Strange Meeting

[BootyLover]

It seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.


Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then ,as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, -
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.


With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
'Strange friend,' I said, 'here is no cause to mourn.'
'None,' said that other, 'save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery,
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.


I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now...

[Brunei Pretender]

it was cool man, better than these other open mic pieces..

[BootyLover]

You need to analyze it more than that man. I need it for my English class.

[Brunei Pretender]

I'm guessing you based this poem off of its original by, whatshisname it was either Rupert Brooke or Sassoon, i forgot who but it was one of the great WW1 poets. If your going to claim that you thought up the title Strange Meeting your self then your lying. Well anyways, your take on Strange Meeting is similar to the WW1 poet, about a soldier defining himself through the grim image of war. the flow of your story telling is what appealed to me, making it an easy yet very interesting read. oh one thing in the 3rd stanza however, when the other person was talking, i didn't know when his speech finished cuz its like ..

'None,' said that other, 'save the undone years,

you never placed a closing quotation mark after that, but i'm guessing he was talking up to the end of the poem, i'm not sure.

You were able to reflect the cold and desolate nature of war through the first character, who is the cliche emontionless soldier, and contrast that with the other individual, who happens to be the more poetic and optimistic soldier. the strange meeting overall is between these two contrasting characters who were intially enemies but realise through it all that they are one of the same.

I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now...

^the last stanza was beautifully put i must say, with the image of the other individual parrying his attacks, and eventually submitting to defeat and inviting him to make peace. as with the original Strange Meeting, curiously sadness and grief prevails over hope and optimism, but that just happens to be the nature of war.

good stuff ha.

[BootyLover]

Thanks. This poem is actually by a WW1 poet named Owen. I just had to write a paragraph analyzing it.



Uppin' for feed.

[Brunei Pretender]

ah right Wilfred Owen thats the one..