A little introduction and some ramblings.

I'm not expecting anyone to read this. At most it may show up on a few searches, or something, but on the whole I think that I shall putter away in obscurity, happily typing whatever is in my head at a particular moment.

At this moment, what's in my head is the poetry of Wilfred Owen. I wasn't expecting to have such a strong reaction to his words, due to my literary tastes running to just that, literature, and not poetry. This could be because my teacher is a vivacious and slightly crazy woman who has wonderful oratory skills; her rendition of Anthem for Doomed Youth brought a lump to my throat, and her sudden rendition (in the most basic of tones) of the Last Post brought tears to my eyes. Being a complete and utter bibliophile, I have the complete poems of Owen out of the library, at first because of curiosity as to whether it was simply due to not having been exposed to this sort of anger in poetry that I'd had such a reaction. As it turns out, Owen's work always has that effect on me.

The anger and bitterness he expresses in Anthem, the notion that prayers and a position in front of the alters for all the young soldiers was simply not enough, would never be enough to honour them, is something that I happen to agree with. It is, admittedly, useless to be angry at those long-dead men who deemed it necessary to 'smilingly believe his lie' because they needed more young men for cannon fodder, but when you are, like me, two generations removed from the horrors and the indignities, that's sometimes simply all you can do.

I wonder how many others my age would read Birdsong, or Regeneration, for pleasure? Or, for that matter, would voluntarily read war poetry above and beyond that which is prescribed by the school syllabus. I'm not suggesting that I'm one of few, because that would be pretentious and while my school may seem like that, I myself am not (I hope).

I suppose the purpose of this first post, and indeed the purpose of starting this blog, is for me to try and understand my own personal reactions and feelings towards the things I am experiencing as I get older. I'm pretty eclectic; Mozart, The Clash and Panic at the Disco can all be seen on my mp3 player, I wear ribbons in my hair and love old motorbikes.

Learning that I can understand, and empathise with, a type of poetry I had previously dismissed as being out-of-my-league is just one of the new things I've learnt about myself this past year, although certainly not the most life-changing. Being able to offload my thoughts here will hopefully let me gain some clarity into any more insights, as well as the ones already churning away inside my head. So, let the blogging begin.