What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this…
All agreed that 1917 had been a sad offender. All observed that 1918 did not look promising at its birth. At midnight on New Year’s Eve 1918 the poet Edmund Blunden looked out over the whole Ypres battlefield: It was bitterly cold, and the deep snow all round lay frozen. We drank healths, and stared out across the snowy miles…
We had just evacuated all the students to the playground, lined them up and done a head count. It wasn’t a fire drill but a bomb threat. We didn’t take it very seriously although bombs were regularly going off all over London. I think this must have been November 1973 because I seem to recall there had been a recent…
This writing has to do with some things I saw, felt and was part of. The period covered begins in early December 1915 and ends in July 1916. – David Jones, in the preface to In Parenthesis 1937 In Parenthesis is a poem-novella in seven parts that culminates in the dramatic attack on Mametz Wood at the Battle of the…
How will artists and writers portray this Trumpian time of disillusion, delusion and deception in which we now live? All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful. – Wilfred Owen Perhaps we can find some clues in the extraordinary exhibit World War I and American Art now showing at the the Pennsylvania…
It’s politically incorrect to say Happy Holidays these days. We must all say Merry Christmas. No word on the acceptability of Treasons Greetings so I’ll play it safe and stick to Christmas. Religious freedom – it’s a wonderful thing. Just like freedom from religion. Part of making America great again is that we don’t have to worry about other people’s…
BBC’s Radio 4 first tweet for 2014 was a thrush with a bright blue sky background and a quotation from The Darkling Thrush – a poem that Thomas Hardy dated December 31st, 1900. It’s all rather grim and gloomy. The poem records the desolation of winter, the dregs of the day and the end of the century. This is no…
Ninety years since the end of the First World War. Passengers at Paddington station on Armistice Day, 11 November 1919. stopped for two minutes silence to remember those who never returned. Most of the men have taken their hats off out of respect. Over 25,000 Great Western Railway workers were killed in the war. Railway companies commemorated the end of…