Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) - "Dulce et Decorum Est "

 

Dulce Et Decorum Est, by Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918)

Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) "Dulce et Decorum Est - pro patria mori" Wilfred Owen's famous poem is based on a quotation from the Latin poet Horace (Odes, iii ii 13), meaning 'It is sweet and proper to die for one's country'. Owen, one of the leading First World War poets, was killed one week before the WWI ended. Dulce Et Decorum Est is his most famous poem and one of the most searing war poems ever written. Dulce Et Decorum Est brings home at an individual level the horror and barbarity of what happens during war. It also hightlights twin gulfs - between those who risk horrible death at the front and those who don't, and between the pursuance of diplomacy and the stark barbarity of armed conflict. It was the experiences of gas attacks in the First World War that led to the designation of gas as an prohibited weapon under the Gas Protocol of the Geneva Conventions in 1925. Winston Churchill is believed to have considered using gas against Germany, despite the ban, though he never gave the order to do so. Had Wilfred Owen survived into the 1980s he would would have been shocked to learn of the use of gas by Saddam Hussain not only against Iranian troops in the Iran-Iraq war (with the tacit sanction of his Western supporters), but also (this time without sanction) against his own civilian population at Halabja. Dulce et decorum est: First World War gas victims lining up at a treatment station Given the well-documented outcomes of strategies of appeasement over the centuries, Dulce Et Decorum Est should not turn us into pacifists, but it should certainly give pause for thought, particularly for those who will stay safe and home while urging military conflict. Dulce Et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of 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 pace Behind 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 blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs Bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-- My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori. Wilfred Owen, first published 1921