WEBVTT

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Welcome to the deep dive. I want you to imagine

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for a moment that you spend your life creating

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something so profoundly moving. Truly revolutionary.

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Yeah, revolutionary. Something that permanently

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changes how society views an entire concept,

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a concept as massive as war. Right. But the catch

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is you die just days before the world ever realizes

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you're genius. Sounds like the plot of a film.

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But for the subject of today's deep dive, it

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was harsh reality. It was indeed. Today we are

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looking at a comprehensive biographical and historical

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text on the English poet and soldier Wilfred

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Owen. Yes. And the mission of our deep dive today

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is to really explore how a young man with basically

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no money for university became the definitive

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piercing voice of the First World War. We're

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going to see how trauma, a faithful friendship,

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and a hidden identity shaped his timeless art.

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It is a remarkable journey we have ahead of us

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today because this isn't just, you know, a dry

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recounting of history. It is really a story about

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the violent collision of these grand romantic

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ideals with the gritty horrific reality of the

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trenches. It's about how experiencing the worst

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of humanity can sometimes forge an artistic voice

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that echoes for generations. If you look at the

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letters provided in our source material, you

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can actually trace the exact week. His tone changes

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from arrogant snobbery to total psychological

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devastation. OK, let's unpack this, starting

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right at the beginning. Right. Wilfred Edward

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Salter was born in March 1893 up in Shropshire.

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At first, things were relatively comfortable

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for his family. They lived in a nice house owned

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by his grandfather. But that didn't last. No,

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it didn't. When his grandfather died in January

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1897, the house was sold. The family's financial

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situation took a really severe hit. They ended

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up moving frequently, lodging in the back streets

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of Birkenhead while his father worked for a railway

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company, and later moving to Shrewsbury. And

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that financial struggle is crucial to understanding

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his early trajectory. Because he was smart. Incredibly

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bright. In 1911, he actually passed the matriculation

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exam for the University of London. But there's

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a catch. Yeah, he didn't get the first -class

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honors required to secure a scholarship, and

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a scholarship was literally the only way he could

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have afforded to attend university. Wow. It was

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a massive closed door. It left him scrambling

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for a way to continue his intellectual life.

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So instead of going off to university, the sources

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show he ends up working as a lay assistant to

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the vicar of Dunstan near Reading. Yes. He got

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free lodging and some tuition for the entrance

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exam in exchange for his work. But this period

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from September 1911 to February 1913, it really

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shifted his worldview, didn't it? It did. And

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in a way that planted the seeds for his later

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poetry, his time at the Dunstan Parish led to

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a really profound disillusionment with the church.

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Because he was dealing with actual poverty. Exactly.

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He wasn't just doing administrative work. He

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was dealing directly with the rural poor. He

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became heavily disillusioned with the ceremony

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of the church when contrasted with its total

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failure to actually provide material aid for

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those starving parishioners. This questioning

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of faith and institutional failure is a theme

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that would heavily seep into his later war poetry.

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He would eventually go as far as to write poems

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commenting on the crucifixion of Christ, claiming

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that the love of God seemed dying in the mud

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of France. Before the war though, His early poetic

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influences were deeply rooted in the Romantics.

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Oh, absolutely. If you read his early drafts,

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he is heavily channeling John Keats and Percy

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Bish Shelley. Very floral, beautiful imagery.

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Very traditional. Yeah. He actually discovered

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his poetic vocation around 1904 during a childhood

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holiday in Cheshire. But fast forward a bit to

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1913, and he is working as a private tutor teaching

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English and French in Bordeaux, France. Which

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is an interesting detail. It is. When the First

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World War broke out, he didn't rush to enlist

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right away. In fact, he even considered joining

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the French army because he felt so culturally

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tied to the country. I mean, have you ever had

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a life plan completely derailed like missing

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out on university only to find it sets the stage

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for an unexpected greater calling? That's a great

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question. The transition from a young tutor reading

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Keats in a French villa to a soldier enduring

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gas warfare is just jarring. Completely. And

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the sources point out that his return to England

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wasn't driven by some sudden burst of jingoistic

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fervor. It was a slow build of societal pressure,

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a sense of duty, and perhaps a bit of guilt watching

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others go. By October 1915, he enlisted in the

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artist's rifles, and by June 1916, he was commissioned

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as a second lieutenant in the Manchester regiment.

