In 1917, recovering from shell shock at Craiglockhart War Hospital, Wilfred Owen began to write poetry that shattered the noble myths of war. His poems were brutal, unromantic, honest, and they rejected the polished patriotism of traditional verse. Instead of heroic sacrifice, Owen gave us bloodied lungs, mud-thick boots, and dying boys crying for their mothers. In lines like, “The Old Lie: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori,”  Owen turned poetry into a form of resistance as this line achingly challenged the beautiful honor of sacrifice for one's nation. This moment is crucial because Owen redefined what art could do and how it could speak. His poems weren’t meant to glorify war, but to confront it and say what others refused to say. They live in tension with the very idea of beauty, asking whether art should comfort or disturb. For Owen, it had to disturb. His work became a quiet rebellion against the failure of language, a way to write honestly in a world that had collapsed into horror. 

Photo: "Stature of Wilfred Owen, Oswestry, Shropshire 02" by Likeaword is licensed under CC BY 4.0.