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"Beauty above all beauty!"
– St. Catherine of Siena

Showing posts with label World War I. Show all posts
Showing posts with label World War I. Show all posts

Thursday, June 4, 2026

LotR, The Fellowship of the Ring, Post 1

I am starting a new series of posts on J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, hereby the acronym, LotR.  As you may know, the LotR is divided into three volumes, each a novel length work in itself.  It is a modern day epic, and some call it the greatest novel of the 20th century.  I would not go that far, but it is a great work.  The three volumes go under the titles, The Fellowship of the Ring (Vol I), The Two Towers (Vol II), and The Retrurn of the King (Vol III). 

The LotR became a recurring read at my Goodreads Catholic Thought Book Club.  A recurring read is a book that is too long for one group read, and so broken down into segments.  We read one segment, pause to read other books in a cycle of genres, and when the cycle returns to the recurring read we pick up where we left off for another segment.  The natural divisions of the LotR made it natural to read a volume for each segment.  Last year we read The Fellowship of the Ring.  The posts that come out for this volume came out of that discussion.  We are currently reading The Two Towers, and eventually I will be posting those discussions.  I expect the discussions for The Return of the King may be ready for posting next year.  The series of posts will be linked to each volume of the trilogy. 

 


Introduction

It’s hard to write an introduction on The Lord of the Rings.  Everyone has either read it, saw the movie, or heard people talking about it.  Heck, it’s referenced even in a few of Led Zeppelin songs, most famously in “Ramble On.”  

 

I ain't tellin' no lie

Mine's a tale that can't be told

My freedom I hold dear

How years ago in days of old

When magic filled the air

T'was in the darkest depths of Mordor

I met a girl so fair

But Gollum and the evil one

Crept up and slipped away with her

Her, her, yeah

Ain't nothing I can do, no

 

The song doesn’t really have much to do with LotR, but the allusion to Mordor is fascinating.  I remember hearing the song as a teen before I had heard of LotR, and the allusion certainly went over my head.  Allusions to LotR are in a number of Zeppelin songs: “Ramble On,” “Stairway to Heaven,” “Misty Mountain Hop,” “The Battle of Evermore,” and “Bron-Y-Aur.” 

 

When one of the greatest and most popular rock bands, who’s morals and themes are hardly in line with that of J.R.R. Tolkien, has a love of LotR, it is evident that the cultural influence of LotR is deep and wide.

As an introduction, I’m not going to highlight the story.  What I’m going to provide can certainly be found on the internet, but I am mostly going by a biography I read last year on Tolkien, Tolkien, Man and Myth: A Literary life by Joseph Pearce.  It’s a good bio and I recommend it.

The background Tolkien provides in the Prologue—that is, that the story is a sequel to Tolkien’s previous work, The Hobbit, and that the story is part of a prehistory where the earth is in a stage in time called “Middle-Earth,” where humanoids called hobbits, elves, dwarves, and several other categorizations, including men, lived upon the earth.  As I write that, some doubt on that sentence enters my mind.  I’m not exactly sure Tolkien considers all those categories humanoids.  I will go with that until proven otherwise, but the story is certainly fantastic.

The novel is considered a fantasy novel, but it is also considered an epic.  It fits the form of ancient epics, and it’s scope is most certainly vast and epic!  The novel starts as a quest, utilizes the narrative form of a journey, and before the end is achieved a war between forces of good and evil rages around the questing hero.  There are struggles against outer forces and there are internal struggles within many of the characters, especially Frodo, the questing hero.  The continuity with the predecessor book is explained early.  Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit from the shire, on an adventure of his own some sixty years prior finds a magic ring that allows the wearer of the ring to become invisible.  Suffice it to say Bilbo returns prosperous from his adventures and lives a comfortable life in the shire.  But in his old age and with coming death he gives the ring to his nephew Frodo.  In time Frodo learns of the danger associated with the ring and is asked to dispose of it.  We’ll get into these details as the novel unfolds.

