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World War One Poetry: Introduction with

Compare and Contrast Activities

Introduction: Background Information and Image Analysis

What do you already know about World War One?

What do you learn about World War One from our introductory discussion?

Why do you think this event inspired or triggered so much poetry?

What do you think of the propaganda posters? Are they effective? Why or why not?

How do the images reflect some of the background information we talked about?

Compare and Contrast Activity #1: Owen and Rise Against

Read the following World War One-era poem and listen to the modern day song. Think about the connections you see between the two and answer the questions that follow.

Poem: “Dulce Et Decorum Est” by Wilfred Owen, 1917

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.

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.

Song: “Hero of War” by Rise Against, 2008

He said "Son, have you seen the world?

Well, what would you say if I said that you could?

Just carry this gun and you'll even get paid."

I said "That sounds pretty good."

Black leather boots

Spit-shined so bright

They cut off my hair but it looked alright

We marched and we sang

We all became friends

As we learned how to fight

A hero of war

Yeah that's what I'll be

And when I come home

They'll be damn proud of me

I'll carry this flag

To the grave if I must

Because it's a flag that I love

And a flag that I trust

I kicked in the door

I yelled my commands

The children, they cried

But I got my man

We took him away

A bag over his face

From his family and his friends

They took off his clothes

They pissed in his hands

I told them to stop

But then I joined in

We beat him with guns

And batons not just once

But again and again

A hero of war

Yeah that's what I'll be

And when I come home

They'll be damn proud of me

I'll carry this flag

To the grave if I must

Because it's a flag that I love

And a flag that I trust

She walked through bullets and haze

I asked her to stop

I begged her to stay

But she pressed on

So I lifted my gun

And I fired away

The shells jumped through the smoke

And into the sand

That the blood now had soaked

She collapsed with a flag in her hand

A flag white as snow

A hero of war

Is that what they see

Just medals and scars

So damn proud of me

And I brought home that flag

Now it gathers dust

But it's a flag that I love

It's the only flag I trust

He said, "Son, have you seen the world?

Well what would you say, if I said that you could?"

“Dulce et decorum est” Analysis Questions:

1. How does the author use imagery to create a mood for the reader?

2. What is the theme of this poem? How can you tell?

“Hero of War” Analysis Questions:

1. How is the author’s use of the phrase “war hero” ironic?

2. Why do you think the author repeated the question "Son, have you seen the world? Well what would you say, if I said that you could?"

Connections and Discussion:

1. What common themes can you pull from these two texts?

2. How do both of these authors feel about war? How can you tell?

Compare and Contrast Activity #2: Owen and My Chemical Romance

Read the following World War One-era poem and listen to the modern day song. Think about the connections you see between the two and answer the questions that follow.

Poem: “Anthem for A Doomed Youth” by Wilfred Owen, 1917

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

    Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

    Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them, no prayers nor bells;

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –

The shrill demented choirs of wailing shells;

    And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

    Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

    The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds

Song: “Mama” by My Chemical Romance, 2009

Mama we all go to hell, mama we all go to hell.

I'm writing this letter and wishing you well,

Mama we all go to hell.

Oh well now,

Mama we're all gonna die, Mama we're all gonna die.

Stop asking me questions,

I'd hate to see you cry

Mama we're all gonna die.

And when we go don't blame us, yeah

We'll let the fires just bathe us, yeah

You made us oh so famous, We'll never let you go,

And when you go don't return to me my love.

Mama we're all full of lies,

Mama we're meant for the flies

And right now they're building a coffin your size,

Mama we're all full of lies.

Well mother, what the war did to my legs and to my tongue,

You should have raised a baby girl,

I should have been a better son.

If you could coddle the infection, they can amputate at once.

You should have been, I could have been a better son.

And when we go don't blame us, yeah

We'll let the fires just bathe us, yeah

You made us oh so famous, we'll never let you go.

She said 'You ain't no son of mine',

For what you done they're gonna find, yeah,

A place for you and just you mind,

Your manners when you go.

And when you go don't return to me my love.

That's right.

Mama we all go to hell, Mama we all go to hell.

It's really quite pleasant, except for the smell.

Mama we all go to hell.

