Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), Dulce Et Decorum Est

1. Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), DulceEt Decorum Est ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery

2. 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 disappointed shells that dropped 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 floundering 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. Wilfred Owen, DulceEt Decorum Est ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery

3. 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. Wilfred Owen, Dulce Et Decorum Est ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery

4. Marge Piercy, Beauty I Would Suffer For Last week a doctor told meanemic after an operationto eat: ordered to indulgencegiven a papal dispensation to runamok in Zabar's.Yet I know that intwo weeks, a month Iwill have in my nostrils ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery

5. ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery not the savor of rendering goosefat,not the burnt sugar of caramel toppingthe Saint-Honore cake, not the pumpernickelbearing up the sweet butter, the sturgeonbut again the scorched wire,burnt rubber smellof willpower, livingwith the brakes on. Marge Piercy, Beauty I Would Suffer For

6. ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery Marge Piercy, Beauty I Would Suffer For I want to pass into the boudoirsof Rubens' women. I want to dancegraceful in my tonnage like Poussin nymphs.Those melon bellies, those vast ripening thighs,those featherbeds of forearms, those buttocksplacid and gross as hippopotami:

7. ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery Marge Piercy, Beauty I Would Suffer For “placid and gross as hippopotami”

8. how I would bend myselfto that standard of beauty, how faithfullywould consume waffles and sausage for breakfastwith croissants on the side, how dutifullyI would eat for supper the blackbean soupwith madeira, followed by the fish coursethe meat course, and the Bavarian cream.Even at intervals during the day I wouldsuffer an occasional eclairfor the sake of appearance. Marge Piercy, Beauty I Would Suffer For ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery

9. A.E. Housman To An Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. To-day, the road all runners come, Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay, And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. A. E. Housman (1859-1936) To an Athlete Dying Young ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery

10. To An Athlete Dying Young (continued) Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut, And silence sounds no worse than cheer After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out, Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man, So set, before its echoes fade, The fleet foot on the sill of shade, And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. And round that early-laurelled head Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, And find unwithered on its curls The garland briefer than a girl's. A. E. Housman (1859-1936) To an Athlete Dying Young ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery

11. ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery Terence, This is Stupid Stuff ‘TERENCE, this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough; There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear, To see the rate you drink your beer. But oh, good Lord, the verse you make, It gives a chap the belly-ache. The cow, the old cow, she is dead; It sleeps well, the horned head: We poor lads, ’tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. Pretty friendship ’tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.’ A. E. Housman (1859-1936) Terence, This is Stupid Stuff

12. Terence, This is Stupid Stuff (continued) Why, if ’tis dancing you would be, There’s brisker pipes than poetry. Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God’s ways to man. Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think: Look into the pewter pot To see the world as the world’s not. And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past: The mischief is that ’twill not last. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where, And carried half way home, or near, Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad, ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery And I myself a sterling lad; And down in lovely muck I’ve lain, Happy till I woke again. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho, the tale was all a lie; The world, it was the old world yet, I was I, my things were wet, And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. A. E. Housman (1859-1936) Terence, This is Stupid Stuff

13. ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery hops (noun) : the ripe dried pistillate catkins of a perennial north-temperate zone twining vine (Humuluslupulus) of the hemp family used especially to impart a bitter flavor to malt liquors Terence, This is Stupid Stuff (continued) Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill, And while the sun and moon endure Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure, I’d face it as a wise man would, And train for ill and not for good. ’Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale Is not so brisk a brew as ale: Out of a stem that scored the hand I wrung it in a weary land. But take it: if the smack is sour, The better for the embittered hour; It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul’s stead; And I will friend you, if I may, In the dark and cloudy day. A. E. Housman (1859-1936) Terence, This is Stupid Stuff

14. ENGL 2030—Fall 2013 | Lavery A. E. Housman (1859-1936) Terence, This is Stupid Stuff There was a king reigned in the East: There, when kings will sit to feast, They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth; First a little, thence to more, He sampled all her killing store; And easy, smiling, seasoned sound, Sate the king when healths went round. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat; They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. —I tell the tale that I heard told. Mithridates, he died old.