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TRANSCRIPT
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
1
October 27, 2010
WW1?
Christmas Day the war stopped & they played football.
19141918
70millions soldiers took part.Pooh Bear was the Canadian WW1 Mascott
Allies vs Central Power
1000 New Zealanders died in Gallipolli
Known as the war to end all wars
Woman would hand men a white feather in the streets to force them to enlist
When WW1 finished, alot of the boundaries had changed
End of the war resulted in the treaty of Versailles
Half the people who died are in an unmarked grave
In 6 months, France lost more people than America has lost in the whole of the 20th century (army)
Ended by an armistice
Half the soldiers that fought either died, were wounded or became prisioners of war
The economic loss was 180 billion
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
WW1?
GallipolliAnzac day
Poppies
Australia New Zealand army corps
Begun with tension in the late 1800s
America wasnt initially going to joinWas called the great war or the war to end all wars
Went up the water way the dardenelles?
Dawn services
big failure
musturd gas and chlorine gas
At the start everyone was very naive, thought it was going to be a good time
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
Useful WordsFor the following words, write what you think the definition is. If unsure, look in the dictionary. These 3 words will be vital in your discussion of the poems to be studied this year.
• patriotism
• propaganda
• honour
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October 27, 2010
Propaganda postersLook at the underlying message, what did it mean if you:
Stay at home? Go to war?
12eng
• coward• you should feel guilty• you're selfish• people will think less of you and your family• separation from your countryexcluded• women allowed to adopt masculine roles• embarrassment to your family• your loyalty to your country will be questioned• ignoring your duty• shameful• people wouldn't respect you any more
• more honourable• upholding justice• patriotic• they will have fun• courageous• you will become a skilled tradesmenget something out of it.• get respect from your family• makes you known as a brave person• make friends• included in society, part of the us• might as well be in the front line because you may be lucky enough to die.• part of the solution• make your family name and your family proud• guaranteed a place in heaven• meet expectations.
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
Trench ClipDescribe what it must have been like for the soldiers in your own words:
Battle of the Somme
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October 27, 2010
The Soldier by Rupert Brooke If I should die, think only this of me:That there's some corner of a foreign fieldThat is for ever England. There shall beIn that rich earth a richer dust concealed;A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,A body of England's, breathing English air,Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,A pulse in the eternal mind, no lessGives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
Rupert Brooke, 1914
12eng2
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October 27, 2010
The Soldier by Rupert Brooke If I should die, think only this of me:That there's some corner of a foreign fieldThat is for ever England. There shall beIn that rich earth a richer dust concealed;A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,A body of England's, breathing English air,Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,A pulse in the eternal mind, no lessGives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
Rupert Brooke, 1914
12eng2
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
The Soldier by Rupert Brooke If I should die, think only this of me:That there's some corner of a foreign fieldThat is for ever England. There shall beIn that rich earth a richer dust concealed;A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,A body of England's, breathing English air,Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,A pulse in the eternal mind, no lessGives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
Rupert Brooke, 1914
12eng2
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October 27, 2010
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
Disabled Wilfred OwenClose Reading Questions:1. Read through the poem to yourself2. Look up any unfamiliar words in the dictionary3. Write down your initial reaction to the poem4. Write down what we know about the soldier's life before and after the war. Use quotes to support what you are saying:
Past Present
5. Compare and contrast the welcome the man gets for the football game and when he returns home:
Rugby Game War Welcome
6. What reasons did he have for going to war?7. What role does sleep play in this poem?8. Find at least 4 language techniques:
technique example why used
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October 27, 2010
Wilfred OwenDisabled He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,Voices of play and pleasure after day,Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gayWhen glowlamps budded in the lightblue treesAnd girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, In the old times, before he threw away his knees.Now he will never feel again how slimGirls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,For it was younger than his youth, last year.Now he is old; his back will never brace;He's lost his colour very far from here,Poured it down shellholes till the veins ran dry,And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,After the matches carried shoulderhigh.It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts. That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fearsOf Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hiltsFor daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.Only a solemn man who brought him fruitsThanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,And do what things the rules consider wise,And take whatever pity they may dole.Tonight he noticed how the women's eyesPassed from him to the strong men that were whole.How cold and late it is! Why don't they comeAnd put him into bed? Why don't they come?
