Monday, 23 August 2010


I feel like listing things.

1. Falling asleep with the dog lying on your feet after a very long walk.
2. Doing things with your sister that you haven't done since you were young, such as CRAFTING and making up dances.
3. Shouting at the screen when Dragon's Den is on. NO, INVEST! INVEST!!
4. Getting lost in a book of Wilfred Owen's war poems and writing more post-its than you thought was possible.
5. It raining. Going out in shorts anyway, because hey! it's warm out!

Anyway, have I had a ramble about Wilfred Owen yet?
Probably not, and if not, hey, let's have another one!

Basically, my summer work (other than my library volunteering and y'know, my work work. God I'm extracurricular,) MY SUMMER WORK was an extended project on the effect of the Great War on literature. For many reasons, none of which I'll go into now.

But for that, I've been doing a lot of research into the life of Wilfred Owen, war poet and soldier. And he's sort of inspirational, just for the reason that he was basically your ordinary, slightly selfish bloke. Did you know he sat out the first half of the war in France? What he said exactly was something along the lines of "Better a live poet than a dead soldier." Which is hardly the action of a noble hero. But that was almost his thing, as a poet. There are no heroes, only soldiers slogging it out in the trenches.

So I found it all fascinating. And his poetry (some of it. some of it I like less than others) is also particularly wow. I've put Futility below because it's very pretty, but most of his stuff is much more harrowing. So I'd recommend you check it out!

Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds, -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved -still warm -too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?

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