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I was reading the excerpts from his letters home

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during this period, and there is a really surprising

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detail. The snobbery. Yes. When he first took

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command, Owen was quite the snob. In a letter

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to his mother, he described his own troops, the

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men he was leading, as expressionless lumps.

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Expressionless lumps. Yeah, he seemed to hold

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them in contempt for what he called their loudish

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behavior. He was very much playing the part of

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the refined, educated officer looking down on

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the working class enlisted men. But that initial

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arrogance, that class -based distance he tried

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to keep from his men, it was shattered almost

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immediately upon reaching the front lines in

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France. The reality hit hard. Very hard. The

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source details specific, horrific experiences

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that broke down those barriers. First, he fell

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into a deep shell hole in the dark and suffered

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a severe concussion. Which is terrifying enough.

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Right. But shortly after returning to the line,

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in an even more traumatic event, he was caught

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in the blast of a trench mortar shell. He spent

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several days lying semi -conscious on a railway

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embankment. pinned down by enemy fire. Oh my

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God. And he was right amongst the scattered remains

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of a fellow officer. Just the sensory overload

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and the pure psychological terror of that are

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hard to even fathom. The military at the time

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barely understood that toll. They slapped the

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label neurasthenia on it, which is the medical

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term for what we now call shell shock, and he

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was removed from the front lines. They shipped

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him to Craig Lockhart War Hospital in Edinburgh

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for treatment. And what's fascinating here is

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how this psychological breaking point, this diagnosis

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of shell shock, was actually the catalyst for

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his true creative genius to emerge. It really

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was. Craig Lockhart wasn't just a hospital. It

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was an incubator. because it's at Craig Lockhart

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where the most pivotal encounter of his life

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happens. He meets a fellow patient, the already

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established poet Siegfried Sassoon. A huge moment.

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Owen, completely hero worshipped him. The source

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notes that Owen told his mother he was not worthy

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to light his pipe. He even wrote to Sassoon saying,

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you have fixed my life however short. The dynamic

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between them was incredibly fruitful. But we

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also have to credit Owen's doctor at Craig Lockhart,

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Arthur Brock. Dr. Brock practiced something called

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ergotherapy, or a work cure. Work cure, right.

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As part of his treatment, Brock encouraged Owen

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to translate his trauma, specifically the terrifying

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visual experiences he was reliving in his nightmares,

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directly into poetry. So he couldn't run from

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it. Exactly. Instead of avoiding the memories,

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he had to face them on the page. Sassoon, who

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was being influenced by early Freudian psychoanalysis

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through his own doctor, aided Owen in this process.

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Sassoon showed Owen, by example, what poetry

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could actually do when applied to modern warfare.

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Sassoon essentially taught him how to use realism

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and satire. Up until this point, Owen's style

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was still heavily influenced by those romantic

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notions of honor and beauty. Teets and Shelley.

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Yeah. But Sassoon's emphasis was on writing from

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direct brutal experience. He taught Owen to focus

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on gritty realism to shock the civilian population

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out of their complacency. And that is the alchemy

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of Wilfred Owen's work. He didn't just become

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a Sassoon clone. He took Sassoon's gritty realism

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and fused it with his own romantic sensibilities

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and immense technical skill. Right. The synthesis

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created a poetic voice that was intensely potent,

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highly visual and deeply sympathetic. It's a

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style beautifully summarized by Owen's own ficus

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phrase describing his subject matter, the pity

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of war. Here's where it gets really interesting.

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Owen eventually surpassed his mentor technically.

