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Thread: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

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    Post The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
    Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
    Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
    Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

    Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
    Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
    Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
    Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

    He was my North, my South, my East and West,
    My working week and my Sunday rest,
    My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
    I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

    The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
    Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
    Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
    For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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    Post Re: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
    That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
    But on earth indifference is the least
    We have to dread from man or beast.

    How should we like it were stars to burn
    With a passion for us we could not return?
    If equal affection cannot be,
    Let the more loving one be me.

    Admirer as I think I am
    Of stars that do not give a damn,
    I cannot, now I see them, say
    I missed one terribly all day.

    Were all stars to disappear or die,
    I should learn to look at an empty sky
    And feel its total dark sublime,
    Though this might take me a little time.

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    Post Re: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    Lay your sleeping head, my love,
    Human on my faithless arm;
    Time and fevers burn away
    Individual beauty from
    Thoughtful children, and the grave
    Proves the child ephemeral:
    But in my arms till break of day
    Let the living creature lie,
    Mortal, guilty, but to me
    The entirely beautiful.

    Soul and body have no bounds:
    To lovers as they lie upon
    Her tolerant enchanted slope
    In their ordinary swoon,
    Grave the vision Venus sends
    Of supernatural sympathy,
    Universal love and hope;
    While an abstract insight wakes
    Among the glaciers and the rocks
    The hermit's carnal ecstasy.

    Certainty, fidelity
    On the stroke of midnight pass
    Like vibrations of a bell
    And fashionable madmen raise
    Their pedantic boring cry:
    Every farthing of the cost,
    All the dreaded cards foretell,
    Shall be paid, but from this night
    Not a whisper, not a thought,
    Not a kiss nor look be lost.

    Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
    Let the winds of dawn that blow
    Softly round your dreaming head
    Such a day of welcome show
    Eye and knocking heart may bless,
    Find our mortal world enough;
    Noons of dryness find you fed
    By the involuntary powers,
    Nights of insult let you pass
    Watched by every human love.

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    Post Re: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    When I woke into life, a sobbing dwarf

    Whom giants served only as they pleased, I was not what I seemed;
    Beyond their busy backs I made a magic
    To ride away from a father's imperfect justice,
    Take vengeance on the Romans for their grammar,
    Usurp the popular earth and blot out for ever
    The gross insult of being a mere one among many:
    Now, Ariel, I am that I am, your late and lonely master,
    Who knows now what magic is;--the power to enchant
    That comes from disillusion. What the books can teach one
    Is that most desires end up in stinking ponds,
    But we have only to learn to sit still and give no orders,
    To make you offer us your echo and your mirror;
    We have only to believe you, then you dare not lie;
    To ask for nothing, and at once from your calm eyes,
    With their lucid proof of apprehension and disorder,
    All we are not stares back at what we are. For all things
    In your company, can be themselves: historic deeds
    Drop their hauteur and speak of shaddy childhoods
    When all they longed for was to join in the gang of doubts
    Who so tormented them; sullen diseases
    Forget their dreadful appearance and make silly jokes;
    Thick-headed goodness for once is not a bore.
    No one but you had sufficient audacity and eysight
    To find those clearings where the shy humiliations
    Gambol on sunny afternoons, the waterhole to which
    The scarred rouge sorrow comes quietly in the small hours:
    And no one but you is reliably informative on hell;
    As you whistle and skip part, the poisonous
    Resentments scuttle over your unrevolted feet,
    And even the uncontrollable vertigo,
    Because it can scent no shame, is unobliged to strike.

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    Post Re: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    Beautiful.

    It's nice to meet another Auden fan.

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    Post Re: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    Quote Originally Posted by Sigrun Christianson

    It's nice to meet another Auden fan.
    I must say the same, Sigrun! I hadn't expected to find one in a "racist" board. I'm sure you know he's a homosexual?

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    Post Re: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    Quote Originally Posted by symmakhos
    I must say the same, Sigrun! I hadn't expected to find one in a "racist" board. I'm sure you know he's a homosexual?
    Yes, I know he was. So was Oscar Wilde, another of my all-time favs. What can I say? No one is perfect.

    I don't think their homosexuality negates their work.

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    Post Re: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    Quote Originally Posted by Sigrun Christianson
    Yes, I know he was. So was Oscar Wilde, another of my all-time favs. What can I say? No one is perfect.

    I don't think their homosexuality negates their work.
    Nor do I. As for homosexuals, Marcel Proust and Camille Paglia are also on our side (I do hope we are on the same side? ).

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    Post Re: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    I'm not familiar with Marcel Proust, but Camille Paglia is quite the antagonist, isn't she? I can't help but like her.. haha...

    Several years ago when I was in college, I did a paper that included a lot of Paglia's comments and critiques of modern feminist doctrine and specifically Andrea Dworkin. My professor for that class was a homosexual. Although he liked my paper a lot and gave me high marks, I've often wondered if he, being a homosexual male, could really grasp the nuances of a feminist debate. I think that makes me a chauvinist.

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    Post Re: The Poetry of W. H. Auden

    Quote Originally Posted by Sigrun Christianson
    I'm not familiar with Marcel Proust, but Camille Paglia is quite the antagonist, isn't she? I can't help but like her.. haha...

    Several years ago when I was in college, I did a paper that included a lot of Paglia's comments and critiques of modern feminist doctrine and specifically Andrea Dworkin. My professor for that class was a homosexual. Although he liked my paper a lot and gave me high marks, I've often wondered if he, being a homosexual male, could really grasp the nuances of a feminist debate. I think that makes me a chauvinist.
    I think "chauvinist" is exclusively about nationalism, but you might have been a "bigot" or a "homophobic" or whatever. Anyway, did you support Paglia againt Dworkin in your paper? And how can you post on this board, and also support "Women for Aryan Unity", and be ashamed of liking Camilla Paglia? :negro

    I think your professor might have been in a good position to grasp the Feminist debate since he was, as a homosexual, perfectly unbiased in the matter... unlike us heterosexual suckers who has to battle with females who claim they are "feminists", but on the other hand openly claim that their homegrown men are "boring" and prefer to sleep with southern mud races who have not yet heard of feminism.

    Well, sorry about the bitter rantings which actually concerned my ex and her friends.

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