the book on my nightstand |
I first heard of A. E. Housman (1859-1936) back at Hiram High School (R.I.P.), my senior year (1961-62), when our English teacher, Mrs. Davis, required us to memorize his "When I Was Young and Twenty" (see below). I don't remember how I did on the quiz, but, given my "study habits" at the time, I'm sure I got at least a C on it. (I do know it now--and cold.)
Anyway, when I got into my Latest Madness (memorizing scads of poems) a couple of decades ago, I tried to shove back into my memory some poems I had learned (more or less) earlier in my life, and so it was that I recovered "A Visit from St. Nicholas," "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," "If You Were Coming in the Fall," and "When I Was Young and Twenty" (and there were others).
I liked the poem, and so I bought the book you see pictured above (yes, that is our copy), paged through it, found some others I liked, too, and memorized them--"Loveliest of trees, the cherry now"and "Into my heart an air that kills."*
I also recently read a great book about Housman and his world--Housman Country: Into the Heart of England (2017), by Peter Parker (no, not that Peter Parker!).
And then Joyce and I began a (fairly regular) just-before-lights-out routine: I read aloud to her a poem (or two) from the Housman collection. (We are now on p. 148 of 247 pp. of text.)
Some of the poems--surprise, surprise--are better than others. Many are sad, dealing with the deaths of youth. Dealing with war. Dealing with lost love. Lost time. The rural past glows on most of the pages. Sometimes, after a particularly grim poem, Joyce and I will look at each other and (silently) ask: Why are we doing this?
But then we'll come across one like the one I read to her last night, number XXXIX from Last Poems. (I've reproduced it below "When I Was Young and Twenty.")
And then we look at each other with different eyes. As we do the world the next morning ...
*the volume contains A Shropshire Lad (1896), Last Poems (1922), More Poems (1936),, and two groups of uncollected
poems--"Additional Poems," and "Translations" (Housman was a classical scholar).
**
When I Was One-and-Twenty
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
“Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.”
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
“The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
’Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.”
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis
true.
XXXIX (from Last Poems)
When summer's end is nighing
And skies at evening cloud,
I muse on change and fortune
And all the feats I vowed
When I was young and proud.
The weathercock at sunset
Would lose the slanted ray,
And I would climb the beacon
That looked to Wales away
And saw the last of day.
From hill and cloud and heaven
The hues of evening died;
Night welled through lane and hollow
And hushed the countryside,
But I had youth and pride.
And I with earth and nightfall
In converse high would stand,
Late, till the west was ashen
And darkness hard at hand,
And the eye lost the land.
The year might age, and cloudy
The lessening day might close,
But air of other summers
Breathed from beyond the snows,
And I had hope of those.
They came and were and are not
And come no more anew;
And all the years and seasons
That ever can ensue
Must now be worse and few.
So here's an end of roaming
On eves when autumn nighs:
The ear too fondly listens
For summer's parting sighs,
And then the heart replies.
No comments:
Post a Comment