Twentieth Century British Poetry

General Characteristics No experimentation as seen in American poetry of the same time Main concern of British poets was to express the extreme emotions of the time in very traditional forms

The Trench Poets A group of poets who wrote about the first world war Their poetry was categorized as “war poetry” They hoped that their poetry would be a warning to the next generation, and a statement about their beliefs concerning the negatives of war

Background… According to one poet, Wilfred Owen, “The poetry is in the pity” – no matter how much you try to make sense of war, even dressing it up in poetry, it is senseless. The Trench Poets removed the glory from war – it was very real. They avoided the traditional “patriotic” poetry of the men before them.

Themes of Trench Poetry Dwelt on the degradation of body and soul War was an exercise in slaughter War demeaned civilization itself Often maimed or even killed in action themselves, Trench Poets spoke for those around them

The trenches were terrible – men were in muddy, filthy, dark trenches for weeks at a time – filled with dead and decaying bodies and a loss of time and hope. The “righteousness” that begins a war is not balanced with the number of deaths There was no reality aside from the tragedy of war The generations to come saw the horror and reality of war faced by these young men because of the poetry they left behind

Wilfred Owens 1893-1918 Experimented in poetic techniques – mastered the use of “half-rhyme” Idolized Keats. Studied French poets in France for two years Joined the army when WWI began Listed as MIA just seven days before the war ended Friends with Sassoon who later brought attention to Owen’s poetry

Rupert Brooke August 3, 1887- April 23, 1915 Father was a teacher Attended King’s College, Cambridge Enjoyed acting Active in writing groups

Rupert Brooks - Life Suffered an emotional breakdown in 1913 Toured the US and Canada to help recover; wrote for a travel journal Returned home and was noticed for his excellent poetry He was noticed by Winston Churchill, and granted a high-level commission in the Royal Navy during WWI Died from infection while on way to a battle Buried on the island of Skyros, Greece

Rupert Brooks - Poetry The Soldier If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is forever England. There shall be In 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 less Gives 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. A statue of Rupert Brooke in Rugby

Isaac Rosenburg 1890-1918 Born into a working-class Jewish family. Migrated from Russia and lived in London Enrolled in evening classes at the Art School of Birbeck College, London University Self-Portrait: 1915; National Portrait Gallery, London.

Rosenberg - Life Planned to be a professional artist – painting portraits Moved to South Africa to train when WWI began Returned to England in 1915, enlisted in 1916, and was killed at the front on April 3, 1918 Published a book of poems, Youth Admired by both Ezra Pound and TS Eliot Critics see him as a “modern” poet whose voice was not fully developed before his death Critics believe, had he survived the war, that he would have been as great a poet as both Pound and Eliot.

Rosenberg - Poetry On Receiving News of the War Snow is a strange white word. No ice or frost Has asked of bud or bird For Winter's cost. Yet ice and frost and snow From earth to sky This Summer land doth know. No man knows why. In all men's hearts it is. Some spirit old Hath turned with malign kiss Our lives to mould. Red fangs have torn His face. God's blood is shed. He mourns from His lone place His children dead. O! ancient crimson curse! Corrode, consume. Give back this universe Its pristine bloom.

John Edgell Rickword 1898-1982 English poet, critic, journalist, literary editor Served in WWI on the Western Front Attended Oxford, then worked as a literary editor Joined the Communist Party of Great Britain in the 1930s His war poetry was published in 1921 in a volume entitled “Behind the Eyes”

John Edgell Rickword I knew a man, he was my chum, but he grew blacker every day, and would not brush the flies away, nor blanch however fierce the hum of passing shells; I used to read, to rouse him, random things from Donne-- like "Get with child a mandrake-root.“ But you can tell he was far gone, for he lay gaping, mackerel-eyed, and stiff, and senseless as a post even when that old poet cried "I long to talk with some old lover's ghost." I tried the Elegies one day, but he, because he heard me say: "What needst thou have more covering than a man?“ grinned nastily, and so I knew the worms had got his brains at last. There was one thing that I might do to starve the worms; I racked my head for healthy things and quoted Maud. His grin got worse and I could see he sneered at passion's purity. He stank so badly, though we were great chums I had to leave him; then rats ate his thumbs.

John McCrae 1972-1918 Canadian poet, physician, author, artist, soldier Best known for the famous war poem, In Flanders Fields because he saw a great need for more men to fight in the war or they risked losing McCrae died of pneumonia while running the main British hospital in Germany The poem was written the day his best friend died in the fighting

During this time, Canada was under British rule During this time, Canada was under British rule. McCrae joined the military in Britain when WWI broke out – he was visiting England at the time.

John McCrae In Flanders Fields 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

“In Flanders Fields” is more “noble” than many trench poems because, when dealing with the death of his friend, McCrae saw the need for the help of more men to win a war he believed was a valid effort, even though men were dying all around him. He didn’t give in to the extreme conditions he faced, but, rather, asked the free world (including America) for help.

Siegfried Sassoon 1886-1967 Born into a wealthy family Educated at Cambridge Lived the life of a “country gentleman” prior to WWI Lived an idyllic life until the reality if the war. Sassoon became highly critical of the war and was committed to a military hospital as “shell-shocked”

Siegfried Sassoon Does It Matter Does it matter? losing your legs? For people will always be kind, And you need not show that you mind When the others come in after hunting To gobble their  muffins and eggs. Does it matter?  losing your sight? There's such splendid work for the blind; And people will always be kind, As you sit on the terrace remembering And turning your face to the light. Do they matter?  those dreams from the pit? You can drink and forget and be glad, And people won't say that you're mad, For they'll know you've fought for your country And no one will worry a bit.