Barely a twelvemonth after
The seven days war that put the world to sleep,
Late in the evening the strange horses came.
By then we had made our covenant with silence
For Aciek Arok Deng I leave the camp, unable to breathe, . me Freud girl, after her interior, she “Lost Girl,” after my purse, . her face: dark as … Continue reading →
Paris in June and we are in love. Delacroix, wine, late nights at the Louvre. Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité. And each and every morning Camembert and apricot confiture on a hunk … Continue reading →
Written in 1916 when Owen was a patient at Craiglockhart War Hospital in Edinburgh recovering from shell shock. The poem is a lament for young soldiers whose lives were lost in … Continue reading →