My Study Diary - by Mike aged 43

"Almost a month since I wrote my first entry for the study diary.

I feel that I am making good progress so far, I have grabbed bits of time to study here and there and have completed up to Activity 29 in the study book. I do feel that I now have a decent grasp of the basics of poetry, although some practise and repetition certainly won’t harm.

I have really enjoyed the poetry section, and learning about the forms, structure and context of poetry has helped both my understanding and enjoyment of the module so far. I feel confident that I have understood most aspects of the poetry module and that I have made good progress.

I have read some other poetry, some by Sylvia Plath, and I am half way through the set poetry book for AA100, so I am gradually widening my knowledge of poetry. I have also read some books which are related to study in general or arts and history, The Study Skills Handbook - Stella Cottrell, Wilfred Owen : War Poems and Others - Ed. Dominic Hibberb, Learning To Look At Modern Art – Mary Acton and taken notes.

Areas that I would still like to develop – I still struggle a bit with iambic pentameter, and I have found from the ‘comments’ section that there are often layers of meaning within poems that I have not always understood, or in at least one case, agreed with. This last point refers to ‘The Fat Black Woman Goes Shopping’ which I found hard to see as a protest poem when placed alongside some of the other poets, perhaps in relation to the larger body of Nichols’ work it would make more sense."

"Dulce et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen (poetry reading)

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Image by Parksy1964 via Flickr

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.

- Wilfred Owen