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Poems from the Second World War
Poems from the Second World War is a moving and powerful collection of poems written by soldiers, nurses, mothers, sweethearts, and family and friends who experienced WWII from different standpoints. The Imperial War Museum was founded in 1917 to collect and display material relating to the "Great War," which was still being fought. Today IWM is unique in its coverage of conflicts, especially those involving Britain and the Commonwealth, from World War I to the present. They seek to provide for, and to encourage, the study and understanding of the history of modern war and wartime experience.
160 pages, Hardcover
First published August 1, 2015
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
April 27, 2018
Some very poignant poems in here. Maybe it's because I'm mother to sons but I particularly found "I never raised my boy" (p14) very moving.
February 9, 2025
Bought this book from Bletchley Park shop because I know a lot of poetry from the Great War, but not World War ll. World War 2 was a very different war, which is reflected in the poems. I was disappointed that the first poems in this collection are ‘gentle’. This doesn’t last - the last poem about Japan and the end of the was in the East, is hauntingly sad. I would have liked more information about the poets, only 5 of whom I knew before.
January 12, 2022
Very refreshing. I read a lot of WW1 poetry and I expected that in some ways WW2 poetry would, in some ways echo that of WW1 due to the fact that there was only just over 20 years between the two wars. What I found was a collection of poetry that was very different, and this volume of poetry not only explored the experience of the soldiers and servicemen and women at the front, but the POWs, the home front, the blitz, and children of the holocaust victims.
November 5, 2023
Lovely poem collection, both touching and engaging. ‘I Never Raised My Boy’, ‘I Keep Forgetting’ and ´Every Month’ were particularly churning.
However, I wish the poems had been a bit more diverse, including a larger variety of poets from various groups touched by WWII around the world. Few of them were from camp survivors, and even fewer were related to what happened in Asia - which gave the collection a one-sided aspect.
However, I wish the poems had been a bit more diverse, including a larger variety of poets from various groups touched by WWII around the world. Few of them were from camp survivors, and even fewer were related to what happened in Asia - which gave the collection a one-sided aspect.
May 2, 2020
This book is amazing. I highly recommend this book to other readers.😀
November 16, 2016
I've heard it said that the job of a poet is not to have great thoughts, but to express her thoughts, however commonplace they may be, exquisitely. I read this book of (mostly) British war-time poetry on a recent 11-hour flight, during which I had time to slowly work my way through its offerings, wiping away the occasional tear. Amazon suggests "Grade Level: 4 - 6", but I would not have appreciated it before even twice that age. Since Amazon offers no preview, I'll put a few samples here:
--------
KILLED IN ACTION
His chair at the table, empty,
His home clothes hanging in rows forlorn,
His cricket bat and cap, his riding cane,
The new flannel suit he had not worn.
His dogs, restless, with tortured ears
Listening for his swift, light tread upon the path.
And there -- his violin! Oh his violin! Hush! hold
your tears.
Juliette de Bairacli-Levy
May 1941
--------
LEAVE
If for a single hour I might be free
And that one hour might all be spent with you,
What should we say, my love? what should we do
In such a little hour as that would be?
Words, after so long would not come to me;
Kisses would be but torture, being so few
And yet recalling all the joy we knew
Before I went to war beyond the sea.
But if I took you to the edge of land
Where we might watch the sea spread wide away
And the slant waves along the pebbles creep,
Then by the white brink of the tide we'd stand
And press each other's hand, and nothing say,
But know the silence coming from the deep.
John Buxton
--------
WAR LETTERS
The letters are shockingly real,
Like the personal belongings
Of someone recently dead.
The letters are permanent,
And written with our hands,
Which crease into their lines
And breathe, but are not so
Living as these letters
Our hands are seas apart;
A pair might cease to live
While the indestructible letter
Turned lies, flew to the other.
The letters express a love
We cannot realize:
Like a poignant glove
Surviving a well-known hand
They can outlast our bodies
And our love transcend.
Roy Fuller
published in "A Lost Season", 1944
--------
'THE CASUALTIES WERE SMALL'
When Winton Aerodrome was bombed
The 'Casualties were small'
Just your son, and my son, and little widow
Brown's son
The youngest of them all.
And your son was your eldest lad,
Handsome and straight and tall
A model for your younger sons,
Beloved by you all.
And Mrs Brown's, her youngest boy
Her sole support, and stay.
So like his father, all her joy
Was quenched, on that dark day.
And mine, my only son and pride
So loved and dear to all.
The blast of bombs spread far and wide
Tho' 'the casualties were small'.
May Hill
September 1941
--------
--------
KILLED IN ACTION
His chair at the table, empty,
His home clothes hanging in rows forlorn,
His cricket bat and cap, his riding cane,
The new flannel suit he had not worn.
His dogs, restless, with tortured ears
Listening for his swift, light tread upon the path.
And there -- his violin! Oh his violin! Hush! hold
your tears.
Juliette de Bairacli-Levy
May 1941
--------
LEAVE
If for a single hour I might be free
And that one hour might all be spent with you,
What should we say, my love? what should we do
In such a little hour as that would be?
Words, after so long would not come to me;
Kisses would be but torture, being so few
And yet recalling all the joy we knew
Before I went to war beyond the sea.
But if I took you to the edge of land
Where we might watch the sea spread wide away
And the slant waves along the pebbles creep,
Then by the white brink of the tide we'd stand
And press each other's hand, and nothing say,
But know the silence coming from the deep.
John Buxton
--------
WAR LETTERS
The letters are shockingly real,
Like the personal belongings
Of someone recently dead.
The letters are permanent,
And written with our hands,
Which crease into their lines
And breathe, but are not so
Living as these letters
Our hands are seas apart;
A pair might cease to live
While the indestructible letter
Turned lies, flew to the other.
The letters express a love
We cannot realize:
Like a poignant glove
Surviving a well-known hand
They can outlast our bodies
And our love transcend.
Roy Fuller
published in "A Lost Season", 1944
--------
'THE CASUALTIES WERE SMALL'
When Winton Aerodrome was bombed
The 'Casualties were small'
Just your son, and my son, and little widow
Brown's son
The youngest of them all.
And your son was your eldest lad,
Handsome and straight and tall
A model for your younger sons,
Beloved by you all.
And Mrs Brown's, her youngest boy
Her sole support, and stay.
So like his father, all her joy
Was quenched, on that dark day.
And mine, my only son and pride
So loved and dear to all.
The blast of bombs spread far and wide
Tho' 'the casualties were small'.
May Hill
September 1941
--------
September 1, 2015
En skuffende digtsamling. Der var ikke mange af digtene der sagde mig noget og så kunne jeg godt have tænkt mig at vide noget, bare lidt, om personen, der havde skrevet det enkelte digt og i hvilken kontekst.
July 15, 2017
Great quick read love some of the poems
July 26, 2022
interesting 💙
December 28, 2025
such a good short book on poems. i loved this book. it's the book that started my love for reading . would highly recommend
really good
really good
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews