Audio

Anything But Sweet

September 18, 2013

Curtis Fox: This is Poetry Off The Shelf from The Poetry Foundation, September 18th, 2013. I’m Curtis Fox. This week, a poem that’s anything but sweet. The recent sarin gas attacks in Syria killed many men, women and children, and got the world thinking again about the horror of chemical weapons. Inevitably, it made one think of World War One, when chlorine, mustard gas and other agents were first used on a master scale. The world was horrified then too, and demoralized. As Thomas Hardy put it, “200,000 years of mass, we’ve got as far as poison gas”. Thomas Hardy was too old to fight in World War One, but Wilfred Owen wasn’t. Before he was killed, just a week before the war ended, he wrote some of the most vivid war poems in the language, including one explicitly about poison gas. We’re going to talk to Bonnie Costello about that. Bonnie Costello is a professor at Boston University, who’s field is American modern and contemporary poetry. Bonnie, you’re not a Wilfred Owen scholar but I knew you’ve taught this poem in one of your classes. Wilfred Owen wrote a number of good war poems, so why did you have your students read “Dulce et Decorum Est” in particular?

 

Bonnie Costello: In fact we read many of Wilfred Owen’s poems. You have to remember also that he died at around age 25, so there aren’t as many poems as we’d like. This is probably his most famous poem. He actually started out quite differently. He started out as a kind of latter day Keats, and he wrote a poem visiting Keats’ house and so on. Then the war experience completely changed him as a poet. When he put his poems together, he included this statement that had a huge impact on the poets that came after him. He said, “Above all I am not concerned with poetry, my project is war, the pity of war. The poetry is in the pity. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true poets must be truthful”. I think that comes through very strongly, both the warning and the pity.

Curtis Fox: Yeah, it certainly does. We’ll hear that in the recording we’re about to hear. It’s read by the actor Michael Stuhlbarg. I wanted to ask you first, because I think it’s important to understand this poem, what does dulce et decorum est mean and where does it come from?

Bonnie Costello: It’s a Latin phrase from Hroace. It means “It is sweet and proper to die for one’s country”.

Curtis Fox: And Horace that is said un-ironically, I would imagine?

Bonnie Costello: That’s right. Of course here it’s the title, and it comes back at the end of the poem.

Curtis Fox: In a completely different meaning by the time we get to the end of the poem. Let’s hear it, and then we’ll talk about it and go through it later. Here’s Michael Stuhlbarg reading “Dulce et Decorum Est” by Wilfred Owen.

Michael Stuhlbarg:


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 gas-shells dropping softly behind.

 

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

 

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

 

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

 

Curtis Fox: Bonnie, poems are almost always in conversation with other poems. The conversation here is virtually explicit, at the end he says “My friend, you would not tell with such high zest / To children ardent for some desperate glory / The old Lie”. Who is the friend there, who is he addressing this poem to?

Bonnie Costello: In the narrowest sense it’s someone named Jesse Pope, who wrote heroic poems mostly for adolescents. I can read you a little bit of one if you have the time.

Curtis Fox: Yeah, go ahead.

Bonnie Costello: It’s called “Who’s For The Game”. I’ll just read you a little bit of the beginning and the end of it so you can get a sense of the kind of thing that Wilfred Owen is reacting to.

 

Who’s for the game, the biggest that’s played,

The red crashing game of a fight?

Who’ll grip and tackle the job unafraid?

And who thinks he’d rather sit tight?

 

Then it ends,

 

Who’ll earn the Empire’s thanks—

Will you, my laddie?

Who’ll swell the victor’s ranks—

Will you, my laddie?

When that procession comes,

Banners and rolling drums—

Who’ll stand and bite his thumbs—

Will you, my laddie?

 

Curtis Fox: So he’s writing in response to this very patriotic pro-war poetry written by some of his fellow poets.


Bonnie Costello: Absolutely. Rupert Brooke wrote this very famous poem called “The Soldier”. “If I should die, think only this of me: that there’s some corner of a foreign land that is forever England” and goes on, it’s very famous. But of course he did die in World War One. But the rhetoric went on.

