Edmund Charles Blunden

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Edmund Blunden by Lady Ottoline Morrell, vintage snapshot print, 1923
Those ruined houses seared themselves in me,
Passionate I look for their dumb story still,
And the charred stub outspeaks the living tree.

Edmund Charles Blunden (November 1, 1896January 20, 1974) was an English poet, author and critic. Although not one of the top trio of English World War I writers, his works exerted important influence.

Quotes[edit]

  • At Quincy's moat the squandering village ends,
    And there in the almshouse dwell the dearest friends
    Of all the village, two old dames that cling
    As close as any trueloves in the spring.
    • Poem Almswomen
  • Cricket to us, like you, was more than play,
    It was a worship in the summer sun.
    • Poem Pride of the Village (1925)

The Survival (1921)[edit]

  • To-day's house makes to-morrow’s road;
    I knew these heaps of stone
    When they were walls of grace and might,
    The country’s honour, art’s delight
    That over fountain'd silence show'd
    Fame's final bastion.
In those old marshes yet the rifles lie,
On the thin breastwork flutter the grey rags,
The very books I read are there—and I
Dead as the men I loved, wait while life drags.

Festubert, 1916 (1921)[edit]

  • Tired with dull grief, grown old before my day,
    I sit in solitude and only hear
    Long silent laughters, murmurings of dismay,
    The lost intensities of hope and fear;
    In those old marshes yet the rifles lie,
    On the thin breastwork flutter the grey rags,
    The very books I read are there—and I
    Dead as the men I loved, wait while life drags.
  • Its wounded length from those sad streets of war
    Into green places here, that were my own;
    But now what once was mine is mine no more,
    I seek such neighbours here and I find none.
    With such strong gentleness and tireless will
    Those ruined houses seared themselves in me,
    Passionate I look for their dumb story still,
    And the charred stub outspeaks the living tree.

Cricket Country (1944)[edit]

  • Australia once produced poets who were English poets a little out of touch; now she has her own; and O'Reilly with ball in hand is quite the parallel of an Australian poet, territorially distinct in rhythm, passion, scheme and transition.
    • Chapter VII, "Card of the Match"

External links[edit]

Wikipedia
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