When I was young, love felt totally different to me. It was all encompassing and I thought there was only one person for me. This is how the poem struck me, as if it were a young person, madly in love and absolutely desperate and lost after the loss.
Love still fills me up, but maybe I stand sturdier on my feet these days being an older person. I am better at loving & knowing myself and know I will survive. Maybe all the learning and loving I did in my life, filled me up so much, I can only be left with such beautiful memories of love and knowing love gives us lasting comfort. Love is Love and should always be the answer...
What do you think?
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 crepe 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 woods:
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
by W.H. AUDEN
9 comments:
My favortie Auden bit is from a poem called, September 1, 1939: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15545
"All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die."
Yes, love was different when I was young: as you say, all encompassing and desperate. Now it is quiet and strong and all around me. The poem describes loss very well. A fragment from an Emily Dickinson poem has always stayed with me: "That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love."
I hope you have a fine weekend, Donna. Your virtual friendship is very important to me. Thanks for the post.
Laoch: Thank you for posting that particular poem. Late last night I was curious about Auden and googled him. In looking at the list of all his poetry, I was curious about September 1, 1939...but in my late night daze I could not find it other than his famous line, "We must love one another or die." So thank you for posting it. I really like the way he weaves his words.
DJAN: You are so wonderful. I too cherish our virtual friendship. Would you please email me your email to donnab6464@gmail.com, because some times I would like to talk with you more privately...if you don't mind.
I used to read Emily Dickenson's poetry when I was young, felt misunderstood and searching. For some reason, this was one of my favorites:
"APPARENTLY with no surprise
To any happy flower,
The frost beheads it at its play
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on, 5
The sun proceeds unmoved
To measure off another day
For an approving God."
It seems dramatic, yet the last line never seemed to fit the poem, and is precisely what made me like it. Maybe because I was raised Catholic and I saw such hypocricy in the religion...
Or maybe the "blond assassin" intiqued me as a description of myself, since I had very little self esteem at the time...
I could not remember the poem, but I knew if I looked at the list of her poems, it would find me, and find me it did.
In younger days, then in middle days, I read poetry and let it light my way. Then I fell into a daze, a trance, and forgot its power. Now I am glad to be, once again, among people who look to the poets for meaning. A fine collection of thoughts and truths. We truly must love one another or die.
I think love like that can strike at any time of life, unfortunately. But it is the sense of being swept away by passion, rather than the more prosaic reality of contentment.
There are many many different types of love and many different stages. I think we change as we grow in years ags well. I like the word you used - frantic - no life- love doesn't seem as frantic as it once did.
Sorry for your loss.
sandie♥
I would think this poem would be at the very onset of a loss of a loved one where the grief is so raw and you just don't know how you will survive, yet you know you will, but you can't see it yet.
betty
I think if you truly love someone at one point in your life you always retain love for them. However, that does not mean you are destined to spend a life together or grow together as people. But there is always a first love and usually it is not the last. Still...there is something special and unique about really feeling love for the first time. The remembrance of that feeling never leaves you...even if that person (or you) did.
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