Poetry Comparison

For this piece of work, I have decided to compare the following two poems:

“Out, Out-” by Robert Frost and Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen.

I have chosen these poems because I am intrigued by the sense of death, and more importantly the lack of value on individual life, but from entirely different perspectives and circumstances. Both poems are dark, depressive and end with a very strong sense of disillusionment and defeatism.

The poets themselves were from the same era, Frost having been born in 1874 San Francisco, US. Owen born in 1893 Shropshire, UK. The poems in question, written in 1916 (“Out, Out-”) and 1917 (Dulce Et Decorum Est).

Wilfred Owen had a reasonably uneventful early life, where he realised his vocation at only 10 or 11 years old, while holidaying in Cheshire. His inspirations gained from John Keats, and as with many writers of that time, the Bible. He missed out on going to the University of London, after his Uncle was killed in a hunting accident, and mourning his loss affected his studies. His family couldn't afford to pay for his higher education and with the lack of a scholarship (which required a higher pass mark), he was forced to attend University College (Now: University of Reading) and take on work for the Vicar of Dunsden (near Reading) for free lodging and some tuition for the entrance exam.

It is widely believed that Wilfred Owen was a cheery and optimistic man, before being thrown into the chaotic onslaught that was the First World War. It was what he saw in that environment, which broke his spirit and resulted in the poetry which made him posthumously famous.

In stark contrast, Robert Frost was faced with grief and suffering from an early age. His father died of tuberculosis when he was only eleven years old. Fifteen years later, his mother died from cancer. It is also believed that Robert and his mother suffered from depression, and indeed in later years, he would have to commit his younger sister to a mental hospital, where she would eventually die. The suffering continued as Frost got married and had his own family. With one of his daughters dying only three days after her birth, and a son dying at only eight years old. Out of six children, only two would outlive their father.

It's interesting to note, that although their circumstances and surroundings, and indeed their experiences of life and death were very different, the resultant attitudes and disillusionments were very similar. Robert Frost battled depression for a sizeable chunk of his life, and was followed around by grief and loss. Wilfred Owen, although having lost an Uncle, had for the best part, remained cheery and optimistic, only finding his disillusionment in a short space of time, while a part of the war machine. Yet, both seem to master a very dark, dismayed and depressive style of writing, regardless of years served in that very mindset.

Both poems deal with the subject matter of death. “Out, Out-” is the harrowing tale of a boy working a man's job, out of his depth, and paying the price with his life after an accident. Dulce Et Decorum Est deals with the death of a man, again out of his depth, in the destruction of war, fatigued, and unable to affix his gas mask in time, on the battlefield.

Out, Out- is set in what appears to be the big outdoors of Vermont, USA, part of some expansive scenery, including:

Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.

Owen doesn't give many details of the setting for Dulce Et Decorum Est, but there's enough information to gather that the events of the poem are also in the outdoors. The events may also take place at night, or at least in the evening:

Till on the haunting flares we turn our backs

Haunting flares, for me personally, conjures up an image of a dark sky, illuminated by an eerie glare from the flares, lighting up the battlefield below, for long periods of time. Perhaps too long. I also believe the flares could be used as a metaphor, as Owen and his fellow soldiers turn their back on light, walking into the dark, unknown.

The two poems share a great sense of disillusionment and defeat. In “Out, Out-” the final two lines state:

And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

The lines, in my opinion, refer to the fact that although a young boy has died, in a horrific manner, the others involved are merely going back to the way things should be, rather than spending time mourning and making a fuss. Rather than a critical, or even disdainful account of the fact, Frost seems to merely be commenting, matter-of-factly. As if saying, “That's the way it is, can't change it.” He has accepted the ways of life, no matter how bitter the taste is.

Those two lines sum up the lack of value on individual life, either in the poets lifetime, personal life, experiences or perhaps even just from his own depressed mindset. The other people in the poem were glad it wasn't their fate, they went on with their lives in that knowledge.

Owen paints a similarly bleak value of life, at the beginning of the third stanza of Dulce Et Decorum Est, when he states:

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing on his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at ever jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

The words clearly describe a soldier who is still alive, but beyond any help. His comrades at arms couldn't afford to stop and mourn, or even wait until he was fully dead. This poor, unfortunate, dying man was nothing more than a statistic in the grand scheme of things. There was a war to be fought, they had orders.

