poetry

auden of our discontent

One of my fellow graduate students, someone who gets me pretty well, keeps pointing out similarities in my writing to Auden. He’s right, of course. Today, he pointed out a similarity in one of my poems to an Auden poem I haven’t even read. He’s probably right about that, too. If all I am one day is a sixth-rate Auden, I will be a hell of a lot better than I am now.

All this is to say that, a few weeks ago, reading poetry aloud with friends, I was trying to find this poem online (I principally use my smartphone to search for poems I need to read to people) and couldn’t. Part of the reason it’s hard to find is I can never remember either the title or the first line – but also, I don’t think anyone has felt this poem needed to be absorbed by the Internet Cube yet. Until Me. So, here I am, putting it online (in the next post). For at least a year, it was my most of all favoritest, because of the structure of the lines. It reminds me of Song. It is not my favorite now, but I still have a lot of love for it. You kind of have to read it aloud to get the fullness of the awesome. Other Auden I used to love and now love less includes Victor: A Ballad (which I once officiously read aloud to a roomful of Alpha Delts) and The Dead Echo. Perhaps I shall onlineize them too. Some day.

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