I am not a poetry reader. Perhaps due to a lasting revulsion of forced readings in various literature classes during my tenure in public school, poetry used to be a real turn off. Until I picked up this slim book of poems of British World War I poets, that is. After a few pages of some of the excellent poetry in this book, the pulse quickened, the lights came on, and poetry suddenly seemed useful.
World War I (1914-1918) is pretty much a forgotten war today. Occasionally, you'll see a documentary containing grainy footage of men in strange helmets climbing out of trenches, usually moving at a freakishly quick pace due to the inadequacy of the early film process. WWI is further overshadowed by the mega-death body count of WWII. But WWI had its own unique horrors as the nations involved resorted to poison gas, mechanized warfare, and attrition strategies to kill off some 15 million people. The new methods of mechanized warfare failed to stifle the human element of war, and this is where these poems come into play. Some of the soldiers involved in the conflict were poets and writers, and they used these talents to document the battlefield horrors for the folks back home.
There are male and female writers here, and those who were there and those who stayed home. Those who served in the war do the best jobs with their poetry. Even May Wedderburn Cannan, a woman who served as a nurse at Rouen, writes better poetry about the war than such distinguished literary figures Rudyard Kipling and Thomas Hardy (both of whom write from the safety of the home fires).
Keeping in line with the subject matter, most of the poems are grim and violent. Many of the poems focus on the incongruity of nature and violent acts of war. In one stanza, birds are chirping, the sun is shining, men are singing, and all seems right with the world. The next stanza is filled with sudden mutilations, violent death, and the shriek and scream of shells and bullets. Some of the poems deal with the anguish of watching someone die or killing another human being, as Wilfred Owen writes in "The Target" about a possible meeting in the afterlife with an enemy he's killed:
"Well, if they get me, first I'll find
That boy, and tell him all my mind,
And see who felt the bullet worst,
And ask his pardon, if I durst."
A few of the poets speak in favor of the war, seeing it as a call to glory or a defense against barbarism (see Rupert Brooks, John McCrae, and Rudyard Kipling). Others rail against the rulers and the senseless attrition warfare (Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen, and Isaac Rosenberg best represent this viewpoint).
Regardless of ideological viewpoint or writing style, all of the poems have a beauty that comes from dealing with horrors beyond the comprehension of the individual. The overwhelming power of the poems should make the hardiest soul's eyes mist over with tears of frustration, agony, and profound sadness.