###

Kerstin Comment:

We'll encounter a lot of geography reading this book. Both hardcopies and electronic versions of the book contain at least the Middle Earth map, and maybe even the Shire segment, though they may be hard to read. On my ancient kindle maps are worthless. Last time I read the book l printed out various segments, though I don't remember the exact websites. There is plenty online. An interesting one is an interactive map where you can map out the journeys of the various characters.

My Reply to Kerstin:

Thanks Kerstin. That's quite amazing. It will probably take me weeks to figure out how to interact with the map.

###

J.R.R. Tolkien

The author’s biography is pertinent to this work.  Here are some raw facts.  John Ronald Reuel (J.R.R.) Tolkien was born in 1892 in what I think now is South Africa.  His father was a bank manager there and married Mabel, who had come out be with him, in the Anglican Church.  JRR’s younger brother Hilary was also born in that same region of South Africa, but because of JRR’s health, Mabel took the children back to England, outside the city of Birmingham, in 1896.  That same year, the father dies in South Africa, leaving Mabel impoverished trying to sustain two small boys.  She received help from several of her and her husband’s family members.

Mabel and her sister became interested in Catholicism, and both converted in 1900, taking along her two boys.  There was a huge push back from their families, and Mabel’s sister was forced to abandon her new faith by her husband.  Mabel refused to leave Catholicism, and most of the financial help she was getting from her family was stopped.  She really struggled and fought for her faith, and this left a strong impression on JRR.  Because she did not have the money to send her boys to school and because she was herself apparently well educated (she could speak four languages including Latin) she became the primary educator of her boys.  JRR’s love of languages must have had its source from his mother. 

Mabel moved to Birmingham to be closer to a Catholic Church, and it was there the family became friends with Fr. Francis Xavier Morgan.  The contrast between the country life outside of Birmingham and the city life inside of the city also made a strong impression on Tolkien.  He hated the city with its trams, busy street life, smoking factories, and railroads.  All of Tolkien’s life he would despise automobiles. 

In 1903 Mabel died from what appears to be complications of diabetes.  So at the age of eleven, JRR and his brother, a couple of years younger, were left orphans.  They were taken in by Fr. Francis, who Mabel had made sure would prevent her and her husband’s families from taking away their Catholicism.  Fr. Francis turned out to be a very good foster father to the boys, encouraging their learning, their faith, and their development.  The boys helped in the church, and so learned their faith very well. 



In 1909 JRR met a young lady, Edith, who was three years older, and fell in love.  Tolkien was only eighteen at the time, and this was a big issue for Fr. Francis who refused to allow JRR to pursue this relationship.  As far as I can tell, it was strictly because Fr. Francis felt JRR was not old enough to be in a romantic relationship.  He forbid JRR to pursue it and forced him to break it off until JRR was legally independent at the age of twenty-one.  JRR honorably did as he was ordered, but upon immediately turning twenty-one, re-located Edith (in 1913) and asked to resume the relationship.  She happened to now be involved with another man, but she broke that off and returned to JRR.  Despite anger from her family, she converted to Catholicism in 1914.

JRR was also now in college at Oxford, and they put marriage off until he could be stably employed, but then the Great War (WWI) had started.  Upon completing his degree in 1915, Tolkien enlisted in the Army and married Edith in 1916.  He saw action at the front throughout this time.  Many of his friends were killed in the war.  Late in 1916 he contracted Trench Fever, a disease transmitted by lice and was sent home as an invalid.  Trench Fever is a recurring bacterial infection, and apparently it led to Tolkien being emaciated.  He remained invalid for the remainder of the war.

His marriage was by all accounts a good marriage.  They had four children: John (b. 1917), Michael (1920), Christopher (1924), and Priscilla (1929).  He became a professor of philology and literature, a translator, a scholar of ancient works, a writer of stories, novels, and poetry.  He was a college professor at several universities, most notably Oxford.  At Oxford he became friends with C. S. Lewis, and was instrumental in Lewis’s conversion from atheism to Christianity.  The two with other literary professors at Oxford formed a group called the Inklings where they met twice weekly and shared their ideas and writings.  I’m reminded of a story of Tolkien reading from his drafts of LotR, and one of the Inklings, Hugo Dyson, an important Shakespeare scholar, who in the middle of Tolkien reading blurted out, “Oh no, not another [expletive] elf!”