Curtis Fox: So Wilfred Owen is deep in the trenches, he’s seen the worst of World War One. But what is his argument here, exactly? That the reality of war should dampen anyones enthusiasm for it? Or is that poison gas in particular makes it a lie that it is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country. Is it anti-war or anti poison gas, or is it both?

Bonnie Costello: I believe it’s anti-heroic idealism.

Curtis Fox: Because there’s no chance for heroism when you’re just being gassed.

Bonnie Costello: Even before you’re being gassed. The first images are not the images of Jesse Pope’s football game, they’re images of a dehumanized mass.

Curtis Fox: He begins the poem … soldiers are not retreating, they’re going away from the front for a rest. They’re already in pretty poor shape.

Michael Stuhlbarg:Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, / But limped on, blood-shod.

Curtis Fox: That’s an incredible image right there, “blood-shod”. That’s very vivid to say the least.

Bonnie Costello: It’s not only vivid, it turns people into animals. We don’t usually talk about ourselves in “shod”.

Curtis Fox: This is Poetry Off The Shelf from The Poetry Foundation, September 18th, 2013. I’m Curtis Fox. This week, a poem that’s anything but sweet. The recent sarin gas attacks in Syria killed many men, women and children, and got the world thinking again about the horror of chemical weapons. Inevitably, it made one think of World War One, when chlorine, mustard gas and other agents were first used on a master scale. The world was horrified then too, and demoralized. As Thomas Hardy put it, “200,000 years of mass, we’ve got as far as poison gas”. Thomas Hardy was too old to fight in World War One, but Wilfred Owen wasn’t. Before he was killed, just a week before the war ended, he wrote some of the most vivid war poems in the language, including one explicitly about poison gas. We’re going to talk to Bonnie Costello about that. Bonnie Costello is a professor at Boston University, who’s field is American modern and contemporary poetry. Bonnie, you’re not a Wilfred Owen scholar but I knew you’ve taught this poem in one of your classes. Wilfred Owen wrote a number of good war poems, so why did you have your students read “Dulce et Decorum Est” in particular?

 

Bonnie Costello: In fact we read many of Wilfred Owen’s poems. You have to remember also that he died at around age 25, so there aren’t as many poems as we’d like. This is probably his most famous poem. He actually started out quite differently. He started out as a kind of latter day Keats, and he wrote a poem visiting Keats’ house and so on. Then the war experience completely changed him as a poet. When he put his poems together, he included this statement that had a huge impact on the poets that came after him. He said, “Above all I am not concerned with poetry, my project is war, the pity of war. The poetry is in the pity. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true poets must be truthful”. I think that comes through very strongly, both the warning and the pity.

 

Curtis Fox: Yeah, it certainly does. We’ll hear that in the recording we’re about to hear. It’s read by the actor Michael Stuhlbarg. I wanted to ask you first, because I think it’s important to understand this poem, what does dulce et decorum est mean and where does it come from?

Bonnie Costello: It’s a Latin phrase from Hroace. It means “It is sweet and proper to die for one’s country”.

 

Curtis Fox: And Horace that is said un-ironically, I would imagine?

 

Bonnie Costello: That’s right. Of course here it’s the title, and it comes back at the end of the poem.

 

Curtis Fox: In a completely different meaning by the time we get to the end of the poem. Let’s hear it, and then we’ll talk about it and go through it later. Here’s Michael Stuhlbarg reading “Dulce et Decorum Est” by Wilfred Owen.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: 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 gas-shells dropping softly behind.

 

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

 

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

 

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

 

Curtis Fox: Bonnie, poems are almost always in conversation with other poems. The conversation here is virtually explicit, at the end he says “My friend, you would not tell with such high zest / To children ardent for some desperate glory / The old Lie”. Who is the friend there, who is he addressing this poem to?

Bonnie Costello: In the narrowest sense it’s someone named Jesse Pope, who wrote heroic poems mostly for adolescents. I can read you a little bit of one if you have the time.

 

Curtis Fox: Yeah, go ahead.

 

Bonnie Costello: It’s called “Who’s For The Game”. I’ll just read you a little bit of the beginning and the end of it so you can get a sense of the kind of thing that Wilfred Owen is reacting to.