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Sassoon's poetry was amazing at delivering a

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blunt satirical punch, but Owen started experimenting

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extensively with innovative poetic techniques

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that changed English literature. The source highlights

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his use of something called pararyme and his

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heavy reliance on assonance. Which requires a

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bit of explanation for those of us who haven't

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sat in a literature seminar recently. Please

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do. Assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds

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to create a mood. But pararyme, which Owen pioneered

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the heavy use of, is when the consonants match

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but the vowels don't. So instead of a perfect

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satisfying rhyme like cat and hat you rhyme flush

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with flash or groined with groaned Right and

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the text points out how brilliant this was for

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his subject matter by using para rhyme He deliberately

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denies the reader the comfort and resolution

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of a perfect rhyme. Yes, it creates this unsettling

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incomplete dissonant sound When you read a poem

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like Strange Meeting, the rhyming of escaped

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and scooped literally sounds like the broken,

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jarring reality of the war itself. The language

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is musically reflecting the trauma. It is brilliant

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structural engineering in his poetry. And it's

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important to note that while his artistic life

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was expanding at Craig Lockhart, his personal

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life was experiencing a parallel awakening. This

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is a huge part of the story. Through Sassoon,

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Owen was introduced to a sophisticated homosexual

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literary circle. This network included Robbie

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Ross, who was famously a loyal friend and literary

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executor for Oscar Wilde, as well as the writer

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Osbert Sitwell and CK Scott Moncrief, the Scottish

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writer who would go on to translate Marcel Proust.

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I was really struck by how massive this exposure

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was for him. coming from somewhat sheltered religious

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background, meeting this group broadened his

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worldview significantly. It did. This introduction

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to a supportive literary and artistic circle

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gave Owen the confidence he needed to incorporate

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homoerotic elements into his own work. People

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who knew him intimately, like Robert Graves and

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Cheverell Sitwell, firmly believed Owen was homosexual

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and that homoeroticism was a central driving

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element in much of his poetry. Right. The biographer

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Andrew Motion noted that Sassoon's homosexuality

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admitted Owen to a style of living and thinking

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that he found naturally sympathetic. It allowed

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him to write about the physical bodies of his

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fellow soldiers with a deep, tender intimacy

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that contrasted sharply with the mechanized slaughter

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around them. But the sources reveal a really

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tragic layer to this part of his life. During

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Owen's lifetime and for decades afterward, homosexual

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activity between men was a heavily punished criminal

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offense in the United Kingdom. Yes. Because of

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this, his posthumous legacy was severely censored.

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His own brother, Harold, was named his literary

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executor and went to great lengths to construct

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a sanitized image of Wilfred. It's terrible to

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read about. Harold literally took a penknife

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to Owen's private diaries and letters, scraping

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away words, crossing out names, and removing

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any passages he considered discreditable to obscure

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the account of his brother's sexual development.

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And this academic and familial suppression wasn't

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just a brief hiccup. It lasted for the majority

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of the 20th century. It wasn't until 1987 that

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a major turning point occurred in Owen's scholarship.

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1987. Yeah. An article called The Truth Untold

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by Jonathan Cutbill was published in the New

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Statesman. Cutbill aggressively attacked this

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ongoing academic suppression of Owen as a poet

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of homosexual experience. The details in that

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article recontextualized things that had been

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hiding in plain sight. For example, it revealed

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that a poem of Owens called Shadwell Stare, which

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mainstream academics had previously dismissed

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as just a mysterious atmospheric piece, was actually

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a straightforward elegy to homosexual soliciting.

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Exactly. Shadwell Stare was an area of the London

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docks that was widely renowned as a cruising

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ground. It just shows how easily academics can

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miss the truth when they are looking through

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the lens of a preconceived myth. They were so

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invested in the image of the pious, tragic war

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hero that they assumed the poem was a gothic

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ghost story. They entirely ignored the lived

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reality of the man writing it. It reminds us

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how much of the person's truth can be erased

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by history when society deems it unacceptable.

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But Owen himself was intensely committed to truth,

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particularly the unvarnished truth of his era,

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which brings us to the events of 1918. Let's

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sit the scene based on the timeline in the text.

