Treasure Island

Wilfred Owen

(1893-1918 / Shropshire / England)

Cramped in That Funnelled Hole


Cramped in that funnelled hole, they watched the dawn
Open a jagged rim around; a yawn
Of death's jaws, which had all but swallowed them
Stuck in the bottom of his throat of phlegm.

They were in one of many mouths of Hell
Not seen of seers in visions, only felt
As teeth of traps; when bones and the dead are smelt
Under the mud where long ago they fell
Mixed with the sour sharp odour of the shell.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003
Edited: Friday, July 29, 2011

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  • Ian Fraser (7/26/2011 7:13:00 PM)

    I don't know why Owen gets such low scores from American readers, maybe they can't stomach the searing imagery, the brutal irony and the fact that he is a very, very great writer on a subject they don't like to mention very much. (Report) Reply

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