 

Who’s for the game, the biggest that’s played,

The red crashing game of a fight?

Who’ll grip and tackle the job unafraid?

And who thinks he’d rather sit tight?

 

Then it ends,

 

Who’ll earn the Empire’s thanks—

Will you, my laddie?

Who’ll swell the victor’s ranks—

Will you, my laddie?

When that procession comes,

Banners and rolling drums—

Who’ll stand and bite his thumbs—

Will you, my laddie?

 

Curtis Fox: So he’s writing in response to this very patriotic pro-war poetry written by some of his fellow poets.


Bonnie Costello: Absolutely. Rupert Brooke wrote this very famous poem called “The Soldier”. “If I should die, think only this of me: that there’s some corner of a foreign land that is forever England” and goes on, it’s very famous. But of course he did die in World War One. But the rhetoric went on.

 

Curtis Fox: So Wilfred Owen is deep in the trenches, he’s seen the worst of World War One. But what is his argument here, exactly? That the reality of war should dampen anyones enthusiasm for it? Or is that poison gas in particular makes it a lie that it is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country. Is it anti-war or anti poison gas, or is it both?

 

Bonnie Costello: I believe it’s anti-heroic idealism.

 

Curtis Fox: Because there’s no chance for heroism when you’re just being gassed.

 

Bonnie Costello: Even before you’re being gassed. The first images are not the images of Jesse Pope’s football game, they’re images of a dehumanized mass.

 

Curtis Fox: He begins the poem … soldiers are not retreating, they’re going away from the front for a rest. They’re already in pretty poor shape.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg:Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, / But limped on, blood-shod.

 

Curtis Fox: That’s an incredible image right there, “blood-shod”. That’s very vivid to say the least.

 

Bonnie Costello: It’s not only vivid, it turns people into animals. We don’t usually talk about ourselves in “shod”.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: All went lame; all blind; / Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots / Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

 

Bonnie Costello: And then they quickly put on their gas masks.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, / But someone still was yelling out and stumbling / And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.— / Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, / As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

 

Curtis Fox: The metaphor here is drowning in sea. Is it that the gas was greenish? What’s going on here?

 

Bonnie Costello: I think the gas is greenish and also affects the lungs. When the lungs are affected it’s a drowning sensation. So it’s both inside and outside. Also, I think one of the things happening between the first and second stanzas is that there’s something very powerful about the sound of “Bent double, like old beggars under sacks”. The hard sounds of the “b”s and the “d”s and the “k”s in there, and then rhymes of “sludge” and “trudge” which sounds like the mud that it is. So we’re in the thick of it with the sound there. And then the sudden shift as we get into the dreamlike qualities of the poem; the long “e”s and “o”s, “Dim through the misty panes and thick green light”. It also sounds like a line from Romantic poetry. It’s dreamlike. He creates a very different feeling there.

 

Curtis Fox: The dreamlike being the strange atmosphere created by the green gas?

Bonnie Costello: The disorientation. The pace of the poem has shifted rapidly. They’ve been trudging in the sludge, and then suddenly “Quick boys! — And ecstasy of fumbling. There’s a disorientation that happened that’s reinforced by the imagery, but in fact the gas did produce these clouds that obscured vision. It’s reinforced of course because they’re all putting these iconic gas masks with their foggy lenses that everybody’s got on their faces now, so they can’t see out of them very well either. That obscures the vision further.

 

Curtis Fox: Then the poet backs away from the scene itself and talks about remembering this.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: …In all my dreams before my helpless sight, / He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

 

Curtis Fox: In other words, he’s not going to forget this ever.

 

Bonnie Costello: It’s classic trauma. Wilfred Owen was hospitalized for a while, then sent back to the front and died there of course. I think that’s the kind of effect here, the sense that this isn’t a one time effect, the participle stumbling and drowning that are part of the scene become permanent, suspended. You’ve got that hanging face too which is forever hanging.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace / Behind the wagon that we flung him in, / And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, / His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

 

Curtis Fox: I found that peculiar, to describe the victim’s face here as “like the devil’s; sick of sin”. What do you make of that?

 

Bonnie Costello: First we have this marching crowd, this mass, this un-differentiable “we”. Then we have someone identified. To me the hanging face becomes the face of war, a human face transformed into something demonic.

 

Curtis Fox: “Sick of sin”, it’s interesting, some sort of human shame emblazoned upon the face of this dying man. Then the poem continues:

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: …If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood / Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

 

Curtis Fox: That’s an incredibly memorable image, frost-corrupted lungs.

 

Bonnie Costello: Him and Kipling really. None of the rhetoric leading up to World War One is quite so visceral, that quite confronts the horror and degradation and dehumanization. The word “cud” there is well chosen.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg:bitter as the cud / Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues

 

Bonnie Costello: As visceral and physical as it is, he’s a good enough poet that he can make it do work on a couple of levels. What is he talking about here? He’s talking about the mouth, he’s talking about speech, he’s going to go on to talk about a famous quote from Horace. The sense of sores on innocent tongues, he’s going to be addressing a friend who wrote heroic poetry for children.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: My friend, you would not tell with such high zest / To children ardent for some desperate glory, / The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est / Pro patria mori.

 

Curtis Fox: Here’s my one quibble with the poem. I somehow think that the rhetorical point is weaker than the earlier part of the poem.

 

Bonnie Costello: You mean when it turns into a message?

Curtis Fox: Yeah, when it turns into a clear and rhetorical message. He’s saying no, it’s not sweet and fitting to die for your country”. It’s something I agree with, but I can’t help but think it weakens the poem in some way. Do you agree?


Bonnie Costello: I think in our generation we’re very used to indirection, to “no ideas but in things”. Wilfred Owen’s writing in a culture where aphoristic statements, maxims, sententious quality in poetry is not only common but almost expected. This is before a lot of the turn toward radical modernism. It’s before “The Waste Land”. I think he is in a sense working within that culture to turn it’s message around. I actually really like the ending, I think it’s so powerful to have things so direct at this point. Also, it rescues the poem from the risk of just numbing us with that horror. Otherwise, we’re left with the nightmare in the middle of the poem that goes on and on and on.

 

Curtis Fox: Now when I saw the video from Syria recently, there’s a couple images that came up from this poem. The froth-corrupted lungs for example, that was there, you saw that. In a sense, this provided some of the vocabulary for the unspeakable.

 

Bonnie Costello: Yes, and I noticed that just as W.H. Auden’s poem "September 1st 1939” was circulated during 911, that this poem is starting to circulate. It’s a good moment to be thinking about these things.

 

Curtis Fox: Bonnie, thanks so much.


Bonnie Costello: No problem, thank you.

 

Curtis Fox: Bonnie Costello is a professor of English at Boston University. She’s currently working on a book called Private Faces in Public Places. You can read more Wilfred Owen poems on our website, poetryfoundation.org. If you have any comments on this program, email us at podcast@poetryfoundation.org. The theme music for this program comes from the Claudia Quintet. For Poetry Off The Shelf, I’m Curtis Fox. Thanks for listening.

 

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: All went lame; all blind; / Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots / Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

 

Bonnie Costello: And then they quickly put on their gas masks.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, / But someone still was yelling out and stumbling / And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.— / Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, / As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

 

Curtis Fox: The metaphor here is drowning in sea. Is it that the gas was greenish? What’s going on here?

 

Bonnie Costello: I think the gas is greenish and also affects the lungs. When the lungs are affected it’s a drowning sensation. So it’s both inside and outside. Also, I think one of the things happening between the first and second stanzas is that there’s something very powerful about the sound of “Bent double, like old beggars under sacks”. The hard sounds of the “b”s and the “d”s and the “k”s in there, and then rhymes of “sludge” and “trudge” which sounds like the mud that it is. So we’re in the thick of it with the sound there. And then the sudden shift as we get into the dreamlike qualities of the poem; the long “e”s and “o”s, “Dim through the misty panes and thick green light”. It also sounds like a line from Romantic poetry. It’s dreamlike. He creates a very different feeling there.

 

Curtis Fox: The dreamlike being the strange atmosphere created by the green gas?

