In JanuaryOwen was deployed but he was innocent to the realism of war. On dithering feet upgathered, more and more, Brown strings towards strings of gray, with bristling spines, All migrants from green fields, intent on mire.
The second stanza's first line brings the reader directly in touch with the unfolding drama and, although these are soldiers, men as well as old beggars and hagsthe simple word "boys" seems to put everything into perspective.
Wilfred Owen was one of the leading voices of the first world war. The ababcdcd of the first eight lines summon the Shakespearean sonnetbut the succeeding six lines disrupt the expectations of an English sonnet: what should run efefgg instead runs efefgh, with an extra rhyme introduced, and we realise we must read on beyond the 14 lines of a sonnet: the horrific experience of war cannot be summed up neatly in a pretty little sonnet.
The critic George Stade wrote, "this is as near as Owen would come to a theory of modern war poetry; its sense of pity and revulsion should be transpersonal and directed outward toward the condition of war and not toward one's own feelings.
The author has portrayed this idea through the clever use of several language techniques with the main ones being metaphors, similes and onomatopoeia which will be covered throughout the rest of the essay.
The window is not clear, but misty. He wrote of endless marches, the terror of the howling shells, the mire of the trenches, and the surprise attacks of poison gas.
A loving Christian God is nonexistent.