romanticised image of a dead

Greek hero, over which an oration

Is pronounced by a poet priest.

'A sacred city built of marvellous

Earth - Life was lived nobly here

To give such beauty birth.' These very lines had

Possessed him - a reflection of true war,

A city of trenches and army of youth.

There young death might give birth

To beauty with poetry set to music -

For living is turned on its head, where death

Opens unknown doors, to suggest

There is grandeur in dying youth.

From sun that spilled over trooper

Gurney's shoulder into that trench

Mortar hole, lit up a square of earth-stained paper

On which he composed - after which

He posted to Royal College of music.

A soldier as poet, enabled the mind

Of composer translated by musicians

Hands - from dirt to sanitised congratulations

By Mr Montague Muir-Mackenzie for

All students who had gone to war.

An annual Royal College of Music

Meeting, heard Muir-Mackenzie's words

Praise songs on earth-stained paper, passed by some

Sensitive censor - two compositions

Played might have included Bierside.

The first of Gurney's war songs,

By simple ambition called for a big

Voice to translate emotion and the shifts of musical

Moods, to reflect the composers

Struggle for his love of battle.

by Jamie Mann.

Anon.,1917. Songs From The Trenches. The Daily Telegraph, [online] 30 March 1917. P.3. Col.3. Available at: <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/ww1-archive/12214420/Daily-Telegraph-March-30-1917.html> [Accessed: 01 April 2017].

Source: File: Teaching the Songs of Ivor Gurney: An Applied Studio Guide to the Utilization of Fourteen Songs. Available at: <https://etd.ohiolink.edu/!etd.send_file?accession=osu1448468099&disposition=inline> [Accessed 01 April 2017]

Source: File: The Songs of Gurney and Ireland. A talk given by Ian Venables to the Ivor Gurney Society on the 11th May 2000. Available at: <http://ianvenables.com/gurney/> [Accessed 01 April 2017]

Mann, J., 2016. 100 years Ago - Poems by Jamie Mann. [letter] (Personal communication, 01 April 2017). 

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/ww1-archive/12214420/Daily-Telegraph-March-30-1917.html

http://worldwaroneblogger.blogspot.co.uk/

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Poem ~ Owen: A Letter Home - Tuesday, 16 January 1917 - Sunday, 21 January 1917

Impression sketch of Wilfred Owen crawling towards advanced post  by Jamie

i

From Billet to canvas to cattle wagon,

Came stages of transportation -

Within twelve days of arrival Wilfred

Owen no longer had protection.

The rocking, sliding ride amid others,

Took them towards inevitability -

A mistletoe code home broke all rules

To spell S e r r e; a ghostly place.

West of there British trenches marked

An edge; reserve, support and front

Lines - foul conditions still being used -

A communication trench led him.

First sign of the front met Owen's eyes;

They likely waded in knee deep

Waters - poisoned rainwaters that glints

By sunlight, tarnished in decay.

Early January and deep winter held

Its promise of snow - snow that

Briefly alleviated the churned ground -

Its brief purity sucked down.

Lieutenant Wilfred Owen would later

Find time to describe the state

Of the front in a six paged letter home,

Sent to, 'My own sweet Mother.'

ii

Penned five days into his first arrival there

By subjective analysis the pressure

Of each stroke suggests Owen's tiredness,

Sensitivity and likely empathy.

Words set out with deep indents, whose

Characters stand upright - added

To here and there with thoughts or small

Words, struck in favour of others.

Wishes for freedom spaces words, along

With logical and practical character

By lack of slants, as each connected letter

Shows careful systematic decisions.

With i's whose dots often fly away

To the right, confirm this male

Writer’s imagination - ability topped

Of capital T suggested optimism.

Emotions of the man are portrayed

By choice of expressions -

Openly he is 'bitterly' disappointed

In not receiving her letters.

In honesty the officer informs his

Mother, no reason to deceive

How he had suffered 'seventh hell,'

Over the previous four days.

iii

Dante’s vision takes Wilfred Owen

Whose poet’s circles transport

Him to the seventh circle; made from

Three rings, first is the outermost.

On banks of boiling blood and fire are

Violent beings and murderers -

In the middle ring harpies feed on the

Vegetation formed by suicides.