Later in his poem, Frost states the following:

The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then — the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little — less — nothing! — and that ended it.
I believe with these lines, Frost is establishing the hopelessness of the situation. He refers to the doctor, as he puts the boy under the ether, then as the boy slips from life to death, I believe Frost is again referring to the doctor when he mentions the “watcher.” As if he is stating that the doctor is no longer a doctor, and merely a watcher, powerless and unable to do anything more, he can merely watch as the boy dies.

Very similar to the second stanza in Dulce Et Decorum Est, when Owen describes his utter helplessness as his fellow soldier, is dying before his eyes, reducing Owen to a mere watcher:

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, 
And flound'ring 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. 

In contrast to Frost's nonchalant description of such a death, Owen seems to be haunted by the image. And through his writing he appears to be trying to give others the same “smothering dreams,” in the hope that they will no longer cling to such ridiculous concepts as taking pride in dying for one's country. I believe he may even be blaming society for such atrocities, blaming such concepts as misplaced honour and pride for the war itself. He says at the end of the poem:

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum establishing
Pro patria mori.

Rather than judge mankind for their lack of caring, Frost chooses to use personification in Out, Out-, to transfer blame for the death of the young boy to the saw, by stating:

As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap—

He could easily have blamed the sister for calling “supper” and giving the boy a momentary lapse of concentration, but instead he transfers guilt onto the saw, making it the bad guy of the story. Possibly because he can't face the idea of such a tragedy being the fault of another human being, even if accidental.

The two poems are written in a very different style, to each other. Frost wrote Out, Out- with no stanzas, instead choosing to narrate in a long, almost calm, nonchalant manner. Frost is merely narrating an event, one which he doesn't seem to be a part of personally. For this reason, it could be argued that Frost is demonizing the industrial age, and the poem is not based on real events. Merely one he created based on an agenda to paint a bleak picture of sawmills, and point out his fear that they would reduce the worth of man himself. From the very start of the poem, Frost alludes to the fact the saw could be a living breathing thing:

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard

Perhaps alluding to the fact the saw was laying in wait, hungry for its prey. Using alliteration with S words to add a somewhat menacing tone, almost like the hissing of a snake. After the accident has taken place, he further hints at the saw being a living creature, this time one with malice:

To tell them 'Supper'. At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap—

He immediately follows it up with:

He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
As a part of the same argument, these two lines could be Frost's way of arguing that man is putting the nail in his own coffin, by allowing the industrial age to take over. Giving his hand to the beast that will one day bite the hand that feeds it.

Wilfred Owen, on the other hand, has split Dulce Et Decorum Est into three stanzas. And uses rhyming words every other line, for example lines 1, 3, 5.. all rhyme, as do 2, 4, 6...

But, even though there is clearly planning in the words, to make them rhyme and to split them into stanzas, there is no doubt that the poem is hectic, emotional, desperate, haunted and based on a real event. Owen puts himself in the middle of the picture and brings it to life, as a result. In all its cruel glory.

In conclusion: I personally prefer Dulce Et Decorum Est. The images leap out at me much more vividly, and although the resultant scene is disturbing and distasteful, it's very real and almost has a palpable quality. I also really like how Owen leaves no doubt in the readers mind, as to the meaning of the poem. He's clearly making a statement, calling the principle of Dulce et Decorum est pro atria mori (It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country.) a lie. Using very real facts, the death of real living beings, in such despicable circumstances, which he viewed with his own eyes, to back up his claim. It also shows great guts, not only that he wrote such things, but that he did so from the battlefield itself, where such opinions would undoubtedly have been frowned upon at the time and perhaps would have led to alienation and punishment, should he have been found out.







Out, Out—" By Robert Frost

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them 'Supper'. At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh.
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man's work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. 'Don't let him cut my hand off
The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!'
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then — the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little — less — nothing! — and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.






Dulce Et Decorum Est By Wilfred Owen


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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines 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 flound'ring 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.