WWI poet (b. 1893 - d. 1918) who threw down about a war better than most. He's my favorite war poet, and he grabs the terror of battle so well it chills my spine. Think Saving Private Ryan as poesy.

Owen was born in Oswestry, United Kingdom. He was a tutor of English to a wealthy French family at the outbreak of WWI. After a visit to a war hospital in 1915, he enlisted in the English army. He was sent to France in the winter of 1917 and spent four months fighting in some of the most bloody battles the world has ever seen. In early 1918 Owen was severely injured in battle and sent back to England.

In August of 1918 after several months in a hospital Owen returned to the front. He was killed charging a machine gun nest on November 4, 1918 -- seven days before the end of the war. The military action in which he was lost was later described as "a pointless bloody mess" by a British general.

Selected Titles:

"The Parable of the Old Man and the Young"
"Strange Meeting"
"On Seeing a Piece of Our Heavy Artillery Brought into Action"
"Futility"
"At a Calvary Near the Ancre"
"Greater Love"
"Dulce et Decorum Est"
"Anthem for Doomed Youth"

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