Siegfried Sassoon

(1886 - 1967 / Kent / England)

Siegfried Sassoon
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Siegfried Sassoon was perhaps the most innocent of the war poets. John Hildebidle has called Sassoon the "accidental hero." Born into a wealthy Jewish family in 1886, Sassoon lived the pastoral life of a young squire: fox-hunting, playing cricket, golfing and writing romantic verses.

Being an innocent, Sassoon's reaction to the realities of the war were all the more bitter and violent -- both his reaction through his poetry and his reaction on the battlefield (where, after the death of fellow officer David Thomas and his brother Hamo at Gallipoli, Sassoon earned the nickname "Mad Jack" for his near-suicidal exploits against the German lines -- in the early ... more »

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Comments about Siegfried Sassoon

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  • Joseph Pedulla (12/11/2017 9:19:00 AM)

    To Marilyn: The poem that contains that line is called Memory.

  • Marilyn (11/28/2017 6:43:00 AM)

    Could anyone help me with the title of the poem which contains the line”And I am rich in all that I have lost”?

  • None of ur buisness (11/16/2017 1:41:00 PM)

    Get rid of the stupid audio. i could fart it and it would sound more poetic.

  • Jhon Smith (12/2/2016 6:18:00 AM)

    my Favourite poem by him is Attack

  • Ferg Fred Ferg Fred (12/2/2016 6:10:00 AM)

    thank u for the likes my mother likes the attention im getting

  • Ferg Fred Ferg Fred (12/2/2016 6:08:00 AM)

    this poem makes me feel young again
    inspirational

    yours sinsirly

    ferg fred

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (3/2/2016 2:16:00 PM)

    One of the great poets from World War I, Sassoon was also known for his fictionalised autobiographies, praised for their evocation of English country life.

  • Lord Andrew Barham (3/18/2015 8:22:00 AM)

    Get rid of the goddamned video voice over – it's about as poetic as a sore arsehole!

  • Tim Williams (4/24/2007 9:25:00 PM)

    This is interesting

Read all 9 comments »
Best Poem of Siegfried Sassoon

Suicide In The Trenches

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Read the full of Suicide In The Trenches

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