Tolkien published The Hobbit in 1937.  He said he wrote it as a children’s book for his children.  He, and many others, distinguish the narrative between The Hobbit and LotR by stipulating that the former is a children’s book while LotR is an adult book.  Frankly I can’t tell the difference.  As far as I’m concerned, The Hobbit can be read as adult story, and the LotR can be and is enjoyed by many children.  I don’t know what makes one a children’s book and one an adult.  The Hobbit is a finely crafted book with subtle themes, superbly structured, and great character insights.  I’ve said in the past that I thought The Hobbit was the greater novel, but I’m looking forward to being persuaded otherwise in this read.

###

Patrick Comment:

WWI affected Tolkien tremendously. Reading about his wartime experience helped me understand LOTR better. Courage is a major theme.



Ellie Comment:

Thank you for the introduction, Manny, it was super interesting! Earlier this year I read a spiritual biography called Tolkien's Faith by Holly Ordway and I definitely recommend that to everybody here, it was amazing to learn how Tolkien's faith had evolved and how it shaped his stories, too.

My Reply to Ellie:

Oh I know of Holly Ordway. I read her biographical, conversion story Not God's Type: An Atheist Academic Lays Down Her Arms. I thought I wrote a review for Goodreads, but apparently I forgot. In fact I don't even have it marked as read. I will have to update that. It was a good read and I recommend it. 

###

What can we say about LotR as a work?  It was written over an extended time period, from 1936 to 1949.  World War II certainly had a hand in inspiration of the work, as well as Tolkien’s experience in the First World War.  Tolkien insisted that the work was not “allegorical nor topical.”  Tolkien states in the introduction his intention.


The prime motive was the desire of a tale-teller to try his hand at a really long story that would hold the attention of readers, amuse them, delight them, and at times maybe excite them or deeply move them.

It should be noted that Tolkien despised allegory, and he did not like most of the fiction of his friend C. S. Lewis, who’s Narnia Chronicles rely on allegory.  That statement of intention is a statement of the pure aesthetics of fiction.  Tolkien first and foremost wants to tell a story of epic proportions.  In this epic narrative, the author creates several languages, a prehistory to humanity, a geography of an earth prior to the current continental positions, and a world populated with different humanoids and fantastical creatures.  It really is epic in proportion.



Though Tolkien states there is no allegory, it’s very hard not to spot some.  “Middle-Earth” is suggestive of Middle English, a time period before the modern.  A war takes place in LotR which seems to be analogous to either of the World Wars.  The fellowship of the central characters seems to suggest Tolkien’s biographical Inklings.  The history of Middle-Earth seems to parody prehistorical movements.  The hobbit shire life seems analogous to small town country English life, current and past.  The various classes of humanoids seem to suggest an analogy to racial differences between actual humans.  Tolkien insisted that there was not a racial component to the book, and I believe him in the sense of the negative associations with race.  The racial component I think should be associated with linguistic family groups such as Germanic, Slavic, Romance languages.  I think—and I’m just speculating—that Tolkien’s philological knowledge of language groups inspired him to create imagined, similar humanoid groups.  Perhaps Tolkien might dispute my speculations.  Here is his statement on use of analogy.

 

Other arrangements could be devised according to the tastes or views of those who like allegory or topical reference. But I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence. I much prefer history, true or feigned, with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers. I think that many confuse ‘applicability’ with ‘allegory’; but the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and the other in the purposed domination of the author.

Perhaps I am confusing “applicability” with allegory, but I don’t know what he means by that and he never explains it.  While what I perceive as allegory in LotR is not a strong corresponding allegory (there are levels of allegorical correspondence), I still perceive some.  Frankly this subtle allegory I think helps the novel, and perhaps is what he means by “applicability.”  Perhaps we are in some agreement.

