 Poetry: June 16, 2021 Issue [#10821] |
This week: A. E. Housman Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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Be Still, My Soul, Be Still
by 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?
On March 26, 1859 in Fockbury, England, Edward and Sarah Jane Housman welcomed their first son, Alfred Edward Housman into the world. He was the eldest of seven children. Housman's father was a solicitor and raised the family in Worcestershire England. Housman preferred his mother over his father and her untimely death on his twelfth birthday was devastating for him. As a student Housman won a scholarship to Bromsgrove School in Worcestershire. Upon graduating he went on to study at Oxford.
While in Oxford he received honors in his classes but failed his final exam and subsequently didn't receive his degree. After college Housman worked as a clerk for ten years, in the Patent Office in London. During this time he would spend many evenings studying Latin text at the British Museum. Housman wrote several articles about the mistakes he found in the text and published them in journals. It was through these publications he caught the attention of scholars at the university. This led to his appointment in 1892 as professor of Latin at University College of London.
After a failed attempt at love Housman seemed to be convinced he must live without it and he became increasingly reclusive. His anguish about his sexuality and his withdrawal from social life, left him his notebooks to find solace in. He spent a lot of his free time writing in them and in 1896 he published A Shropshire Lad. In 1911 he became a Professor of Latin at Cambridge, teaching there almost up to his death. Housman's book of verse, "Last Poems" was published in 1922 and had astonishing success.
On April, 30 1936 Alfred Edward Housman passed away. Housman was 77 years old. His ashes were buried just outside St Laurence's Church, Ludlow. A cherry tree was planted in the spot as a memorial. A posthumous collection, "More Poems," was edited by his brother Laurence Housman and published later that year.
The Immortal Part
by A. E. Housman
When I meet the morning beam,
Or lay me down at night to dream,
I hear my bones within me say,
"Another night, another day.
"When shall this slough of sense be cast,
This dust of thoughts be laid at last,
The man of flesh and soul be slain
And the man of bone remain?
"This tongue that talks, these lungs that shout,
These thews that hustle us about,
This brain that fills the skull with schemes,
And its humming hive of dreams,--
"These to-day are proud in power
And lord it in their little hour:
The immortal bones obey control
Of dying flesh and dying soul.
"'Tis long till eve and morn are gone:
Slow the endless night comes on,
And late to fulness grows the birth
That shall last as long as earth.
"Wanderers eastward, wanderers west,
Know you why you cannot rest?
'Tis that every mother's son
Travails with a skeleton.
"Lie down in the bed of dust;
Bear the fruit that bear you must;
Bring the eternal seed to light,
And morn is all the same as night.
"Rest you so from trouble sore,
Fear the heat o' the sun no more,
Nor the snowing winter wild,
Now you labour not with child.
"Empty vessel, garment cast,
We that wore you long shall last.
--Another night, another day."
So my bones within me say.
Therefore they shall do my will
To-day while I am master still,
And flesh and soul, now both are strong,
Shall hale the sullen slaves along,
Before this fire of sense decay,
This smoke of thought blow clean away,
And leave with ancient night alone
The stedfast and enduring bone.
White in the Moon the Long Road Lies
by A. E. Housman
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 travellers tell,
And straight though reach 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 moon the long road lies
That leads me from my love.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
I find a quiet place to nest,
where I cannot be found.
Some place silent is the best,
with nobody around.
Where I cannot be found,
I delve into another realm.
With nobody around,
the written word can whelm.
I delve into another realm,
living another truth.
The written word can whelm
like the fantasies of youth.
Living another truth
in that other life,
like the fantasies of youth
and escaping modern strife.
In that other life,
all care can release,
and escaping modern strife,
that's where I find peace.
All care can release,
my spirit flying home.
That's where I find peace
enclosed within the tome
My spirit flying home,
some place silent is the best.
Enclosed within the tome,
Honorable mention:
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