Some Diversions of a Man of Letters

Name: Some Diversions of a Man of Letters
Author: Gosse, Edmund

Gosse, Edmund

American literature -- History and criticism; English literature -- History and criticism; World War, 1914-1918 -- Poetry

All these poets seem to be drawn into relation to one another. Robert
Graves and Siegfried Sassoon are both Fusiliers, and they publish a
στιχομυθία "on Nonsense," just as Cowley and Crashaw did "on Hope" two
centuries and a half ago. Lieut. Sassoon's own volume is later than
those which we have hitherto examined, and bears a somewhat different
character. The gallantry of 1915 and the optimism of 1916 have passed
away, and in Lieut. Sassoon's poems their place is taken by a sense of
intolerable weariness and impatience: "How long, O Lord, how long?" The
name-piece of the volume, and perhaps its first in execution, is a
monologue by an ignorant and shrewd old huntsman, who looks back over
his life with philosophy and regret. Like Captain Graves, he is haunted
with the idea that there must be fox-hounds in Heaven. All Lieut.
Sassoon's poems about horses and hunting and country life generally
betray his tastes and habits. This particular poem hardly touches on the
war, but those which follow are absorbed by the ugliness, lassitude, and
horror of fighting. Lieut. Sassoon's verse has not yet secured the
quality of perfection; he is not sufficiently alive to the importance of
always hitting upon the best and only word. He is essentially a
satirist, and sometimes a very bold one, as in "The Hero," where the
death of a soldier is announced home in "gallant lies," so that his
mother brags to her neighbours of the courage of her dead son. At the
close of all this pious make-believe, the Colonel

      "thought how 'Jack,' cold-footed, useless swine,
    Had panicked down the trench that night the mine
    Went up at Wicked Corner; how he'd tried
    To get sent home; and how, at last, he died,
    Blown to small bits";

or, again, as in "Blighters," where the sentimentality of London is
contrasted with the reality in Flanders:

    "The House is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin
      And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks
    Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din,
      'We're sure the Kaiser loves the dear old Tanks!

    "I'd like to see a Tank come down the stalls,
      Lurching to rag-time tunes, or 'Home, sweet Home!'--
    And there'd be no more jokes in Music-halls
      To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume."

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

Some Diversions of a Man of LettersGosse, Edmund

History

Some Diversions of a Man of Letters

Gosse, Edmund

American literature -- History and criticism; English literature -- History and criticism; World War, 1914-1918 -- Poetry

All these poets seem to be drawn into relation to one another. Robert
Graves and Siegfried Sassoon are both Fusiliers, and they publish a
στιχομυθία "on Nonsense," just as Cowley and Crashaw did "on Hope" two
centuries and a half ago. Lieut. Sassoon's own volume is later than
those which we have hitherto examined, and bears a somewhat different
character. The gallantry of 1915 and the optimism of 1916 have passed
away, and in Lieut. Sassoon's poems their place is taken by a sense of
intolerable weariness and impatience: "How long, O Lord, how long?" The
name-piece of the volume, and perhaps its first in execution, is a
monologue by an ignorant and shrewd old huntsman, who looks back over
his life with philosophy and regret. Like Captain Graves, he is haunted
with the idea that there must be fox-hounds in Heaven. All Lieut.
Sassoon's poems about horses and hunting and country life generally
betray his tastes and habits. This particular poem hardly touches on the
war, but those which follow are absorbed by the ugliness, lassitude, and
horror of fighting. Lieut. Sassoon's verse has not yet secured the
quality of perfection; he is not sufficiently alive to the importance of
always hitting upon the best and only word. He is essentially a
satirist, and sometimes a very bold one, as in "The Hero," where the
death of a soldier is announced home in "gallant lies," so that his
mother brags to her neighbours of the courage of her dead son. At the
close of all this pious make-believe, the Colonel

      "thought how 'Jack,' cold-footed, useless swine,
    Had panicked down the trench that night the mine
    Went up at Wicked Corner; how he'd tried
    To get sent home; and how, at last, he died,
    Blown to small bits";

or, again, as in "Blighters," where the sentimentality of London is
contrasted with the reality in Flanders:

    "The House is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin
      And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks
    Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din,
      'We're sure the Kaiser loves the dear old Tanks!

    "I'd like to see a Tank come down the stalls,
      Lurching to rag-time tunes, or 'Home, sweet Home!'--
    And there'd be no more jokes in Music-halls
      To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume."

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Some Diversions of a Man of Letters

Some Diversions of a Man of Letters

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