Wilfred Owen

he tells the Daily Mail today, is Owen's 'Dulce et Decorum Est'. Using Wilfred Owen's poem Dulce et Decorum Est I produced a series of prints The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori." Partial draft of “Dulce et Decorum Est,” Owen's celebrated anti-war poem Dulce Et Decorum Est… The manuscript of Dulce et Decorum est by Wilfred Owen Work from 2000. While living in Canada my love for art increased by Mr. Krison Tan Dulce et decorum est. Wilfred Owen 1916. Bent double, like old beggar...Read Full Story

RAY GARRETT, my grandfather, in his World War I uniform. My father, Ray Garrett, Jr., served in World War II. It is for those who have fought in wars, even led them, to tell us just how horrible they are. At Memorial Day, I think of the words of General Dwight David Eisenhower: "I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity." "There is no glory in battle worth the blood shed." "When people speak to you about a preventive...Read Full Story

‘ Sweet and fitting it is to die for one’s country’ According to David Cameron , his favourite poem is ‘Dulce Et Decorum Est ’ by the first World War Poet, Wilfred Owen .  It may be true, of course, but so grim is this condemnation of the horrors of modern warfare, that while one might appreciate its power, I doubt that it could be many people’s real favourite in the sense of something to be read over and over and remembered in quiet moments:-Read Full Story

Today is the anniversary of the death of one of World War One's most famous poets. As we approach Armistice Day-there is a theme of Soldiers and writing... Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) Wilfred Edward Salter Owen was born on March 18, 1893. He was on the Continent teaching until he visited a hospital for the wounded and then decided, in September, 1915, to return to England and enlist. "I came out in order to help these boys-- directly by leading them as well as an officer can; indirectly, by...Read Full Story

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our 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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind. Gas!7 Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone...Read Full Story

This is an analysis of one of the most famous war poems ever written. Contributor: Sevastian Winters Published: Oct 06, 2009Read Full Story

An overview and critique of this poem. Contributor: Julie Moore Published: Nov 11, 2009Read Full Story

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