Some of the themes we will see is good versus evil, the power of evil to disorder our inner being, the fellowship between friends, the simplicity of rural life, and the richness of folklore of common folk.  I think LotR is part of the folkloric Renaissance and artistic movements that began with Romanticism in the 19th century and has blossomed since then.  Indeed, Tolkien in LotR uses folklore and creates the folklore of the characters in a way that is truly remarkable.  I personally am not so interested in the fantasy aspect of the novel, but I captivated by the folkloric elements, taken from real life and imagined. 

I’m sure there is more to point out, and I look forward to discussing them, but we need to leave the introduction here.

I hope that’s a satisfactory introduction. 

###

Kelly’s Comment:

I read somewhere that CS Lewis also denied that the Narnia books used allegory. For some reason the idea of one's works containing allegory suggests putting limits on what the reader might experience? Which I take as using the term applicability -- the way in which you can read something and I can read something and both go away with something different.

And you're right Manny, this is my (at least) fifth reading of this series, PLUS having seen the movies several times, and still I come away with something new each time!

I am using my old set of physical books, which I have to turn pages very gingerly. I got the Kindle version as backup, haha.

Happy reading!

Bruce’s Reply to Kelly:

That depends on how you define allegory. If CS Lewis did say that Narnia was not allegory, maybe it was because he saw the allusions in Narnia as so obvious that it was like hitting the reader in the head with a 2X4.

My Reply to Kelly:

Well, there is a stronger level allegory in the Narnia books than LotR. I understand Tolkien's point about over use of allegory. I think Tolkien's dislike is just a little quirky on this. Great works of literature have used allegory. Dante's Divine Comedy, the greatest. Gawain and the Green Knight, which Tolkien translated from the Middle English, has strong levels of allegory. Why Tolkien dislikes allegory is there at the end of the quote I put up; he dislikes the "domination of the author." Yes, as you point out, allegory forces the reader to a particular way of reading, and Tolkien prefers a multiplicity of way of reading a book.

 

Funny you should mention old hardcopy books. I too am reading from my old hardcopy from some forty years ago. It was read twice, so not as flimsy as yours but it's still delicate. To my surprise, I had no notes inside the book. It was from so long ago it was before I started writing notes in the pages. I always do that now, and I am now writing notes in this old hardcopy!

Frances’s Comment:

There’s a lovely, informative video on You Tube which adds color to the story of Tolkien, LOTR and Tolkien’s role in leading C.S. Lewis to Christianity. The video is only 13 minutes long. Just Google: You Tube, “On the Power of Fiction, Tolkien, Lewis.”

         

 

Michelle’s Comment:

Word on Fire has an article today on The Fellowship of the Ring.

My Reply to Michelle:

That really is a good article. “Celebrating the Epochal Publication of “The Fellowship of the Ring” 70 Years On” by Holly Ordway.  The relinquishing of power as the central theme. Yes, I had not thought about it in that way before, and it is spot on. Thank you Michelle.  Here is an excerpt:

 

According to Eugene Vinaver, Tolkien once said that “his typical response upon reading a medieval work was to desire not so much to make a philological or critical study of it as to write a modern work in the same tradition.”4 Tolkien was not an antiquarian whose eye is forever fixed on his rearview mirror, but a translator who looks both ahead and behind, aiming to preserve the best that history had to offer by making it accessible to contemporary readers. And to achieve that translation, he had to know both languages, as it were—tongues ancient and modern.

###

What I hope to do from here is go one to three chapters at a time, give a chapter summary, provide my thoughts on the chapters, and provide pertinent discussion of the book that happened at the book club.  I aim to put out a post per week.  Stay tuned.

 


Sunday, November 11, 2018

Poetry: “And There Was Great Calm” by Thomas Hardy

November 11th, 2018 will mark the one hundredth anniversary of the ending of the First World War, known as Armistice.  On "the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month" the hostilities that lasted by my count four years and 116 days and known at the time as “The Great War” came to an end.  Between all the participating countries, there were some 37,508,686 causalities, of which 8,538,315 were fatalities. Truly a tragic event in the history of mankind.  It was a war that changed the nature of western civilization, especially Europe.  Between books and poetry, I have posted often on the Great War.  If you want to scroll through those posts, you can find them here and here and here.

