For Poetry Monday, another Housman take on the theme of Kipling’s poem from the previous week:
“Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,” A.E. Housman
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong.
Think rather,—call to thought, if now you grieve a little,
The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long.
Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry
I slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;
Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry:
Then it was well with me, in days ere I was born.
Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason,
I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun.
Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season:
Let us endure an hour and see injustice done.
Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation;
All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain:
Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation—
Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again?
Also from A Shropshire Lad. Of note: most of the collection was written after falling unrequitedly in love with a man in the wake of Oscar Wilde’s trials for homosexual offenses.
---L.
Subject quote from Anti-Hero, Taylor Swift.
“Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,” A.E. Housman
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong.
Think rather,—call to thought, if now you grieve a little,
The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long.
Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry
I slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;
Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry:
Then it was well with me, in days ere I was born.
Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason,
I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun.
Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season:
Let us endure an hour and see injustice done.
Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation;
All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain:
Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation—
Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again?
Also from A Shropshire Lad. Of note: most of the collection was written after falling unrequitedly in love with a man in the wake of Oscar Wilde’s trials for homosexual offenses.
---L.
Subject quote from Anti-Hero, Taylor Swift.
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Date: 3 February 2025 03:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 3 February 2025 04:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 3 February 2025 04:04 pm (UTC)For some reason, I've never read Housman. I should remedy that.
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Date: 3 February 2025 04:38 pm (UTC)I have no idea how much patience you'll have for A Shropshire Lad, but that would be the place to start. (That's a full third of his canon and most all of his reputation.)
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Date: 3 February 2025 10:59 pm (UTC)YMMV but I like More Poems and Last Poems better. There you get the real snark and bitterness over his dilemma.
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Date: 3 February 2025 11:06 pm (UTC)I like more of the contents of those, but I don't like them as collections as much.