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By kibibu 2026-03-0422:38 There's additional context here that makes this poem more powerful in my opinion.
It's a direct response to Jessie Pope, an English poet and propagandist who would write poems like "Who's for the Game?", implying that the great war was all a bit of fun and those who didn't want to go were cowards.
Owen had actually been in the trenches, and tragically died only a few days before the armistice.
In the 1990s, in the UK, my secondary school English teacher, who had Shakespearian actor vibes and wore dark tweed trousers and a plain white shirt—imagine Patrick Stewart if you may—brought this poem to life in my class by vividly reenacting a soldier dying from mustard gas poisoning by falling onto a desk and flailing about in front of the stunnned students sitting at it. I've never forgotten the closing line since.
By spacedcowboy 2026-03-059:24 Yeah, we did it too, in the early 80’s. I’m not an “artsy” type, very focused on maths and sciences (6 A levels), but I can quote two poems verbatim from all those years ago. The first is “Jabberwocky” because I had to memorise it for a school performance, it’s still something of a party-trick, a real tone-poem, the first and last verses are identical, but spoken so differently, the alliteration, tempo-changes, etc. etc.
The second is “Dulce et decorum est”, which we studied and analysed for “O” level. This poem, very much, is not a party-trick.
By stoneman24 2026-03-050:31 We did the poem in secondary school as well. While we didn’t have the acting skills of your teacher, we deconstructed and reviewed each line and it really had a powerful impact on the class. The tortured helplessness of the dying soldier was a lasting memory.
Later, I thought that the job of a soldier wasn’t to die for their country but to make someone else die for theirs. Perhaps that more cynical view was influenced by the poem and the other war poets that we covered.
Sharing my beloved ancient Chinese poem
山坡羊·潼关怀古 张养浩
峰峦如聚，波涛如怒，山河表里潼关路。望西都，意踌躇。 伤心秦汉经行处，宫阙万间都做了土。兴，百姓苦；亡，百姓苦。
Tune: “Sheep on the Hillside” —Tong Pass
Zhang Yanghao
Translated by Wayne Schlepp
Peaks as if massed,
Waves that look angry,
Along the mountains and the river lies the road to Tong Pass.
I look to the West Capital,
My thoughts unsettled.
Here, where the Qin and Han armies passed, I lament
The ten thousand palaces, all turned to dust.
Kingdoms rise,
The people suffer;
Kingdoms fall,
The people suffer.
Do not call me, father, do not seek me, Do not call me, do not wish me back.
We’re on a route uncharted, fire and blood erase our tracks. On we fly, on wings of thunder, never more to sheath our swords. All of us in battle fallen, not to be brought back by words.
Will there be a rendezvous? I know not. I only know we still must fight. We are sand grains in infinity, never to meet,never more see light.
Farewell then my son. Farewell then my conscience. My youth and my solace my one and my only.
And let this farewell be the end of a story, Of solitude vast and which none is more lonely. In which you remain,barred forever and ever, From light and from air,with your death pangs untold. Untold and unsoothed, not to be resurrected. Forever and ever, an 18 year old.
Farewell then, no trains ever come from those regions Unscheduled or scheduled, no aeroplanes fly there. Farewell then my son, for no miracles happen, As in this world dreams do not come true.
Farewell…
I will dream of you still as a baby, Treading the earth with little strong toes, The earth where already so many lie buried. This song to my son, is come to its close.
Son (Pavel Antokolsky, 1943)
By tetris11 2026-03-0521:27
Six Day War (Colonel Bagshot)At the starting of the week At summit talks you'll hear them speak It's only Monday You could be sitting, taking lunch The news will hit you like a punch It's only Tuesday We'll all go running underground And we'll be listening for the sound It's only Wednesday You'll hear a whistling overhead Are you alive or are you dead? It's only Thursday Though that shelter is your home The living space, you have outgrown It's only Friday Tomorrow never comes until it's too late