Today there will be lots of memorials and commemorations to this anniversary.  President Trump will attend  an event in France, and England will recreate the thousands of bells that rung on that day.  From the Guardian: 

“Inside might be a small selection of the Allies, some dark Italian officer with cameo face, a blonde English staff officer, a land girl on the bonnet, all mixed up with accretions of Australians wearing Union Jacks instead of their slouch hats, a gorgeous Indian in a turban and perhaps a bright blue Frenchman.”

The same report recorded ecstatic crowds converging on Downing Street where the prime minister, David Lloyd George, appeared and announced: “I am glad to tell you that the war will be over at 11 o’clock today.” He waved, then disappeared inside, but the crowds bayed for more until he reappeared at the first-floor window of No 10, along with Andrew Bonar Law, the chancellor, and Winston Churchill, the minister of munitions. All this, the paper said, as “the housemaids of Downing Street waved their dusters and feather mops overhead”.

This year, Armistice Day will fall on a Sunday. Thousands of local events are being coordinated by the Imperial War Museum. And again the ringing of bells will play a large part. A careful balance will be struck between the solemn sound of remembrance and peals of celebration.

Christopher O’Mahony, president of the Central Council of Church Bell Ringers, says he and others across the UK have been planning their contribution for years. “Wherever you have grown up, bells are part of the soundscape of the nation, whether it is a sound of joy as at a wedding or of sadness at a funeral,” he says.

In the early morning of 11 November more than 3,000 bell towers across England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland will ring out with the sound of “half-muffled” bells, like a slow march, in solemn memory of those who lost their lives.

To commemorate this anniversary I want to post this poem about the conclusion of the war, this time not by a poet who served in the war but one who was at the home front.  Most probably know of Thomas Hardy as a great 19th century English novelist.  He was the author of Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Jude the Obscure, and others.  But at around the end of the 19th century, Hardy felt his career as a novelist had come to an end and switched over to poetry.  He lived all the way to 1928, well into the century, and wrote abundantly.  He is regarded as one of the first modernist poets and today his reputation as a poet among critics is almost as well regarded as his reputation as a novelist.

“And There Was Great Calm” was obviously written addressing the Armistice.

And There Was a Great Calm
By Thomas Hardy
 (On the Signing of the Armistice, 11 Nov. 1918)

                                       I
There had been years of Passion—scorching, cold,
And much Despair, and Anger heaving high,
Care whitely watching, Sorrows manifold,
Among the young, among the weak and old,
And the pensive Spirit of Pity whispered, “Why?”

                                       II
Men had not paused to answer. Foes distraught
Pierced the thinned peoples in a brute-like blindness,
Philosophies that sages long had taught,
And Selflessness, were as an unknown thought,
And “Hell!” and “Shell!” were yapped at Lovingkindness.

                                       III
The feeble folk at home had grown full-used
To 'dug-outs', 'snipers', 'Huns', from the war-adept
In the mornings heard, and at evetides perused;
To day-dreamt men in millions, when they mused—
To nightmare-men in millions when they slept.

                                       IV
Waking to wish existence timeless, null,
Sirius they watched above where armies fell;
He seemed to check his flapping when, in the lull
Of night a boom came thencewise, like the dull
Plunge of a stone dropped into some deep well.

                                       V
So, when old hopes that earth was bettering slowly
Were dead and damned, there sounded 'War is done!'
One morrow. Said the bereft, and meek, and lowly,
'Will men some day be given to grace? yea, wholly,
And in good sooth, as our dreams used to run?'

                                       VI
Breathless they paused. Out there men raised their glance
To where had stood those poplars lank and lopped,
As they had raised it through the four years’ dance
Of Death in the now familiar flats of France;
And murmured, 'Strange, this! How? All firing stopped?'

