Fiction adaption: Introduction

Another unit we are doing this term is Fiction Adaption.
In this unit we have to produce a short film that is adapted from one of the WW1 poems, from the 6 that have been selected by our tutor.

"You are not allowed to change any of the words, however it can take any form and style you want and use any effects. Music, time-lapse, acting, drama, horror, news report, dance, comedy, thriller, colours, action, stills, etc. The idea is to be as creative, as original and as experimental as possible."

Out of the 6 poems, I chose 'The Death Bed' by Siegfried Sassoon (1916)

He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped

Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;

Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,

Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep.

Silence and safety; and his mortal shore

Lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death.

Someone was holding water to his mouth.

He swallowed, un resisting; moaning and dropped

Through crimson gloom to darkness; and forgot

The opiate throb and ache that was his wound.

Water-calm, sliding green above the weir.

Water-a-sky-lit alley for his boat,

Bird-voiced, and bordered with reflected flowers

And shaken hues of summer; drifting down,

He dipped contented oars, and sighed, and slept.

Night, with a gust if wind, was in the ward,

Blowing the curtain to a glimmering curve.

Night. He was blind; he could not see the stars

Glinting among the wraiths of wandering cloud;

Queer blots of colour, purple, scarlet, green,

Flickered and faded in his drowning eyes.

Rain-he could hear it rustling through the dark;

Fragrance and passionless music woven as one;

Warm rain on drooping roses; pattering showers
That soak the woods; not the harsh rain that sweeps
Behind the thunder, but trickling peace,
Gently and slowly washing life away.
He stirred, shifting his body; then the pain
Leapt like a prowling beast, and gripped and tore
His groping dreams with grinding claws and fangs.
But someone was beside him; soon he lay
Shuddering because that evil thing had passed.
And death, who'd stepped toward him, paused and stared.
Light many lamps and gather round his bed.
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
He's young; he hated
War; how should he die
When cruel old campaigners win safe through?
But death replied: 'I choose him.' So he went,
And there was silence in the summer night;
Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thudding of guns.

After reading this poem I really wanted to create a short story through stop motion or animation.
I have always been interested in stop motion and animation, and found this was the right time to challenge myself, by using one of these techniques.