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
13
October 27, 2010
Wilfred OwenDisabled He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,Voices of play and pleasure after day,Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gayWhen glowlamps budded in the lightblue treesAnd girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, In the old times, before he threw away his knees.Now he will never feel again how slimGirls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,For it was younger than his youth, last year.Now he is old; his back will never brace;He's lost his colour very far from here,Poured it down shellholes till the veins ran dry,And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,After the matches carried shoulderhigh.It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts. That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fearsOf Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hiltsFor daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.Only a solemn man who brought him fruitsThanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,And do what things the rules consider wise,And take whatever pity they may dole.Tonight he noticed how the women's eyesPassed from him to the strong men that were whole.How cold and late it is! Why don't they comeAnd put him into bed? Why don't they come?
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
14
October 27, 2010
Wilfred OwenDisabled He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,Voices of play and pleasure after day,Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gayWhen glowlamps budded in the lightblue treesAnd girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, In the old times, before he threw away his knees.Now he will never feel again how slimGirls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,For it was younger than his youth, last year.Now he is old; his back will never brace;He's lost his colour very far from here,Poured it down shellholes till the veins ran dry,And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,After the matches carried shoulderhigh.It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts. That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fearsOf Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hiltsFor daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.Only a solemn man who brought him fruitsThanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,And do what things the rules consider wise,And take whatever pity they may dole.Tonight he noticed how the women's eyesPassed from him to the strong men that were whole.How cold and late it is! Why don't they comeAnd put him into bed? Why don't they come?
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
Wilfred OwenDisabled He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,Voices of play and pleasure after day,Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gayWhen glowlamps budded in the lightblue treesAnd girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, In the old times, before he threw away his knees.Now he will never feel again how slimGirls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,For it was younger than his youth, last year.Now he is old; his back will never brace;He's lost his colour very far from here,Poured it down shellholes till the veins ran dry,And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,After the matches carried shoulderhigh.It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts. That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fearsOf Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hiltsFor daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.Only a solemn man who brought him fruitsThanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,And do what things the rules consider wise,And take whatever pity they may dole.Tonight he noticed how the women's eyesPassed from him to the strong men that were whole.How cold and late it is! Why don't they comeAnd put him into bed? Why don't they come?
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
Dulce Et Decorum EstBent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knockkneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backsAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their bootsBut limped on, bloodshod. All went lame; all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hootsOf gas shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling,Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time:But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime ...Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the frothcorrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.
eng1
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
Dulce Et Decorum EstBent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knockkneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backsAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their bootsBut limped on, bloodshod. All went lame; all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hootsOf gas shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling,Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time:But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime ...Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the frothcorrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.
eng1
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
Dulce Et Decorum EstBent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knockkneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backsAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their bootsBut limped on, bloodshod. All went lame; all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hootsOf gas shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling,Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time:But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime ...Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the frothcorrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.
eng2
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October 27, 2010
COMPARISON TABLETraditional Viewpoint Realist ViewpointThe Soldier Dulce Et/ Disabled
• death is a honourable and glorious thing
• you will be remembered forever
• patriotic feelings
• war is a wonderful opportunity
• a way of redeeming your sins/ idea of guilt
Death is slow, painful, gruesome ... traumatising for those who live"white eyes writhing""blood come gargling from frothcorrupted lungs"
-noone cares about you"he noticed how the women's eyes passed from him to the ...""Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer goal. Only a solemn man" also remembered in a negative light in the tormented dreams of fellow soldiers
"The old Lie" condemning the propaganda message of the government
NO! You die, it destroys you mentally and physically. Hence, war "kills you" no control over your life."He will spend a few sick years in Institutes and do what things the rules consider wise""Knockkneed coughing like hags"
young old naive, innocent children become "guilty" by experience"his hanging face like a Devil's sick of sin"
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October 27, 2010
COMPARISON TABLETraditional Viewpoint Realist ViewpointThe Soldier Dulce Et/ Disabled
• death is a honourable and glorious thing
• you will be remembered forever
• patriotic feelings
• war is a wonderful opportunity
• a way of redeeming your sins/ idea of guilt
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October 27, 2010
Homework:Essay on short texts poetry. Your choice of 2008 questions.Would prefer it Friday or emailed to me on the weekend, last resort Monday.
After that I will not be marking it!!
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October 27, 2010
Something to get us thinking about WAR and what it may mean or symbolise...
positiveThink about what attitudes, values, expectations, reasonings you would find to justify either end (and the middle) of this opinion cline on war.
Write as many words and phrases that you can think of along the cline.
negative
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October 27, 2010
WW1?
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October 27, 2010
Useful WordsFor the following words, write what you think the definition is. If unsure, look in the dictionary. These 3 words will be vital in your discussion of the poems to be studied this year.