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It's the summer of 1918. Sassoon has been shot

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in the head in an apparent friendly fire incident,

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and he is sent back to England unsickly for the

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rest of the war. Meanwhile, Owen is safely stationed

00:12:38.500 --> 00:12:41.279
on home duty in Yorkshire. He could have stayed

00:12:41.279 --> 00:12:43.779
there indefinitely. The military considered him

00:12:43.779 --> 00:12:47.440
fit for home service. But he makes the monumental

00:12:47.440 --> 00:12:49.820
decision that he must return to the front line

00:12:49.820 --> 00:12:53.720
in France. He saw it as a terrible, unavoidable

00:12:53.720 --> 00:12:56.720
duty. With Sassoon incapacitated and back in

00:12:56.720 --> 00:12:59.519
England, Owen felt he had to carry the torch.

00:13:00.069 --> 00:13:03.129
He had to be the witness. Exactly. He needed

00:13:03.129 --> 00:13:05.370
to ensure that the horrific realities of the

00:13:05.370 --> 00:13:07.409
war would continue to be reported to the public

00:13:07.409 --> 00:13:10.509
by someone who was actually in the mud. He felt

00:13:10.509 --> 00:13:12.950
a profound obligation to the men who were still

00:13:12.950 --> 00:13:15.669
out there fighting and dying. He couldn't abide

00:13:15.669 --> 00:13:17.230
the thought of writing about their suffering

00:13:17.230 --> 00:13:19.990
from the safety of an English drawing room. When

00:13:19.990 --> 00:13:22.529
you read about Sassoon's reaction, It is intense.

00:13:22.870 --> 00:13:24.929
Sassoon was furious when he found out about this

00:13:24.929 --> 00:13:27.330
idea. He violently opposed Owen going back to

00:13:27.330 --> 00:13:29.490
the trenches. He famously threatened to stab

00:13:29.490 --> 00:13:31.570
him in the leg if he even tried to return. A

00:13:31.570 --> 00:13:35.029
very Sassoon thing to say. Yeah. Because of this

00:13:35.029 --> 00:13:38.029
fierce opposition, Owen actually kept his deployment

00:13:38.029 --> 00:13:41.080
a secret. He didn't inform Sassoon that he was

00:13:41.080 --> 00:13:43.279
returning to active service until he was already

00:13:43.279 --> 00:13:46.059
physically back in France, beyond Sassoon's reach.

00:13:46.440 --> 00:13:48.679
Once back at the front, Owen proved his courage

00:13:48.679 --> 00:13:50.759
in a way that is almost hard to reconcile with

00:13:50.759 --> 00:13:54.210
his earlier shell shock. On October 1st, 1918,

00:13:54.669 --> 00:13:57.169
he led units of the 2nd Manchester's to storm

00:13:57.169 --> 00:13:59.450
several German strong points near the village

00:13:59.450 --> 00:14:02.049
of Jeancourt. Right. His company commander became

00:14:02.049 --> 00:14:05.450
a casualty, so Owen assumed command. The military

00:14:05.450 --> 00:14:08.330
records state he showed fine leadership, resisted

00:14:08.330 --> 00:14:11.129
a heavy counterattack, and personally manipulated

00:14:11.129 --> 00:14:13.529
a captured enemy machine gun from an isolated

00:14:13.529 --> 00:14:16.309
position, inflicting considerable losses on the

00:14:16.309 --> 00:14:18.509
enemy. And for this action, he was awarded the

00:14:18.509 --> 00:14:21.539
Military Cross. But the text makes an incredibly

00:14:21.539 --> 00:14:24.139
heartbreaking point about why he wanted that

00:14:24.139 --> 00:14:26.860
medal. Yes. He specifically sought out this award

00:14:26.860 --> 00:14:30.440
in order to justify himself as a war poet. He

00:14:30.440 --> 00:14:32.620
knew that a pacifist poet without a medal would

00:14:32.620 --> 00:14:34.700
be easily dismissed by the public as a coward,

00:14:35.340 --> 00:14:37.559
but a decorated officer with a military cross.

