Exposure
Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us . . . Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . . Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . . Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous, But nothing happens. Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire. Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles. Northward incessantly, the flickering gunnery rumbles, Far off, like a dull rumour of some other war. What are we doing here? The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow . . . We only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy. Dawn massing in the east her melancholy army Attacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of gray, But nothing happens. Sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence. Less deadly than the air that shudders black with snow, With sidelong flowing flakes that flock, pause and renew, We watch them wandering up and down the wind's nonchalance, But nothing happens. Pale flakes with lingering stealth come feeling for our faces -- We cringe in holes, back on forgotten dreams, and stare, snow-dazed, Deep into grassier ditches. So we drowse, sun-dozed, Littered with blossoms trickling where the blackbird fusses. Is it that we are dying? Slowly our ghosts drag home: glimpsing the sunk fires glozed With crusted dark-red jewels; crickets jingle there; For hours the innocent mice rejoice: the house is theirs; Shutters and doors all closed: on us the doors are closed -- We turn back to our dying. Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn; Now ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit. For God's invincible spring our love is made afraid; Therefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born, For love of God seems dying. To-night, His frost will fasten on this mud and us, Shrivelling many hands and puckering foreheads crisp. The burying-party, picks and shovels in their shaking grasp, Pause over half-known faces. All their eyes are ice, But nothing happens. |
Key Points
This is a masterpiece in pararhyme. Look carefully at Knive Us/Nervous. Not only does it break traditional rhyme, it also breaks grammatical rules. What does Owen achieve by doing this? In terms of 'Owen as modern poet', what is important about his choice here? The rhyme and structure of the poem are very regular - how? why? Owen's use of assonance. sibilance and alliteration mean that there is constant heightening of sound. Why does he do this, given that there is so little sound in the poem itself? Winter/Dawn are personified. Remind you of an early poem? How does Owen's treatment of these figures differ/remain constant? He also uses another frequently-used device in terms of personification. What and why? 'Glozed' is a killer choice and must be discussed. On one hand, Owen can be using the archaic word for deceit or a false show. On the other hand, it could be neologistic (combining glow and closed). What are the implications of both of these? The stanza about the mice seems really weird and out of place. What could be going on here? From a semantic point of view, symbolisms here is very rich - what interpretations can you get out of it? Why does the narrative structure drift the recollection of home in this way? 'God's invincinble' |