"Disabled" by Wilfred Owen

Wilfred Owen was an English poet and soldier who fought in the first world war and used his experiences to influence his writing. He was born in March of 1893 and died in France on the 4th of November in 1918 at age 25.

Disabled

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,
— In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim
Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,
All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger than his youth, last year.
Now he is old; his back will never brace;
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,
After the matches carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,
He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .
Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts.
That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,
He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.
Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fears
Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,
And take whatever pity they may dole.
To-night he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is! Why don't they come
And put him into bed? Why don't they come?

 This poem follows the thoughts and feeling of an onlooker to a disabled veteran. The speaker depicts him as a sort of  fallen hero to whose name people give little attention. A man saddened by the fact that "some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer goals." One who at "one time liked a blood-smear down his leg," a mark of a great game of soccer compared to the horrors of a trench.  Once an energetic youth living in a "Town [that] used to swing so gay" now confined to a wheel chair, preventing him from reliving the wonders of the past. The speaker in this way, develops this disabled veteran through indirect characterization, using multiple details and points to create a personality not explicitly introduced to the audience. Details such as, "women's eyes pass[ing] from him to strong men," and "his back will never brace" reinforce the idea of a character who was once young, strong, and independent is now aged, brittle, and dependent. The speaker emits a sense of pity for the old veteran, noting, "now he will never feel again how slim girls' waist are or how warm their subtle hands." He feels sorry for the man, how his youth that fueled his battles on the soccer field had been sapped by the grim reality of a war between nations, his days of young age stolen from him. At this point there is nothing the veteran can, only sit back and hope that someone will give him the attention he deserves.

 Labels: Speaker, Indirect Characterization