• patriotism
• propaganda
• honour
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October 27, 2010
MUSTARD GAS• could take 1224 hours to take effect• yellowbrown in colour• smelled like mustard plants e.g. horseradish, hence the name• stayed in the soil for weeks• usually victims took 45 weeks to die (only 1% lethal though, more a deterrent)• effects blistered skin, sore eyes(blindness), vomiting, internal and external bleeding, affected the bronchial tubes• masks not effective could absorb it through the skin
SHELL SHOCK• resulted from stress of battle• symptoms fatigue, confusion, anxiety, tics, cramps, blindness, vivid nightmares, even when awake!!
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October 27, 2010
Propaganda postersLook at the underlying message, what did it mean if you:
Stay at home? Go to war?
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October 27, 2010
Propaganda postersLook at the underlying message, what did it mean if you:
Stay at home? Go to war?
12eng
• coward• you should feel guilty• you're selfish• people will think less of you and your family• separation from your countryexcluded• women allowed to adopt masculine roles• embarrassment to your family• your loyalty to your country will be questioned• ignoring your duty• shameful• people wouldn't respect you any more
• more honourable• upholding justice• patriotic• they will have fun• courageous• you will become a skilled tradesmenget something out of it.• get respect from your family• makes you known as a brave person• make friends• included in society, part of the us• might as well be in the front line because you may be lucky enough to die.• part of the solution• make your family name and your family proud• guaranteed a place in heaven• meet expectations.
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October 27, 2010
Trench ClipDescribe what it must have been like for the soldiers in your own words:
Battle of the Somme
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October 27, 2010
Rupert Brooke (18871915)
• It is best to think of Brooke as a prewar poet,as he never really encountered war first hand. He has a naieve/innocent outlook on the war.• He only wrote 5 sonnets, "The Soldier" being the last one.• His sonnets focus on the themes of maturity, purpose and romantic death.• His poetry is very romantic/traditional in style (strict metre and form, iambic metre rhyme scheme)• He was enthusiastic about the noble ideals of honour, chivalry and patriotism.• The young men of 1914 were in a hurry to die in a noble cause. War was not a wasteful tragedy that would rob them of their lives and talents, but rather a way to make an honorable sacrifice.• The sonnets seem oldfashioned and selfrighteous because they reflect the unrealistic attitudes of the time over optimistic and sentimental.
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October 27, 2010
Wilfred Owen (18931918)
• killed in WW1 action, at Sambre Canal, France.• Owen is primarily remembered for his realisticprotest poems inspired by his experiences at theWestern Front in 1916 and 1917.• he sought to present the grim realities of warfare and its effects on the human spirit.• there is a prominent note of social protest in his works.• he suffered shellshock after several months at the front. While in a war hospital recovering, he met Siegfried Sassoon, another poet, who encouraged him to write about his experiences through poetry.• he was killed one week before the Armistice.• he saw himself as giving voice to the infantryman who couldn't articulate their experiences.• many of his poems assail poets in England who continued to write conventional verses promoting the traditional values of wartime heroism and the appropriateness of dying in battle on behalf of one's country.• a quote from Owen in a planned preface to a book of poems:
"This book is not about heroes. My subject is War, and the pity of war. I am not concerned with Poetry. The Poetry is in the Pity. Yet these elegies are to this generation
in no sense consolatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is to warn."
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October 27, 2010
DISABLED WILFRED OWEN• about the unseen, mental torment of war• the notion of unseen scars is put forward the soldiers life (and all soldiers) will never be the same• sleep is not seen as bad (as in Dulce et), but rather as a release from the torment of what life is like now
Stanza 1Sets the scene, the soldier has returned home. The idea of sleep as a protector of some kind introduced.
Stanza 2Thinks back to what life was like before he lost his legs. Forevermore will not be seen the same, girls view him as different, he will never be close with another again.
Stanza 3How he lost his life, youth and innocence to the war. A complete reversal from how he used to be.
Stanza 4How he came to join the war vanity his main motivation, and to please the girls! (Who now avoid him). His current plight heightened by the fact he was obviously underage and still now theoretically young.
Stanza 5Recalls the image of the football match earlier, a contrast to the welcome he got when he returned from war.
Stanza 6We see the sad future ahead of him, and the loss not only of his limbs, but his attractiveness to the opposite sex.He has become dependent and hopeless on the state to look after him.