                                       VII
Aye; all was hushed. The about-to-fire fired not,
The aimed-at moved away in trance-lipped song.
One checkless regiment slung a clinching shot
And turned. The Spirit of Irony smirked out, 'What?
Spoil peradventures woven of Rage and Wrong?'

                                       VIII
Thenceforth no flying fires inflamed the gray,
No hurtlings shook the dewdrop from the thorn,
No moan perplexed the mute bird on the spray;
Worn horses mused: 'We are not whipped to-day;'
No weft-winged engines blurred the moon’s thin horn.

                                       IX
Calm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;
There was peace on earth, and silence in the sky;
Some could, some could not, shake off misery:
The Sinister Spirit sneered: 'It had to be!'
And again the Spirit of Pity whispered, 'Why?'

Hardy’s central question, put in the mouth of the “Spirit of Pity” is “Why?”  There really was no satisfactory answer.  It should be noted that the title is taken from the Gospel of Mark, when Jesus awakes with the boat tossed in the storm:  “And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm” (Mk 4: 39).  Let us be thankful we did not live through that war.  And let us pray for all those fallen from the violence, for all who those suffered from injury and personal loss, and those that remained to deal with the problems from the turmoil.


Saturday, November 11, 2017

Poetry: “On Passing the New Menin Gate” by Siegfried Sassoon

And so “at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918” an armistice went into effect bringing the cessation of hostilities to what would become known as The Great War.  It is from that event that our Veterans Day is commemorated. Today is the 99th anniversary of that armistice.

I have now completed the collection of World War I poems titled Some Desperate Glory: The First World War The Poets Knew by Max Egremont, which I have been posting on for almost two years now.  Each post on my blog highlighted a poem from one of the war years.  You can access these posts here:


As I explained in that last post, I tried to highlight a different poet for each year, but Wilfred Owen’s poetry was so superior in the last two years of the war I just had to highlight him twice.  So why am I highlighting another poem from the book?  Well, the book doesn’t stop with the end of the war (1918) but continues with one more chapter on the post war, titled, “Aftermath.”  The poets who were not killed in the war went on to write poetry on the war for their remaining years.  So intense is the war experience that one can only say the soul is forever traumatized. 

Of the eleven poets whose work are collected in the book, five survived the war.  It only occurred to me recently that Egremont’s book is a book on British poets of the First World War.  All eleven are British, and frankly I can’t think of any poets from any of the other countries that fought, even the United States, though it is incredulous to think there weren’t any poets other than British.  I’m not even sure if the eleven poets constitute all the British poets who served.  I can’t recall if Egremont ever gives his criteria for the selection.  I should also provide the list of poets Egremont selects.  Each deserves that honor. 

The six who were killed in action:


The five who survived the war:



Of the poets who survived, Siegfried Sassoon arguably went on to have the most impact as an ex-war poet.  Graves may have had a more celebrated literary career, but even he acknowledge his work after the war focused on other themes.  I’m selecting Sassoon’s “On Passing the New Menin Gate” as the highlighted poem of the war’s aftermath.


Before getting to the poem, two issues concerning Sassoon’s post war years should be considered.  First is his personal life which culminated with his conversion to Roman Catholicism and second is his refrain from and renouncing of modernist poetic form.  Egremont describes the split in the aesthetic divergence as rooted between the war poets and the younger literary generation.

A gap opened between those who’d fought and those who didn’t.  Before 1914, Britain and the new art of continental Europe had been getting closer; now, for many, the Continent meant death, obliteration and, even in peace, rumours of chaos.  Some—mostly non-combatants like [T.S.] Eliot, James Joyce, and [Ezra] Pound—still looked to modernism, to abstract art, to writing without clear narrative, whereas Sassoon and Blunden, even the more adventurous Graves, stuck to tradition, often yearning for an imagined, calm past.  They had tried to tell the war’s reality, Wilfred Owen writing that ‘every word, every figure of speech must be a matter of experience’ and ‘I don’t want to write anything to which a soldier would say No compris’.  Owen had known nothing of Eliot and Pound.  (p. 241)

Sassoon felt a particular loss from Owen’s death.  He went on to opine that if Owen “had lived, they could together have made an alternative to modernism, to Eliot’s fragmented world” (p. 256).  This decision to split with the modernist forms isolated the war poets, especially Sassoon, characterizing them as outdated. 

