WWI poetry

[JaneEyre]

The poem Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen can be read as comics on here (no line is missing):
http://www.classicalcomics.com/educatio ... rumEst.pdf" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

This has been drawn a few months ago for the commemoration of the first gas attack...

[JaneEyre]

The poem Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen can be read as comics on here (no line is missing):
http://www.classicalcomics.com/educatio ... rumEst.pdf" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

This has been drawn a few months ago for the commemoration of the first gas attack...

Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen: Read by Christopher Eccleston

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qB4cdRg ... xVnfJFmcoI" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

[JaneEyre]

THE WOUND IN TIME

It is the wound in Time. The century’s tides,
chanting their bitter psalms, cannot heal it.
Not the war to end all wars; death’s birthing place;
the earth nursing its ticking metal eggs, hatching
new carnage. But how could you know, brave
as belief as you boarded the boats, singing?
The end of God in the poisonous, shrapneled air.
Poetry gargling its own blood. We sense it was love
you gave your world for; the town squares silent,
awaiting their cenotaphs. What happened next?
War. And after that? War. And now? War. War.
History might as well be water, chastising this shore;
for we learn nothing from your endless sacrifice.
Your faces drowning in the pages of the sea.

Carol Ann Duffy, 2018

This poem read: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/entertain ... nd-in-time" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

Article:
https://www.artsindustry.co.uk/news/136 ... stice-poem" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

[Guest55]

Flanders Poppy on the First World War battlefields.

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae, May 1915

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 Flanders 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.

[doodles]

Such a beautiful poem.

Makes you realise just how lucky we are to live now. Perhaps we need to be more grateful for what we have rather than being dissatisfied with our lot in life. For one I am so grateful to have put one son on the train back to uni and to be watching the other learn the art of cement mixing and slab laying with his dad.

Thank you G55 for posting.

[yoyo123]

THE WOUND IN TIME

It is the wound in Time. The century’s tides,
chanting their bitter psalms, cannot heal it.
Not the war to end all wars; death’s birthing place;
the earth nursing its ticking metal eggs, hatching
new carnage. But how could you know, brave
as belief as you boarded the boats, singing?
The end of God in the poisonous, shrapneled air.
Poetry gargling its own blood. We sense it was love
you gave your world for; the town squares silent,
awaiting their cenotaphs. What happened next?
War. And after that? War. And now? War. War.
History might as well be water, chastising this shore;
for we learn nothing from your endless sacrifice.
Your faces drowning in the pages of the sea.

Carol Ann Duffy, 2018

This poem read: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/entertain ... nd-in-time" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

Article:
https://www.artsindustry.co.uk/news/136 ... stice-poem" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

I went to see the Danny Boyle face of Wilfred Owen on the beach today, we were given sheets with a picture of someone who was killed in WW1 and this poem on the back. The poem was read aloud as the sea started to take away the portrait.
It is a beautiful poem and very apt for the faces which were created around the coast.

[JaneEyre]

I went to see the Danny Boyle face of Wilfred Owen on the beach today

A very touching face indeed. I am so sad that Wilfred Owen died one week before the signing of the Armistice. Sassoon had been violently opposed to the idea of him returning to the trenches, threatening to "stab [him] in the leg" if he tried it. Aware of his attitude, Owen did not inform him of his action until he was once again in France…

[Guest55]

John McCrae died later in the war and is buried at Wimereux cemetery. I believe he was nursed at the nearby hospital where my grandma was.

This link tells more about him: http://www.veterans.gc.ca/eng/remembran ... war/mccrae" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

[quasimodo]

THE WOUND IN TIME

It is the wound in Time. The century’s tides,
chanting their bitter psalms, cannot heal it.
Not the war to end all wars; death’s birthing place;
the earth nursing its ticking metal eggs, hatching
new carnage. But how could you know, brave
as belief as you boarded the boats, singing?
The end of God in the poisonous, shrapneled air.
Poetry gargling its own blood. We sense it was love
you gave your world for; the town squares silent,
awaiting their cenotaphs. What happened next?
War. And after that? War. And now? War. War.
History might as well be water, chastising this shore;
for we learn nothing from your endless sacrifice.
Your faces drowning in the pages of the sea.

Carol Ann Duffy, 2018

This poem read: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/entertain ... nd-in-time" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

Article:
https://www.artsindustry.co.uk/news/136 ... stice-poem" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

I went to see the Danny Boyle face of Wilfred Owen on the beach today, we were given sheets with a picture of someone who was killed in WW1 and this poem on the back. The poem was read aloud as the sea started to take away the portrait.
It is a beautiful poem and very apt for the faces which were created around the coast.

"the town squares silent, awaiting their cenotaphs." So apt and such a beautiful poem after the images of today.

It made me appreciate the depth of sacrifice as I witnessed parts of the parade this morning around the cenotaphs erected in the centre of my home town.

In images personal to me I saw the probably up to two hundred boys and girls of Queen Mary boys (their cadets) in the parade and following up the girl guides with my youngest in tow.Their guides leader marching in particular to remember her fallen friend in Afghanistan.

The sacrifices continue to this day.

[JaneEyre]

The sacrifices continue to this day.

Very sadly...

Concerning WWI, Quasi, have you watched the film 'My boy Jack'? An excellent film which tells the story of Rudyard Kipling and his grief for his son, John, who died in the First World War. John had initially wanted to join the Royal Navy, but having had his application turned down after a failed medical examination due to poor eyesight, he opted to apply for military service as an Army officer. But again, his eyesight was an issue during the medical examination. In fact, he tried twice to enlist but was rejected. His father had been lifelong friends with Lord Roberts, former commander-in-chief of the British Army, and colonel of the Irish Guards, and at Rudyard's request, John was accepted into the Irish Guards.

My Boy Jack 2007 trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWShF8H2YlA" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

The title comes from Kipling's poem of the same name:

'My Boy Jack'

"HAVE you news of my boy Jack? "
Not this tide.
"When d'you think that he'll come back?"
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.


"Has any one else had word of him?"
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

"Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?"
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind---
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide.