Poetry day!

I don’t read enough poetry. I should read more. Maybe I'll make poetry day a regular thing.

I love the war poets. I am fascinated by almost everything that has to do with World War I - I think it has something to do with the fact that Rilla of Ingleside is one of my favorite books ever. World War I is a perfect example of a political war, and one that would never happen in today’s world of near-instant communication and news. At the start of the war, there was still a huge sense of patriotism, of duty, and of “we don’t need to know why - we just need to be told to go.” English soldiers (I don’t know that much about other countries) were idealistic, especially the young, often bored, independently wealthy officers. And then they actually started fighting and realized that the “glory of war” was not so glorious. The boys started coming back with shell-shock, which no one really knew how to deal with (today it would probably be diagnosed as PTSD of some kind, not that we fully understand that either). A lot of really excellent poetry was written during World War I, much of it about the reality of fighting in the trenches and the reality of coming home afterwards. (Although not all of the poets did come home afterwards.)

The poets that I had to teach, the ones that are sometimes considered “canon” as war poets*, are Rupert Brooke, Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon, and Isaac Rosenberg. This poem is by Siegfried Sassoon, from the book “Counter-Attack and Other Poems,” published in 1918. I like it because of the depressing sarcasm that permeates the whole thing. I can really hear both the voice of the people - I usually picture middle-aged women with hats and high-pitched voices - and the soldier, mocking them and getting angrier and sadder as the poem goes on.

Does It Matter?

Does it matter? -losing your legs?
For people will always be kind,
And you need not show that you mind
When 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 in the pit?
You can drink and forget and be glad,
And people won’t say that you’re mad;
For they know that you’ve fought for your country,
And no one will worry a bit.

-by Siegfried Sassoon.

*This is not to imply that they are the only war poets or that they are the only ones that are worth reading.