There wild dogs tear to shred wasters -

The innermost ring are irreverents

Who stand on scolding sands beneath

Torrential, burning, hellish rains.

Such describes the state of the front

Where before Owen has been,

Beyond the very core of No Mans Land.

'I held an advanced post.'

In a singular parameter he is joined;

'We marched 3 miles a shelled

Road dissolved into a flooded trench,

Finally flattened into nothing.'

It was night as they aimed for the dug

Out in the midst of No Mans Land

Up and over the top into utter darkness,

That held no chance of light.

iV

In varieties of depth of up to five feet

Of mud, Owen at pains, describes

How this is no ordinary mud not even

Sloppy but a deep sucking clay.

By properties of an octopoda creature

Of mythology; an ability to suck

Anything down into doom - here men

Have been known to drown.

Some can only escape by discarding

Equipment, waders and even

Their clothes, in order to crawl from the

Slippery claws - many have fallen.

Relentlessly machine guns stuttered

With high explosives all around -

Yet the darkness seemed able to absorb

Any light, so no flare revealed them.

Blind men in a brail of a path, the party

Reached the dug out - each three

Quarters dead, there relieved observers.

Owens responsibility was not over.

In charge of other posts even further

Into hells depth, he found another

Advanced post - here he left bombers

To number 18; nearby were others.

V

Slight relief came as one junior officer

Took charge of those - the dug out

Where they stood was six feet, water

Though held the first two feet.

Air of a kind was contained in the four

Feet left - here forms of 25 men

Were squeezed together; short sentences

Conveyed Owen's abject misery.

Though only afternoon this was January.

Ten minutes dragged into an hour -

To say '50 hours that were the agony of my

Happy life'; bled despondency.

Water was still rising, as the Germans

Knew they were there and did

Not want them - German shells wailed

Through the dark as hells hounds.

Owen admitted to being on very edge

Of breaking point - he stared down

Into the water, almost to let himself drown.

Shelling faded as 6 p.m. struck hour.

At 150 yards lay yet another British post

That should take only sixty seconds

To walk; Owen waded, climbed, crawled

To take 30 minutes to reach.

Vi

The most danger came from friendly fire

Of machine guns behind - holding

To humor he compared them to Mary’s

Canary, who he could support more.

In plain horror the sentries, one of whom

He had not taken as his servant, were

Blown away - if taken the fellow would be

Alive; servants don't do sentry duty.

In safety Owen ordered the other sentries

Half way down the dug out stairs,

Under the intense bombardment - yet one

Lad blown down stairs was blinded.

To close with short sentences in effect

Of disjointed thoughts; 'I suppose

I am well, though the left platoon officer

In hospital completely exhausted.'

Perhaps like the officer that he relieved

Owen suffered a deeper shock;

The man left after 24 hours to abandon

3 Lewis guns for a court martial.

For honesty allowed Wilfred to declare

All this to Susan, as that place

Was the worst Manchester’s ever held -

He would never go back there.

Vii

By hurried last lines to complete sixth

Page, squeezed together by open

Half coded criticism, against a fellow

Distinguished countryman.

The shared Welsh ancestry of Lloyd

George, the Prime minister

Of the British war time government,

Whom this soldier cursed.

Though any leader might be par for

The course - he gave his mother

Allowance to pass on his experiences

To others, such as cousin Leslie.

Under the curious reference, 'Owen

Owen' to hint at the Medieval

Ruler, who led welsh revolt against

The English, in vain self-status.

Self consciously perhaps his intent

Always for a wider audience -

A letter, not just for his mother's gaze,

But to show others the truth.

His own eyes opened by the harsh

Reality and to contain a source

That would remain in Owen's mind
Of a sentry tumbling blind.

By Jamie Mann.