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Disabled Wilfred OwenClose Reading Questions:1. Read through the poem to yourself2. Look up any unfamiliar words in the dictionary3. Write down your initial reaction to the poem4. Write down what we know about the soldier's life before and after the war. Use quotes to support what you are saying:
Past Present
5. Compare and contrast the welcome the man gets for the football game and when he returns home:
Rugby Game War Welcome
6. What reasons did he have for going to war?7. What role does sleep play in this poem?8. Find at least 4 language techniques:
technique example why used
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October 27, 2010
Wilfred OwenDisabled He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,Voices of play and pleasure after day,Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gayWhen glowlamps budded in the lightblue treesAnd girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, In the old times, before he threw away his knees.Now he will never feel again how slimGirls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,For it was younger than his youth, last year.Now he is old; his back will never brace;He's lost his colour very far from here,Poured it down shellholes till the veins ran dry,And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,After the matches carried shoulderhigh.It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts. That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fearsOf Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hiltsFor daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.Only a solemn man who brought him fruitsThanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,And do what things the rules consider wise,And take whatever pity they may dole.Tonight he noticed how the women's eyesPassed from him to the strong men that were whole.How cold and late it is! Why don't they comeAnd put him into bed? Why don't they come?
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
35
October 27, 2010
Wilfred OwenDisabled He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,Voices of play and pleasure after day,Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gayWhen glowlamps budded in the lightblue treesAnd girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, In the old times, before he threw away his knees.Now he will never feel again how slimGirls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,For it was younger than his youth, last year.Now he is old; his back will never brace;He's lost his colour very far from here,Poured it down shellholes till the veins ran dry,And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,After the matches carried shoulderhigh.It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts. That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fearsOf Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hiltsFor daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.Only a solemn man who brought him fruitsThanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,And do what things the rules consider wise,And take whatever pity they may dole.Tonight he noticed how the women's eyesPassed from him to the strong men that were whole.How cold and late it is! Why don't they comeAnd put him into bed? Why don't they come?
Y12 War Poetry.notebook
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October 27, 2010
Dulce Et Decorum EstBent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knockkneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backsAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their bootsBut limped on, bloodshod. All went lame; all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hootsOf gas shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling,Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time:But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime ...Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the frothcorrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.
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The Soldier by Rupert Brooke If I should die, think only this of me:That there's some corner of a foreign fieldThat is for ever England. There shall beIn that rich earth a richer dust concealed;A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,A body of England's, breathing English air,Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,A pulse in the eternal mind, no lessGives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
Rupert Brooke, 1914
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Analyse how different viewpoints on the same issue or idea are developed in at least two short written texts you have studied.
Possible introduction:World War 1 poets Wilfred Owen and Rupert Brooke show two different views on the war in their poems. Brooke uses _________ and _________ in 'The Soldier' to convince the reader that war is an honourable and noble event. On the other hand, Owen uses ________ and _________ in 'Dulce et Decorum Est' effectively to show the harsh reality of the physical and mental effects of war.
Possible introduction - long version.At the beginning of WW1, many young men thought that the war experience was going to be an honourable event which would allow them to prove their patriotism and show how superior England was. Rupert Brooke's poem, "The Soldier", reflects the sentimental and optimistic attitude of the time. However, as Brooke died on the way to war, this is really based on ignorance. On the other hand, Wilfred Owen used his own war experience in the poems "Disabled" and "Dulce Et Decorum Est" to show the true horrors of war. Brooke uses __________ and _________ to create his romantic view on war, while Owen uses _______ and ________ to open the reader's mind to reality.
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2008 #4For each of the texts, analyse how the writer used symbolism and / or
figurative language to develop an important idea.
symbolism sleep = protector/hell blood = life dust = blessing in sacrifice, the dead soldiers lie = propaganda and ignorance of government/people
figurative language imagery simile, metaphor, personification tone/ emotive words
[where there is added meaning to the words chosen]
Wilfred Owen, the World War One poet, was very concerned with the physical and emotional effects of war on the innocent and naive young men who were sent to battle. Owen tries his best to make everyone aware of the true horrors of this experience. In his poems, Disabled and Dulce Et Decorum Est, he effectively uses a range of symbols and figurative language to convey his negative viewpoint.
In Dulce Et similes are used effectively to show the physical effects of the war on the young soldiers at the start of the poem. They are returning from the frontline, and are described as "coughing like hags", and "bent double like old beggars under sacks". The once young, lively men are reduced to broken down shadows of their former selves. The stark contrast shown in this change portrays how awful and hellish the war is. Propaganda at the time used to imply that war is a glorious and noble event, but Owen is clearly showing the reader how wrong this image is. How could wives and mothers now knowing this reality support sending their loved ones off to war? Owen is condemning such messages that convinced young men to put their lives on the line.