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?
This is my favorite anti-war poem. Wilfred Owen was killed in action on 4 November 1918, a week before the signing of the Armistice. Futile is the word.
I'm reading it. The poem is saddened by the sun. That's what I read, and that's how I read.
ReplyDeleteThe war to end all wars.
Futility to the day.
Dunno, I think they were trying to revive a guy by moving him into the sun.
ReplyDeleteThen the poet ends up wondering what is the point of life itself if it only ends up in a such a way.
I find it very touching.
I agree. But, you must know my kinship to the sun and the moon. Poetically, I say, that the sun was sad, because it knew what would happen to the soldier. The soldier was going to pass from Earth's life.
ReplyDeletePlacing the guy into the sun is like saying, "I'm done. Let the sun do its best," thus finishing man's attempts and placing the soldier into the sun, having the sun to blame in the end.
Fair comment, but I think they are more frustrated at the sun for producing life and then not being able to revive it.
ReplyDelete