‘Futility’ has been twice arranged into a musical setpiece before – once, in 1982, when Virginia Astley set ‘Futility’ to music, later going to the 1983 album, Promise Nothing, and once in 1961 as part of Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem. — poem analysis - wilfred owen - futility
I first read that as 'out of mouthballs' ! [ hmm, mothballs > gob balls > gob=mouth ]Now, don't make me cart my copy of "Best Loved Poems of the American People" out of mothballs... — Michael Zwingli
Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich set some of Marina’s poems to music and in 2003 an opera about her was performed in New York – “Marina: A Captive Spirit.”
Here is a translation of one of Marina's poems:
I Know the Truth
This truth I know – all other truths must cease
Our useless struggle no longer can appease.
For it is evening and the earth by night will soon be covered
What are you discussing? Poets? Generals? Lovers?
The wind has softened and the earth is damp with dew
The galaxy of stars above will soon be but a few
And together we beneath the earth will slumber -
We, who gave no others peace but constant thunder. — female war poets
‘Futility’ has been twice arranged into a musical setpiece before – once, in 1982, when Virginia Astley set ‘Futility’ to music, later going to the 1983 album, Promise Nothing, — poem analysis - wilfred owen - futility
At Britten's request, there was no applause following the performance.[14] It was a triumph, and critics and audiences at this and subsequent performances in London and abroad hailed it as a contemporary masterpiece.[15] Writing to his sister after the premiere, Britten said of his music, "I hope it'll make people think a bit." On the title page of the score he quoted Wilfred Owen:
My subject is War, and the pity of War.
The Poetry is in the pity ...
All a poet can do today is warn.
— Wiki: War Requiem
I walk through graveyards for perspective. — Amity
Haha, and I thought I was the only one... — Michael Zwingli
Now, don't make me cart my copy of "Best Loved Poems of the American People" out of mothballs... — Michael Zwingli
I wonder about the lives of the people - only a glimpse on headstones. — Amity
Re: Symbolism. A particular symbol stood out. It was white and looked modern.
A perfect circle. A hole carved into the stone. Eternity.
And of course - the spiritual symbol of the Celtic cross — Amity
I have never seen a hole cut through a headstone, — Michael Zwingli
This like of the poem relates particularly with another, let me explain my view regarding this.Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
— Michael Zwingli
Love it. Love it. Love it. — T Clark
comprises a series of observations regarding the unnamed subject, the dying soldier, the second stanza amounts to an argument, made by Owen's unnamed soldierly narrator to those present with him, and perhaps to the world as a whole, presenting a rationale supporting his initial imperative.Move him into the sun— — Michael Zwingli
represents a sequence of statements comprising the narrator's argument. Note also the semantically induced connection made between the Earth and the dying soldier, perticularly by means of repetitive use of "clay" applied variously to Earth and the soldier, in:Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved,—still warm,—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall? — Michael Zwingli
, andWoke, once, the clays of a cold star. — Michael Zwingli
I have always found this very bright, and have benefitted Owen with my presumption of intentionality with respect thereto.Was it for this the clay grew tall? — Michael Zwingli
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all? — Michael Zwingli
of course, is a narrative statement recognizing the "futility" of the preceding argument, tying the entire achievement to it's title. — Michael Zwingli
Three chords and the truth. — T Clark
You don't necessarily need sophistication to speak from the heart. — T Clark
I agree. As you seem taken with the poem, I just wanted to discuss a couple of the things that I have noticed about it. There is a certain usual process of appreciation that happens with me when I initially read a fine poem. At first blush, I feel a general sense of profundity and awe the basis of which I cannot always quite discern. With subsequent readings, though, often begin to notice the poetic devices used in the creation of something special. — Michael Zwingli
I just always want to make sure I keep my eye on the experience of poetry rather than the interpretation. As you've noted, the kinds of things you and I are talking about can deepen the experience. — T Clark
Yes, these things can enrich one's appreciation afterwards, but as you have noted, first comes the love. I will try to find more new poems for you to love, as time goes by. Have you read much Tennyson, or Emily Dickinson? — Michael Zwingli
She says, “But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss.”
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
And our desires. [...]
Is there no change of death in paradise?
Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs
Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
With rivers like our own that seek for seas
They never find, the same receding shores
That never touch with inarticulate pang?
Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old dependency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
Can't quite pin that down. Ah well, I'm easily entertained by the lyricism :) — the affirmation of strife
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