Dulce et Decorum Est
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! 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.
Wilfred Owen
If We Must Die
If we must die—let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die—oh, let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe;
Though far outnumbered, let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one deathblow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
Claude McKay
100 years ago the First World War or World War I ended with the Armistice on November 11, 1918. Associated with this were two great war poets of English literature, Siegfried Sassoon (1886 – 1967) and Wilfred Owen (1893 – 1918). Also hailed as a war poet was Claude McKay (1880 – 1948), although under much different, less confirmed and very ironic circumstances.
The first two poets were also British soldiers – decorated military officers who served on the field of battle in World War I. Owen was inspired by Sassoon, who he greatly admired, and strove to follow in his footsteps. Yet, the younger Owen’s poetry has had a very lasting impact, although his volume of work was considerably less than that of Sassoon who lived much longer and was more prolific.
However, Owen had a mission to expose the horror of war, and although he fought bravely and earned decorations, his voice was anti-war and his poetry a de-recommendation of military service. In contrast, McKay’s poem printed above is a rallying battle cry, full of courage and commitment to the cause.
“If We Must Die” was written in 1919 by a poet born in Jamaica and living in the USA since 1912 where he was actively involved in the artistic community to the point where his work is often listed as part of American literature. His politics was radical, he was part of the Harlem Renaissance and associated with the Marcus Garvey movement there. He embraced communism and went to Moscow; he lived in Europe, partly in Paris, and did spend some time in London. The poem was widely published and anthologised.
One of the most significant reports that associated it with war and made it a war poem was that it was quoted by British Prime Minister Sir Winston Churchill who recited it in the House of Commons. Some reports say he recited it over the BBC, using it as a rallying cry for support in the British cause in World War II. The poem was said to appeal to Churchill because of its defiant call to battle and resistance, the way it lent itself to a war cry and call to patriotic duty; additionally, he could relate to it because it was written in the form of an English or Shakespearean sonnet.
Other reports have called this into question, citing the absence of documented proof of such a speech by Sir Winston. The fact, however, is that the sonnet was not written in connection with the war or any such patriotic call. Yes, it was a battle cry, but for black people in America to stand up against race hate and in opposition to race riots that killed many blacks in the USA in 1919. Deeply involved in the Harlem Renaissance, McKay wrote to defend the black cause. Note, for example, his poem “The Lynching”, and his embrace of Marxism.
The ironies multiply at the idea of Churchill using a poem by a black poet, which was written to rally blacks in battle against white racists in America, to rally his white citizenry in a European conflict. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour brought the USA full scale into it. To make things worse, there were black soldiers defending the British and European cause in World War I. These were the members of an all-black battalion known as The Harlem Hell Fighters who were extremely effective fighting alongside the French army. This battalion fought for America overseas while they themselves and other blacks were persecuted de-humanised at home.
Moreover, after the Hell Fighters returned home, they had a celebration by themselves but were not allowed to take part in the national Victory Parade celebrating the end of the war. As if that were not enough, one year after the war that the black Americans helped to win, there were the infamous ‘Red October’ or ‘Red Scare’ race riots in the USA.
Blacks fought for Britain as well in World War II, many in the air force, but numerous are the reports of their inferior treatment, despite the supposed use of a black poem to rally Britons against the Germans. After the war there was the Windrush that brought a major wave of black immigrants into the UK. The plight of the succeeding generations is well documented, leading up to the recent wrongful mass deportations.
The truth is, however, that McKay’s poem, in spite of its specific origin, is easily universal and can speak to a wider audience. It is indeed the kind of verse with appropriate messages that a nation could use for inspiration. It is a strong poem with great appeal, and can quite rightly be claimed by the UK or the world.
Owen’s work is of a different type, and questions the rallying patriotic cry “dulce et decorum es pro patria mori” (Latin for it is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country). The poet shows in extremely graphic terms that it certainly is not. He does not romanticise about war as other poets have done, but dramatises the horrors, torture and ugliness.