Bonnie Costello: The disorientation. The pace of the poem has shifted rapidly. They’ve been trudging in the sludge, and then suddenly “Quick boys! — And ecstasy of fumbling. There’s a disorientation that happened that’s reinforced by the imagery, but in fact the gas did produce these clouds that obscured vision. It’s reinforced of course because they’re all putting these iconic gas masks with their foggy lenses that everybody’s got on their faces now, so they can’t see out of them very well either. That obscures the vision further.

 

Curtis Fox: Then the poet backs away from the scene itself and talks about remembering this.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: …In all my dreams before my helpless sight, / He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

 

Curtis Fox: In other words, he’s not going to forget this ever.

 

Bonnie Costello: It’s classic trauma. Wilfred Owen was hospitalized for a while, then sent back to the front and died there of course. I think that’s the kind of effect here, the sense that this isn’t a one time effect, the participle stumbling and drowning that are part of the scene become permanent, suspended. You’ve got that hanging face too which is forever hanging.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace / Behind the wagon that we flung him in, / And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, / His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

 

Curtis Fox: I found that peculiar, to describe the victim’s face here as “like the devil’s; sick of sin”. What do you make of that?

 

Bonnie Costello: First we have this marching crowd, this mass, this un-differentiable “we”. Then we have someone identified. To me the hanging face becomes the face of war, a human face transformed into something demonic.

 

Curtis Fox: “Sick of sin”, it’s interesting, some sort of human shame emblazoned upon the face of this dying man. Then the poem continues:

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: …If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood / Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

 

Curtis Fox: That’s an incredibly memorable image, frost-corrupted lungs.

 

Bonnie Costello: Him and Kipling really. None of the rhetoric leading up to World War One is quite so visceral, that quite confronts the horror and degradation and dehumanization. The word “cud” there is well chosen.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg:bitter as the cud / Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues

 

Bonnie Costello: As visceral and physical as it is, he’s a good enough poet that he can make it do work on a couple of levels. What is he talking about here? He’s talking about the mouth, he’s talking about speech, he’s going to go on to talk about a famous quote from Horace. The sense of sores on innocent tongues, he’s going to be addressing a friend who wrote heroic poetry for children.

 

Michael Stuhlbarg: My friend, you would not tell with such high zest / To children ardent for some desperate glory, / The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est / Pro patria mori.

 

Curtis Fox: Here’s my one quibble with the poem. I somehow think that the rhetorical point is weaker than the earlier part of the poem.

 

Bonnie Costello: You mean when it turns into a message?

Curtis Fox: Yeah, when it turns into a clear and rhetorical message. He’s saying no, it’s not sweet and fitting to die for your country”. It’s something I agree with, but I can’t help but think it weakens the poem in some way. Do you agree?


Bonnie Costello: I think in our generation we’re very used to indirection, to “no ideas but in things”. Wilfred Owen’s writing in a culture where aphoristic statements, maxims, sententious quality in poetry is not only common but almost expected. This is before a lot of the turn toward radical modernism. It’s before “The Waste Land”. I think he is in a sense working within that culture to turn it’s message around. I actually really like the ending, I think it’s so powerful to have things so direct at this point. Also, it rescues the poem from the risk of just numbing us with that horror. Otherwise, we’re left with the nightmare in the middle of the poem that goes on and on and on.

 

Curtis Fox: Now when I saw the video from Syria recently, there’s a couple images that came up from this poem. The froth-corrupted lungs for example, that was there, you saw that. In a sense, this provided some of the vocabulary for the unspeakable.

 

Bonnie Costello: Yes, and I noticed that just as W.H. Auden’s poem "September 1st 1939” was circulated during 911, that this poem is starting to circulate. It’s a good moment to be thinking about these things.

 

Curtis Fox: Bonnie, thanks so much.


Bonnie Costello: No problem, thank you.

 

Curtis Fox: Bonnie Costello is a professor of English at Boston University. She’s currently working on a book called Private Faces in Public Places. You can read more Wilfred Owen poems on our website, poetryfoundation.org. If you have any comments on this program, email us at podcast@poetryfoundation.org. The theme music for this program comes from the Claudia Quintet. For Poetry Off The Shelf, I’m Curtis Fox. Thanks for listening.

 

Wilfred Owen's "Dulce et Decorum Est" and modern warfare

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