00:14:38.080 --> 00:14:40.080
That is a prophet they're forced to listen to.

00:14:40.139 --> 00:14:42.500
It's a powerful motivation. He felt he needed

00:14:42.500 --> 00:14:45.279
the ultimate military validation so the public

00:14:45.279 --> 00:14:47.440
at home would read his poetry about the horrors

00:14:47.440 --> 00:14:49.980
of the war and actually believe him. It is a

00:14:49.980 --> 00:14:51.919
devastating commentary on the society at the

00:14:51.919 --> 00:14:54.259
time, that a poet felt he had to prove his bravery

00:14:54.259 --> 00:14:56.620
by participating in the slaughter just to earn

00:14:56.620 --> 00:14:58.879
the right to speak out against it. And then the

00:14:58.879 --> 00:15:01.360
timeline delivers a staggering blow. On November

00:15:01.360 --> 00:15:04.879
4th, 1918, Wilfred Owen is killed in action during

00:15:04.879 --> 00:15:07.659
the crossing of the Sambreois Canal. He was just

00:15:07.659 --> 00:15:10.620
25 years old. So young. This happened exactly

00:15:10.620 --> 00:15:13.980
one week, almost to the hour before the signing

00:15:13.980 --> 00:15:16.419
of the armistice, which ended the war. The cruelty

00:15:16.419 --> 00:15:18.960
of that timing is immense, but the way his family

00:15:18.960 --> 00:15:21.580
received the news is even worse. His mother,

00:15:21.899 --> 00:15:24.399
Susan, was handed the telegram informing her

00:15:24.399 --> 00:15:27.679
of his death on Armistice Day itself. Unbelievable.

00:15:27.860 --> 00:15:30.000
She read the news of her son's death at the exact

00:15:30.000 --> 00:15:32.100
moment the church bells in Shrewsbury were ringing

00:15:32.100 --> 00:15:34.399
out in joyous celebration of the war ending.

00:15:34.659 --> 00:15:36.940
So what does this all mean? How do we measure

00:15:36.940 --> 00:15:39.580
the impact of a life cut so incredibly short?

00:15:40.279 --> 00:15:42.419
We see in the sources that his legacy wasn't

00:15:42.419 --> 00:15:44.850
actually universally praised at first. That is

00:15:44.850 --> 00:15:47.250
correct. It is important to acknowledge the literary

00:15:47.250 --> 00:15:50.029
naysayers of the time. The most prominent was

00:15:50.029 --> 00:15:54.429
the famous poet William Butler Yeats. Yeats aggressively

00:15:54.429 --> 00:15:57.009
excluded Owen from the Oxford Book of Modern

00:15:57.009 --> 00:16:00.230
Verse. He was brutal in his assessment, describing

00:16:00.230 --> 00:16:03.350
Owen's work as all blood, dirt, and sucked sugar

00:16:03.350 --> 00:16:06.259
stick. Yates belonged to an older, more romantic

00:16:06.259 --> 00:16:09.799
tradition. He argued that in great poetry, a

00:16:09.799 --> 00:16:11.879
tragedy should be a joy to the man who dies,

00:16:12.320 --> 00:16:14.460
and that passive suffering is not a subject for

00:16:14.460 --> 00:16:16.899
poetry. Which completely misses the point. The

00:16:16.899 --> 00:16:18.899
blood and dirt was exactly the point Owen was

00:16:18.899 --> 00:16:21.600
trying to make. He wanted you to feel the suffocation

00:16:21.600 --> 00:16:23.879
of a gas attack, so you wouldn't glorify the

00:16:23.879 --> 00:16:27.000
conflict. Thankfully, Yates' view did not win

00:16:27.000 --> 00:16:29.679
out in the long run. Owen's legacy is massive

00:16:29.679 --> 00:16:32.200
and enduring. Very much so. He was heavily championed

00:16:32.200 --> 00:16:34.480
by Sassoon, who made sure his works were collected

00:16:34.480 --> 00:16:37.000
and printed, as well as the poet Edith Sitwell.