Source: File: Letter from Wilfred Owen to his mother on January 16 1917. Available at: <http://battlefieldtrip.wikispaces.com/Wilfred+Owen> [Accessed 16 January 2017]

Source: File: What does your handwriting say about you?. Available at: <http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2380858/What-does-handwriting-say-Study-finds-5-000-personality-traits-linked-write.html> [Accessed 16 January 2017]

Source: File: 9 Circles of Hell (Dante's Inferno). Available at: <http://historylists.org/art/9-circles-of-hell-dantes-inferno.html> [Accessed 16 January 2017]

Source: File: Owain Glyndŵr. Wikipedia. Available at: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Owain_Glyndŵr> [Accessed 16 January 2017]

Mann, J., 2016. 100 years Ago - Poems by Jamie Mann. [letter] (Personal communication, 16 January 2017). 

http://worldwaroneblogger.blogspot.co.uk/

#WW1 #WW1centenary #GreatWar #WW1poem #GreatWar #WW1centenary #worldwarone #worldwaroneremembered #WW1WilfredOwen

Poem ~ Owen: An Officer In France - Monday, 1 January 1917 - Friday 5 January 1917

Source: File: Second Lieutenant Wilfred Owen. See an original image at: <http://www.wilfredowen.org.uk/Biography> [Accessed 01 January 2017]

By December's despondent mood,

Second Lieutenant Wilfred Owen

Stayed in temporary residence; the

Queens Hotel Southport, Merseyside

Held little comfort for 1916's end.

A place poised on North Sea's edge

To funnel a cold northwest draft, did

Nothing to uplift Owen's mood - daily

Challenged by Major Melville's ways

Of continual dissatisfied manners.

Still on home duty Owen was fit and

Ready - while many resident officers

Wandering there wore gold stripes

On sleeves, to show there wounded

Status; frustrations pummelled Owen.

His application to join draft for Egypt

Had fallen through - once more Owen

Thought to join Royal Flying Corps,

But Colonel Ridge only humored him,

Not wanting to lose such an officer.

Yet sometimes what is really desired

Comes about, as papers evidenced.
To fade in years were adjutant typed

Notes; 11 December 1916, orders

Stated Wilfred Owen to go overseas.

Five days leave led him to Mahim -

Giving a chance to stay for Christmas.

With packed valise and preparations

Finished, Owen learned his company

Would be the Lancashire Fusiliers.

Another hotel - this time in Folkstone,

To be vaster and grander than the poky

Cold Queens hotel - though the journey

There involved a fright - from London

In the guards van Owen had dozed.

A goods wagon passing by suddenly

Lost part of it load, a timber rolled and

Smashed the roof of the guards van

Over Owen, like some omen - luckily

Safe, relief came by a Hotel's company.

The end of 1916 was spent in travel.

Finally Second Lieutenant Wilfred

Owen set foot on French ground - date

29 December at port of Calais - amid

The great machinery of British army.

France was no stranger to Owen,

Though he returned in a different

Guise from his days as a boy's tutor.

A train carried him along the coast

To the vast base camp of Etaples.

A transitory stop on way to trench
Line front that held German troops
At bay; Etaples camp, a last ditch
Intensified training for troops, which 

Initially Owen saw as a hotel camp.

Comforts of a helpful servant and

A tent of his own, Wilfred Owen

Experienced transition from 1916

To 1917 under canvas - as echoes

Of Scots celebrated their hogmanay.

Away from such celebrations other

Men about wore dogged expressions,

Like a cap badge - this was no place

For giving up - a cold dawn arose

On New Year's day's training routines.

Out in the field among the troopers,

Lieutenant Owen took part in acts

Of realism, to include throwing

Bombs - when a splinter from one

Cut his thumb; later he wrote home.

For the first time he wrote 1 January

1917, to tell of the wounded thumb

To spout blood - alas only a tiny drop.

Then to tell of a change from prior

Orders to join 2nd Manchester’s.

Owen admitted to be singled out,

Possibly a promising officer; to 

Be pleased to be among 'real-old'

Officers, his mood heightened -

He felt a swell of heroic emotions.

New Years day boosted Owen's

Excitement, which had always

Gave him sense of wellbeing -

Etaples possibly to assist that

Anticipation, like a train station.

The maximum stay he told his

Mother was three days, as he

Signed off to pack his valise,

Ready to travel to Manchester's

Base; little more than forty miles.

Wilfred Salter Owen had already

Travelled far from the teacher

And lost preacher ambitions -

As an army officer came new

Sets of rules and experiences.

By Jamie Mann.

Hibberd, D., 2002. Wilfred Owen – A New Biography. London. Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Ch 11.

