Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

(1878 - 1962 / England)

Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
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Wilfred Wilson Gibson (1878-1962), a close friend of Rupert Brooke and a protégé of Edward Marsh, was born in Hexham, England in 1878.

Gibson worked for a time as a social worker in London's East End. He published his first verse in 1902, Mountain Lovers. He had several poems included in various Georgian poetry collections prior to the war. He also wrote a play, Daily Bread, which was produced in 1910.

After the outbreak of war, Gibson served as a private in the infantry on the Western Front. It was therefore from the perspective of the ordinary soldier that Gibson wrote his war poetry.

His active service was brief, but his poetry belies his lack of ... more »

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  • Rookie - 38 Points Michael Bully (1/24/2015 4:00:00 PM)

    In fact Gibson was rejected for war service due to poor eyesight until 1917, then able to join the Army Service Corps Motor Transport. He never saw active service overseas. Largely forgotten from the mid-1930's onwards, attempts have been made to revalue his work. Martin Stephens in his 1996 work 'The Price of Pity ' paid his tribute to his use of the colloquial language of the ordinary soldier. Professor Tim Kendall included a section on Gibson in his 2013 anthology 'Poetry of the First World War ', stressing that Gibson's Battle (1915) was among the first volumes of poetry to convey the actualities of War as experienced by common soldiers'. Tim Kendall maintains that Gurney, Sassoon, Owen, Graves and Rosenberg all praised his work.

  • Rookie James Fletcher (8/9/2007 1:55:00 PM)

    Great poet, you should realy post 'Mad' I felt that it was a very powerful verse and it's my favourite poem by Wilfred Gibson

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Best Poem of Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

The Stone

"And will you cut a stone for him,
To set above his head?
And will you cut a stone for him--
A stone for him?" she said.

Three days before, a splintered rock
Had struck her lover dead--
Had struck him in the quarry dead,
Where, careless of a warning call,
He loitered, while the shot was fired--
A lively stripling, brave and tall,
And sure of all his heart desired . . .
A flash, a shock,
A rumbling fall . . .
And, broken 'neath the broken rock,
A lifeless heap, with face of clay,
And still as any stone he lay,
With eyes that saw...

Read the full of The Stone

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