John Allan Wyeth

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John Allan Wyeth was born in 1894 in New Jersey. He was an American poet and soldier whose work stands out among World War I literature. Unlike many war poets of his time, Wyeth’s writing uses modernist techniques, influenced by poets like Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot. His poetry captures the fragmented, chaotic experience of war in a style that moves away from the traditional lyricism of poets like Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon.

Wyeth attended Princeton University and later studied in Europe. When the United States entered World War I, he joined the Army and served as an officer in the American Expeditionary Forces. He worked as an intelligence officer, which meant he was responsible for gathering and analyzing battlefield information. His service took him to France, where he witnessed the war firsthand. Unlike many war poets, who focused on grand themes of heroism or tragedy, Wyeth’s work is deeply observational. His poems, written in a loose sonnet sequence, detail the daily moments of a soldier’s life—waiting, traveling, and confronting the strange mix of boredom and terror that defined the war.

After the war, Wyeth did not pursue a public literary career. Instead, he became an educator and later an artist. His poetry remained largely unknown until the late 20th century, when scholars and critics rediscovered his work. His book, This Man’s Army: A War in Fifty-Odd Sonnets, is now considered an important contribution to war poetry, offering a distinctly American perspective on World War I. His legacy is that of a poet who saw the war with a sharp, unflinching eye, using modernist techniques to capture the uncertainty and disorientation of combat. Though overlooked for much of the 20th century, his work now holds a place among the most significant war poetry of his time.

You may learn more at Poets.org and Wikipedia.

Corbie to Sailly-le-Sec

John Allan Wyeth
High staggering walls, and plank-spiked piles of brick

and plaster ~~ jagged gables wrenched apart,
and tall dolls’ houses cleanly split in two ~~

Through the Valley

John Allan Wyeth
“All right Tom?”

“Yup ~~ I got it fixed ~~ let’s start.”
A slipping crumbly path through scratching brush’

The Road to Corbie

John Allan Wyeth
Our staff car flies and trails a long-spun haze

over the looping road and the surge and fall
of the heaving plains ~~ quick dusty tree trunks throw

Regimental Dressing Station

John Allan Wyeth
Squat walls of sandbags ~~ and above, a sky

all thin and cool with dawn and very far.
Black empty stretchers. On the parapet,

Second Battalion Headquarters

John Allan Wyeth
“Where’s the First Battalion? We haven’t got any more

idea than you have ~~ they might be anywhere.
There’s no front line. You’ll just get caught in a raid.”

Regimental Headquarters

John Allan Wyeth
Steep prickly slopes in shadow from the moon

sagging behind us down the strident sky.
Guns blaze and slam. The stars burn fever bright.

In a Dug-out

John Allan Wyeth
Sleep ripped apart in the shrilling blast of a shell

jerking me back into life—Dawn, and a dead
bleak silence split by a shrieking smash—one then,

La Voie Sacree

John Allan Wyeth
These houses died too long ago to care

who comes and echoes in their empty shells.

Hospital

John Allan Wyeth
Fever, and crowds—and light that cuts your eyes—

Men waiting in a long slow-shuffling line

The Road to Bayonvillers

John Allan Wyeth
The sidecar skimmed low down like a flying sled

over the straight road with its double screen
of wire—the blue profile of Amiens sank

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