Mann, J., 2016. 100 years Ago - Poems by Jamie Mann. [letter] (Personal communication, 01 January 2017). 

http://worldwaroneblogger.blogspot.co.uk/

#WW1 #WW1centenary #GreatWar #WW1poem #GreatWar #WW1centenary #worldwarone #worldwaroneremembered #WW1WilfredOwen

Poem ~ Owen: The Image Of An Officer - Thursday, 27 July 1916

Source: File: Wilfred Owen 1916.  See an original image at: <http://www.borrowers.uga.edu/782958/show> [Accessed 27 July 2016]

Seven months, a long time through war,

As battles fought, lose with minimal gain;

With front line loss of numbers others

Are in manufacture of war, prepared.

With fingers stained from hated rifle oil,

One cadet Private Wilfred Owen made

Months of training as a trooper - days

Of barking drills punctuated by walks.

Escapism came by way of London, with

Monk-like fixation to good books and

Poetry - ambition always simmered, from

Ideas of poetry to release a creative mind.

Word experiments and the body always

Remained as some metaphor, aiming

At something higher than sensuality,

In preference for critics by friend Monro.

Through phases Wilfred Owen made

Reinventions of self; as a pale parish

Assistant to French dandy, to become

A disciplined soldier, as fit as his equals.

Change once again came, this time

June 1916 - discharged from Artists

Rifles to take an officers commission -

A second Lieutenant with Manchester’s.

Moving up ranks involved another

Rung, as he reported for duty - Witley

Camp in Surry was beautifully vast,

A culture shock with odd conventions.

The 3/5th Manchester’s were solid,

Earthy northern men - a lot of miners

Formed out of three unified units

Of mixed ages, Owen gained a platoon.

Consisting of four sections of ten men

Each led by corporal along with his

Servant scouts and a sergeant, Owen's

Role to train them for varied duties.

Working as a team, the four sections

Leant to attack and defend - to become

Proficient in rifle and bomb and

Lewis gun, as instructed by their officer.

Obsessed by three 'ings'; marching, 
Digging and killing - he saw these men
As ugly, hard, coarse Lancashire Saxons

Who would remain reliable under fire.

For majority leaving Witley camp was

Only possible with permission, except

Officers who had privileges - Lieutenant

Owen made his escape on a bicycle.

Away from camp and his role Owen

Very likely became more his old

Self - admirer of beauty of locality,

Lingering in shops of tea and books.

Sunday 2 July, leaning against his
Bike in survey of green countryside,  

He listened to mutterings in France;
Mutual guns battering their enemy.

Manchester’s had taken part within

The biggest push and Montauban

In the South had been captured by
Them - but the North had suffered.

As news of the Somme crept over,

Owen attended a course travelling

To Aldershot, showing an ability with

Rifle - yet he was to carry a revolver.

Acknowledgement of self-confirmation

As soldier in the Aldershot barracks,

Owen visited old ground of Dunsden -

His Pope and Bradley uniform noted.

In leave at Alpenrose Wilfred Owen

Became the subject of his Uncle John.

To pose in a camera studio full and half

Face, with and without his officer’s cap.

By natural light john Gunston chatted

To his nephew, whose image reflected

On the glass - 'that’s it my boy, slightly

More right, look towards me, sideways.'

A living form poised, colour of face

Hair and uniform captured with a click

Into tones of grey - 'another one please.'

Owen stood still, to enjoy the thought.

Unaware though how they would convey

Him into eternity. He changed position

Slightly under instruction, used to orders,

Taking a blink before the shutter took him.

Cool eyes under heavy lids, looked

Calmly askant and out to the watcher -

This was confirmation of ambition -

Owen was now a gentleman and officer.

By Jamie Mann.

Hibberd, D., 2002. Wilfred Owen – A New Biography. London. Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Ch 11.

Mann, J., 2016. 100 years Ago - Poems by Jamie Mann. [letter] (Personal communication, 27 July 2016). 

http://worldwaroneblogger.blogspot.co.uk/

#WW1 #WW1centenary #GreatWar #WW1poem #GreatWar #WW1centenary #worldwarone #worldwaroneremembered #WW1WilfredOwen