And if you would call me your sweetheart,

I'd maybe then sing you a song.

But the _ that I've done, with this _ gun,

You would cry out your eyes all along.

We're damned after all,

Through fortune and flame we fall.

And if you can stay then I'll show you the way to return from the ashes you call...

We all carry on, when our brothers in arms are gone.

So raise your glass high, for tomorrow we die,

And return from the ashes you call...

Anthem for a Doomed Youth Analysis Questions:

1. What is the theme of the poem?

2. How does Owen establish the theme in the first stanza?

“Mama” Analysis Questions:

1. Why do you think the author is addressing his mother?

2. What is the tone of the song?       Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

Connections and Discussion:

1. What common themes can you pull from these two texts?

2. How do both of these authors feel about war? How can you tell?

Compare and Contrast Activity #3: Aldington and Linkin Park

Read the following World War One-era poem and listen to the modern day song. Think about the connections you see between the two and answer the questions that follow.

Poem: “Bombardment” by Richard Aldington, 1917

Four days the earth was rent and torn

By bursting steel,

The houses fell about us;

Three nights we dared not sleep,

Sweating, and listening for the imminent crash

Which meant our death.

The fourth night every man,

Nerve-tortured, racked to exhaustion,

Slept, muttering and twitching,

While the shells crashed overhead.

The fifth day there came a hush;

We left our holes

And looked above the wreckage of the earth

To where the white clouds moved in silent lines

Across the untroubled blue.

Song: “Hands Held High” by Linkin Park, 2007

Turn my mic up louder, I got to say something

Lightweights steppin' aside when we come in

Feel it in your chest, the syllables get pumping

People on the street then panic and start running

Words on loose leaf sheet, complete coming

I jump in my mind, I summon the rhyme I'm dumping

Healing the blind, I promise to let the sun in

Sick of the dark ways we march to the drumming

Jump when they tell us that they wanna see jumping

_ that, I wanna see some fists pumping

Risk something, take back what's yours

Say something that you know they might attack you for

'Cause I'm sick of being treated like I had before

Like it's stupid standing for what I'm standing for

Like this war's really just a different brand of war

Like it doesn't cater to rich and abandon poor

Like they understand you, in the back of their jet

When you can't put gas in your tank, these _

Are laughing their way to the bank, and cashing their check

Asking you to have compassion and have some respect

For a leader so nervous in an obvious way

Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay

And the rest of the world watching at the end of the day

In the living room, laughing like, "What did he say?"

In my living room watching it, I am not laughing

'Cause when it gets tense, I know what might happen

The world is cold, the bold men take action

Have to react to get blown into fractions

At 10 years old, it's something to see

Another kid my age drugged under a Jeep

Taken and bound and found later under a tree

I wonder if he had thought 'the next one could be me'

Do you see the soldiers that are out today?

They brush the dust from bulletproof vests away

It's ironic, at times like this you'd pray

But a bomb blew the mosque up yesterday

There's bombs on the buses, bikes, roads

Inside your market, your shops, and your clothes

My dad, he's got a lot of fear, I know

But enough pride inside not to let that show

My brother had a book he would hold with pride

A little red cover with a broken spine on the back

He hand-wrote a quote inside,

"When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die"

Meanwhile, the leader just talks away

Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay

The rest of the world watching at the end of the day

Both scared and angry, like "What did he say?"

With hands held high into a sky so blue

The ocean opens up to swallow you

“Bombardment” Analysis Questions:

1. How is the reader supposed to feel while reading the poem? How does Aldington set up the mood, or feeling of the poem?

2. Why do you think he ends it by talking about a blue sky?

“Hands Held High” Analysis Questions:

1. Why does Mike Shinoda feel so disillusioned about war?

2. What details from the song show the violence he sees around him?

Connections and Discussion:

1. What common themes can you pull from these two texts?

2. How do both of these authors feel about war? How can you tell?      Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons.No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,

      Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

      And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

      Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.

      The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

      Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

      Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,

      Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

      And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

      Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.

      The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

      Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

      Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,

      Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

      And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

      Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.

      The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

      Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

      Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,

      Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

      And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

      Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.

      The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

      Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

      Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,

      Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

      And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

      Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.

      The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

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