- “as if to bless” is ironic as it is a blessing in Hell.
- The first speaker realizes that he is in Hell after seeing the dead bodies, which groaning under the burden of their suffering”
- Owen prods one, which gets up, recognizes him and blesses him.
- The similarity of the dead in this poem to the “living” or dying in his other poems is intentional.
Stanza Three
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
- One notices a sharp contrast between the somber silence of Hell and the chaos of the world above.
- The implicit meaning here is that compared to war, Hell is a respite.
- There is no blood, smoke or noise in Hell, but are all seen in war.
- The first speaker address the second as a “strange friend”.
- Ironic as the “friend” is in fact a fallen enemy.
- “The undone years” refers to the life lost to the war and the false hope of the soldiers tricked into war.
Stanza Four
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 grieves, grieves richlier than here.
- He went “hunting” for the truth about the war.
- Here, Owen is mocking the truth in the face of the torment of the soldiers fallen victim to a lie.
For my glee might many men have laughed,
And for 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 to content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
- The soldiers push themselves and remain disciplined.
None will break ranks, through the nations trek from progress.
- Nations are reverting to barbarism
Courage was mine, I had mystery,
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
- In death, he is better of missing the war
To miss the march of this retreating world
- Retreating from civilization
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
- Meaningless conquests, plunder
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,
- Allusion to conquests of antiquity and the regression of civilization.
I would go up and wash them from the 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.
- He would have been a poet and had nothing to do with war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
- Reference to shell-shock.
- The stranger speaks of the truth about war
- The fact that it is hopeless.
- This speaker, like Owen, is a poet seeking to reveal the reality of the war, the lies told to the young men.
- He speaks of destruction left to the living, and death brought by the war. He refers also to the blind discipline of the soldiers, pushing themselves, remaining loyal.
- In death, the speaker finds himself to be wiser:
- He would rather die that continue watching the horrors of a world fighting for empty ideals of vain and ambitious world leaders.
- The stranger expresses his desire to show the world the truth once the butchery is done.
- The last few lines of the stanza seem to reflect Owen’s life.
- He would have been a poet, but not one of war.
- But the war has penetrated his mind as deeply as a bullet.
Stanza Five
‘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 cold.
Let us sleep now….’
Tone
- Bitterness and sadness
- Dark and somber perspective of the war
Theme
STRANGE MEETING
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 grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For my glee might many men have laughed,
And for 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 to content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
For my glee might many men have laughed,
And for 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 to content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
Courage was mine, 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 the 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 cold.
Let us sleep now….’