The second issue of Sassoon post war years was his tumultuous life.  “Propelled by his fame…Sassoon began a decade of guilt-ridden socializing and sex, briefly at Oxford before becoming editor of the Daily Herald and, billed as a hero poet…on a lecture tour of the United States” (p. 240).  The sex was filled with a series of homosexual affairs, which filled the whole decade following the war.  In 1931 he married, had a child, who he loved deeply, while he kept his homosexuality indiscreet.  He wrote throughout his life, poetry, satires, novels with mixed results.  Toward the end of his life he had a conversion experience to Roman Catholicism, which affected him greatly. 

In 1927, Siegfried Sassoon went back to Flanders.  He drove across the battlefields with Glen Byam Shaw, the young actor whom he loved, weeping at the memories.  He wrote ‘On Passing the New Menin Gate’ about the pompous memorial designed by the imperial architect Sir Reginald Bloomfield for Ypres and inscribed with the names of the dead.

Sassoon had tried politics and lecture tours; he discovered sex, fooling himself that he could reform his decadent lovers, all the time feeling a bit lost.  Thomas Hardy became an idol and Edmund Blunden an essential friend; to see the two together at Max Gate, Hardy’s home at Dorset, allowed Sassoon to imagine a world that might respond to his increasingly traditionalist style.  When, in 1924, Blunden went to teach in Japan, Sassoon missed him badly; and nostalgia became more intense as he became less inspired by the present.  ‘On Passing the New Menin Gate’ evoked the bitterness and anger of the war.  (p. 250).

Later, through the turmoil of the Second World War, Egremont tells us Sassoon “longed for a more purposeful and ordered life, for spiritual rest.  In 1957, [he] converted to Roman Catholicism, welcoming its clear answers and its discipline” (p. 256).  He would live for another ten years and apparently his new found faith was the only thing that could put his war-torn, dislocated soul at rest.

As mentioned in the quote above, New Menin Gate was a war memorial at Ypres, Belgium dedicated to the British and Commonwealth dead who’s grave went unidentified.  Apparently Sassoon was not pleased with it.  Here is the poem he wrote. 

On Passing the New Menin Gate
By Siegfried Sassoon

Who will remember, passing through this Gate,
the unheroic dead who fed the guns?
Who shall absolve the foulness of their fate,-
Those doomed, conscripted, unvictorious ones?

    Crudely renewed, the Salient holds its own.
    Paid are its dim defenders by this pomp;
    Paid, with a pile of peace-complacent stone,
    The armies who endured that sullen swamp.

Here was the world's worst wound. And here with pride
'Their name liveth for ever', the Gateway claims.
Was ever an immolation so belied
as these intolerably nameless names?
Well might the Dead who struggled in the slime
Rise and deride this sepulchre of crime.


There’s not much to analyze, a rather straightforward poem.  In the first stanza, the speaker is passing this new memorial at Ypres, questioning whether this self-conscious monument actually addresses those who it’s supposed to memorialize.  The second stanza shifts the focus to those who are supposed to be memorialized, and the third ridicules the monument for not displaying the reality of war’s struggle and death.  “Here was the world's worst wound” is truly a great and memorable line.  You can hear the entire poem read here.



With the conclusion of these war poets, I want to announce that in 2018 I will be continuing with Sassoon by reading a play by Joseph Pierce on Owen and Sassoon, Pierce using the two poet’s own words to form the drama.  I will also be going through T. S. Eliot’s post WWI poem, “The Wasteland,” and so we can compare the modernist and the traditionalist’s styles.  Stay tuned for that.


Finally, for Veteran’s Day, say a prayer for those that fought in wars.  As you can see with Sassoon, the experience of war is not pleasant and life-long traumatizing.