00:16:37.340 --> 00:16:39.320
Yes, his work eventually achieved widespread

00:16:39.320 --> 00:16:41.559
acclaim and became the standard by which all

00:16:41.559 --> 00:16:44.860
war poetry is judged. In 1985, he was one of

00:16:44.860 --> 00:16:48.360
16 great war poets commemorated on a slate stone

00:16:48.360 --> 00:16:50.580
unveiled in Westminster Abbey's Poets Corner.

00:16:51.000 --> 00:16:54.000
A huge honor. His poetry also served as the foundational

00:16:54.000 --> 00:16:57.159
text for Benjamin Britten's famous War Requiem,

00:16:57.440 --> 00:17:00.360
which was first performed in 1962 to consecrate

00:17:00.360 --> 00:17:03.500
the new Coventry Cathedral. I was looking at

00:17:03.500 --> 00:17:06.259
the publication dates in our sources, and it

00:17:06.259 --> 00:17:09.039
blew my mind to realize only five of his poems

00:17:09.039 --> 00:17:11.220
were published while he was alive, and one of

00:17:11.220 --> 00:17:13.630
those was just a fragment. Just five. He had

00:17:13.630 --> 00:17:16.329
plans for a whole volume of verse, had even written

00:17:16.329 --> 00:17:18.549
a preface for it declaring my subject as war

00:17:18.549 --> 00:17:21.210
and the pity of war, but he never lived to see

00:17:21.210 --> 00:17:25.019
it published. Yet despite that— he became the

00:17:25.019 --> 00:17:27.380
defining voice of an entire generation. It is

00:17:27.380 --> 00:17:29.319
a profound legacy, and I want to leave you with

00:17:29.319 --> 00:17:31.619
a final lingering thought to mull over today,

00:17:32.119 --> 00:17:33.599
something we haven't touched on yet regarding

00:17:33.599 --> 00:17:36.000
how he is remembered. When his mother, Susan,

00:17:36.099 --> 00:17:38.039
was tasked with choosing the inscription for

00:17:38.039 --> 00:17:40.599
his gravestone in northern France, she selected

00:17:40.599 --> 00:17:43.619
a line from one of his own poems, The End. The

00:17:43.619 --> 00:17:46.539
line she chose reads, Shall life renew these

00:17:46.539 --> 00:17:49.319
bodies? Of a truth, all death will he annul.

00:17:49.519 --> 00:17:52.039
But if you look at Owen's original manuscript,

00:17:52.329 --> 00:17:55.990
That line ended with a question mark, all death

00:17:55.990 --> 00:17:59.349
will heed it all. It was a profound expression

00:17:59.349 --> 00:18:02.589
of theological doubt. By intentionally deleting

00:18:02.589 --> 00:18:04.569
that trailing question mark for the gravestone,

00:18:04.910 --> 00:18:07.589
she transformed his aggrazing question into a

00:18:07.589 --> 00:18:09.990
definitive statement of faith. That is such a

00:18:09.990 --> 00:18:12.450
striking paradox. His family desperately tried

00:18:12.450 --> 00:18:14.349
to edit out his doubts in his authentic self

00:18:14.349 --> 00:18:17.609
to make him fit their ideal mold. Yet it is exactly

00:18:17.609 --> 00:18:21.109
his raw, uncensored, un -pious honesty about

00:18:21.109 --> 00:18:23.269
the realities of human suffering that made his

00:18:23.269 --> 00:18:25.690
work immortal. He refused to look away from the

00:18:25.690 --> 00:18:28.109
ugly truth in his poetry, even while his loved

00:18:28.109 --> 00:18:30.150
ones tried to soften the complex truth of the

00:18:30.150 --> 00:18:32.690
man himself after he was gone. Thank you so much

00:18:32.690 --> 00:18:34.470
for joining us on this deep dive into the life

00:18:34.470 --> 00:18:36.089
and mind of Wilfred Owen. Carry that thought

00:18:36.089 --> 00:18:37.650
with you and we will see you next time.
