That's the Auden I have, not that it matters.

I think he's one of the greatest poets born in C20. I think he became far too worried about revising his earlier poems to accord with his conservative views in later life. Edited in: I rummaged up the book, and the editor Edward Mendelson says in the intro that his selections use the versions from earlier collections and also items that Auden rejected later in life.

We definitely need a thread on Auden.

I suspect this thread has run its course. It’s been fun for me, even if (maybe because) I talked too much. Even so, I’d like to end it with a poem that’s been on my mind this last week, that I adore, and that makes me think of WS. I bet he liked it, too.


Did Our Best Moment last —
'Twould supersede the Heaven —
A few — and they by Risk — procure —
So this Sort — are not given —

Except as stimulants — in
Cases of Despair —
Or Stupor — The Reserve —
These Heavenly Moments are —

A Grant of the Divine —
That Certain as it Comes —
Withdraws — and leaves the dazzled Soul
In her unfurnished Rooms


-- Miss Emily

It may well have run its course, but it was a great thread, Michael.

Now, well, we'll need a thread for Emily, no doubt one of the most underestimated poets of all time - despite her great fame. In a hundred years, hopefully less, she will be getting the attention her work deserves. Certainly, she's gotten tons of attention, but not equal to her merit. I still read it said that Emily was "the greatest woman [female] poet who ever lived", or some such. This is supposed to be a compliment, but it's not. Not really. It's nearly as awful as that word, poetess, a word which needs to be stricken from the lexicon.

She was, no, is, one of the greatest poets who ever lived.

Who else could have written this poem, among her contemporaries? The first stanza could have been written today.

***

I cannot live with You

I cannot live with You --
It would be Life --
And Life is over there --
Behind the Shelf

The Sexton keeps the Key to --
Putting up
Our Life -- His Porcelain --
Like a Cup --

Discarded of the Housewife --
Quaint -- or Broke --
A newer Sevres pleases --
Old Ones crack --

I could not die -- with You --
For One must wait
To shut the Other's Gaze down --
You -- could not --

And I -- Could I stand by
And see You -- freeze --
Without my Right of Frost --
Death's privilege?

Nor could I rise -- with You --
Because Your Face
Would put out Jesus' --
That New Grace

Glow plain -- and foreign
On my homesick Eye --
Except that You than He
Shone closer by --

They'd judge Us -- How --
For You -- served Heaven -- You know,
Or sought to --
I could not --

Because You saturated Sight --
And I had no more Eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise

And were You lost, I would be --
Though My Name
Rang loudest
On the Heavenly fame --

And were You -- saved --
And I -- condemned to be
Where You were not --
That self -- were Hell to Me --

So We must meet apart --
You there -- I -- here --
With just the Door ajar
That Oceans are -- and Prayer --
And that White Sustenance --
Despair --