ScottDickson.net

Thursday, March 18th was the poet Wilfred Owen’s birthday. For many years I have paused on March 18 to remember him and the influence he and his work have had on my life. In a way, he has become a ghostly visitor to me every March.

The story behind my fondness for Owen comes from a very difficult and dark time in my life. I am a PTSD survivor. I ended up suffering with PTSD due to my days in law enforcement. For some time I struggled the the depression that comes from PTSD. I was very fortunate to have a supportive family and friends. I was also fortunate to be in a position to embark on the long  journey through my illness to a place of relative wellness.

During the time that my struggles with PTSD were dark and terrifying, I tried to learn everything I could about it. I poured myself into studying this illness. At this same time, Owen’s poetry took on a new profundity for me. Owen had been a soldier during World War 1. Due to his war experiences, Owen had been diagnosed with what they called at the time “shell shock”. Shell Shock is what we now know as PTSD.

Owen’s best work was written during the time he was convalescing at the Craiglockhart War Hospital. The poems of his experiences deeply resonate with me and my experiences as a police officer. In a way, Owen has come to represent this part of my life.

Wilfred Owen did not survive the war. One week before the Armistice, he was killed in battle.

I look forward to my ghostly visit again next year. Rest in peace old friend.

Today would have been the  poet Wilfred Owen’s birthday. Owen was a British infantry officer during World War 1. He wrote vivid poems about his experiences in war. I connect with his poetry probably because of the 18 years I have spent in law enforcement. Cops spend their careers as witnesses to death and tragedy a lot like soldiers. I found Owen during the darkest period of my struggles with PTSD.

In tribute to Owen, I am posting one of my favorite poems of his.

The Parable Of The Old Man And The Young

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps
and builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretchèd forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him, thy son.
Behold! Caught in a thicket by its horns,
A Ram. Offer the Ram of Pride instead.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

Shalom,

Scott D