There's never really a bad time to read A. E. Housman, but tonight felt like an especially good one.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
White in the moon the long road lies,
The moon stands blank above;
White in the moon the long road lies
That leads me from my love.
Still hangs the hedge without a gust,
Still, still the shadows stay:
My feet upon the moonlit dust
Pursue the ceaseless way.
The world is round, so travelers tell,
And straight through the track,
Trudge on, trudge on, 'twill all be well,
The way will guide one back.
But ere the circle homeward hies
Far, far must it remove:
White in the mood the long road lies
That leads me from my love.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That's XXXVI (No. 36) from A Shropshire Lad. The circumstances under which he wrote it I don't know so well. It was kind of a long time ago, although that's a relative statement. But the lonesome, errant feeling stands like a marble monument.
By the way, some poems—man, to be honest—can be found on the internet and simply copy/pasted. But I prefer to type them fresh if they're going to be the center of a blog post. I get more of a feel that way. So it does kind of help that this particular poem is relatively short.
2 comments:
I haven't read the poetry of A.E. Housman in a very long time. As I recall most of his poems are melancholy as well as being austere and somewhat ironic. His charm is his ability to make sadness so sweet. You've chosen a beautiful example.
A long time ago Thomas Hardy was one of my favorite authors, not so well known for his poetry, it's true, but I remembered one called The Darkling Thrush that has a similar tone:
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew,
And I was unaware.
I understand and admire your preference for writing out poems in order to inhabit their meaning. That's a good thing.
I hope you are safe and well.
I first encountered him in a poetry book Nanna owned. Had never heard of him before that. The poem was quite dramatic and just a little eerie. This one adds a dose of melancholy, which you've picked up on.
That's a great little poem by Thomas Hardy. I think most of his poems are from late in his writing career. There were truths that he felt he wasn't getting across with his novels, so he stopped writing them and switched to verse.
I am pretty well, and I thank you for asking. And I'm as safe as can be expected. There's no such thing as 100% safe, which I hope the world remembers soon.
Post a Comment