Strange Meeting
BY WILFRED OWEN
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 fears 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. . . .”
Introduction:
"Strange Meeting" of Wilfred Owen , an anti-war poem , is written without any date in manuscript. There is the least doubt that this poem is written on few days before the death of the poet, may be in the last month of poet's life. At this point we are to mention that Owen died a week before the end of the First World War.Wilfred Owen, one of the victims of the First World War, was killed on 4th November, 1918. This poem was published in 1919.
Summary of the Poem :
The soldier-poet imagines that he has escaped from the battlefield and entered a deep tunnel which was scooped long ago,in the time of the titanic war. In this gloomy tunnel a lot of dead soldiers are huddled together, so fast in sleep that they can not be bestirred. When the poet closely examines them, a soldier springs up and stares at the poet with doleful eyes, full of pity and pathos in a gesture of blessing.The face of the soldier is the epitome of thousand pains.But why ? His place is far from the battlefield and naturally no sound of guns, no moaning and mourning reach there and no blood can tickle in such depth. Actually, this place must be devoid of human sufferings.The strange soldier strangely says that his place is a place of utter hopelessness. He mentions about his undone works, the untold truth.Like the poet he had his own hope. He loved beauty, the wildest beauty , the beauty " Which lies not calm in eyes,or braided hair." Here the beauty is the truth, the truth that lies in the pity of war. It is " The pity of the war, the pity war distilled." His premature death has restrained him from saying the untold truth that he has learnt in the battlefield and it would remain untold for ever. War brings, he says, no glory, it brings pity:war can not be romantic, it is pathetic. Modern people hunker after blood,can not be abstain from war. None would move backward from the path of destruction :"None will break ranks," The picture of the chariot-wheels clogged with blood is not, at all, encouraging. Actually the war-mongers build " vain citadels that are not walled." The dead soldier wants to say that he does never advocate war, he wants no wounds, no cess of war. The best proof of it is that this very soldier is the enemy whom the poet killed . He would have killed the poet, but he did not, as killing brings no glory : " I parried: by my hands were loath an cold. " The soldier requests the poet, "Let us sleep now ..... "
Explanations :
(1) " It seemed that out of battle I escaped." - The expression 'It seemed' indicates that the whole story in this poem is the product of dream or imagination. The poet's escape from the battlefield clearly hints poet's strong unwillingness and loathing for war.
(2) " Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred." - The condition of the dead soldiers in the tunnel is meant here. They are dead and they can not be moved. It is quite natural. The soldiers are in deep thought, even after their death. This is the true state of mind of all soldiers of all nations and of all ages. They always think of the sinful ambition of the war -
mongers and the merciless butchery of the young generation, the future of the country.
(3) 'None' , said the soldier 'save the undone years, / The hopelessness. "
Seeing 'thousand pains' on the face of the dead soldier the poet asks the cause behind it. Is there any cause of mourning in that dead tunnel ? This line is the answer of this question. The soldier thinks that his years (life in the world before death) are in vein. For his premature death he has not found time and chance to highlight the "pity of war', the pathetic and gloomy side of the war. He hoped to spread this truth throughout the world,but could not, and after death he is in the reign of 'hopelessness'. Nothing can be done now.
(4) "Which lies not calm in eyes,or braided hair, "
The dead soldier says that he used to hunt beauty before his death. It is not the beauty which is generally found by average people in the calm eyes and splendid braided hair of the beloved or any lovely woman. This beauty is the 'truth' (Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty.)It is the 'truth untold' by the dead soldier regarding the 'pity of war' which the soldier had learnt in the battlefield.
(5) "The pity of war, the pity war distilled."
Owen declares that his subject is war, and the pity of war.Being a soldier Owen does never glorify the heroic deeds, the exploits , in the war. War is no doubt horrible and when the 'horror' of the war evaporate we find pity as remaining element and essence of the war. Pity pervades everywhere, covers everything as it distills for every moment, every hour, all time to come.War leaves for mankind only one thing and that is 'pity'.
