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The Complete Works of WH Auden: Poems Volume One 1927-39 and Poems Volume Two 1940 -1973 (Princeton University Press)

The Complete Works of WH Auden: Poems Volume One 1927-39 and Poems Volume Two 1940 -1973 (Princeton University Press)

Everybody knows a poem or two by W.H. Auden. There’s ‘Night Mail’ and its train rhythms written for an Associated British Picture Corporation film about the GPO back in 1936; what’s often known as ‘Funeral Blues’, movingly declaimed by John Hannah in Four Weddings and a Funeral; perhaps ‘Musée de Beaux Arts’ (‘About suffering they were never wrong’) or the untitled poem which begins ‘Lay your sleeping head my love’.

Everybody knows what Auden looked like in old age, too: a man with a wonderful craggy landscape of a face, often with a cigarette in his hand, usually dressed in a crumpled suit. Everybody knows he was gay, and that he was a 1930s poet who was part of an outspoken and militant group of writers responding to what Auden, in his poem ‘1st September, 1939’, called ‘a low dishonest decade’, where ‘Waves of anger and fear / Circulate over the bright / And darkened lands of the earth’. And a lot of people know he moved to the USA in 1940 and later joined the Episcopal church there.

Everyone knows something about or by Auden, and everyone had a different route into his work. For me, apart from the odd poem in school textbooks, it was buying a hardback copy of his final book, Thank You, Fog, in a remainder bookshop on Oxford Street, where it kept company with copies of Slow Dancer magazine, and poetry books by Brian Patten and Francis Berry (all of which I also purchased). 

Thank You, Fog , whose laconic ‘final poems’ I am still very fond of, especially the title poem, was later joined on my shelves by a well-thumbed copy of Faber’s 1979 Selected Poems. Well-thumbed by others, not by me, as I was busy chasing what at the time seemed like more exciting and innovative work by the likes of Robert Creeley, Kenneth Patchen, e.e. cummings, Peter Redgrove and Adrian Mitchell. But before too long a good friend of mine would prompt a return to Auden’s writing.

The English Auden, which was subtitled Poems, Essays & Dramatic Writings, 1927-1939 felt like a subversive text when my friend enthused about it, prompting me to buy my own copy. The Orators included (and still does) prose poems, graphics, list poems and journal entries. Elsewhere in The English Auden were songs, speeches, radio talks and essays: ‘Problems of Education’, ‘How to Be Masters of the Machine’, ‘Psychology and Art Today’ and a thorough and extensive, multi-sectioned one on ‘Writing’. The book opened with some kind of drama script, ‘a charade’ called ‘Paid on Both Sides’.

One of the things this opened up to me, apart from some different ways to think about poetic forms and what could or might be regarded as poetrywas a wider context for writing itself, that poetry could be political, sociological, provocative, declamatory, subversive and playful. Or as ‘XXV’ in the sonnet sequence In Time of War puts it, ‘Nothing is given: we must find our law’, ending 14 lines later with the brief summary ‘We learn to pity and rebel.’

Many of the poems gathered up in The English Auden are given a wider context there, as part of an exploration of England and ‘The English’ in the decade leading up to World War 2. ‘Lay your sleeping head my love’ reads differently when it shares a cover with the contents of The Orators, as does the elegiac ‘Stop all the clocks’. They are moments of love and mourning whilst the poet is part of a nation ‘Wandering lost upon the mountains of our choice’, a people who ‘dream of a part / In the glorious balls of the future’ but ‘are articled to error’ and ‘live in freedom by necessity’. (In Time of War, ‘XXVII’)

Although in some ways Auden was conservative (small c), writing a (poetic) ‘Letter to Lord Byron’, engaging with Greek myths and other historical stories, and sometimes seemingly rooted in a traditional view of England and the English, he was also a radical, with the ups and downs of the 1930s leading him to question and critique many cultural assumptions and social hierarchies, often through the lens of communism. WW2 would also encourage poetry which engaged with years of violence, sacrifice, patriotism, political posturing and post-war triumphalism. Auden, of course, was safe in the United States, criticized by many not only for fleeing as war broke out, but also his seeming abandonment of the political left and his adoption of, or conversion to, Christianity.

Princeton University Press’ Complete Works of W.H. Auden editions are beautiful critical editions of his writing, with the two-volume Collected Poems having been preceded by two books of Dramatic Writings, and six of prose. The first volume of poetry contains 808 pages (540 of poems including juvenilia, school poems and  abandoned poems, the rest ‘Textual Notes’) whilst the second clocks in at just over 1100 pages: over 700 pages of poems, followed by five appendices and textual notes.

I can’t pretend to have read all the 1200+ pages of poetry, let alone the additional material, but I have dipped in and out, revisiting work I know or half-know, and reading poems I have never seen or even heard of before. It’s accomplished and impressive work, and the notes are informative and interesting in the way academic footnotes often are, pointing out variations and versions, possible meanings or allusions, and offering context and understanding to facilitate informed reading.

Auden is not an occasional poet, nor does he prove the (in my opinion, wrongheaded and incorrect) theory that even good poets only produce a few memorable poems. This is an amazing body of work, composed by a writer who wrote his way through life, always thinking and paying attention. Some of it feels dated in the way it romanticizes life, or alludes to the kind of ideas and literary canon we have now mostly disregarded, but it is also a poetry written in response to the changing world of the 20th Century, documenting and questioning, always willing to challenge and engage with the contemporary. 

I keep returning to Volume I, where the voice is less settled, the poetry more surprising and unexpected, although there is also plenty of intriguing and thoughtful work in Volume II. Sometimes, however, this is nestled between more playful and slight verses, such as the 60 poems of ‘Academic Graffiti’. Here’s ’53’ in its entirety:

     Thomas the Rhymer
     Was probably a social climber:
     He should have known Fairy Queens
     Were beyond his means.

Witty? Yes, but not the stuff authorial reputations are made of. That will remain because of those Selected Poems many of us know, the more declamatory and experimental work from the 1930s, and the sheer mass of intelligent, thoughtful and analytical writing produced by Auden. Writers write, and Auden did. What wonderful stuff it is.

Rupert Loydell  5th October 2022

Revolutionary Letters by Diana Di Prima (Silver Press)

Revolutionary Letters by Diana Di Prima (Silver Press)

This new U.K. edition of Revolutionary Letters gathers up fifty years of Di Prima’s anarchic and insightful series of poems which she started writing back in 1968. Moving to New York City in the 1950s she embedded herself in the alternative culture of the Beatniks in Greenwich Village before embracing the Black Panther movement, drugs, feminism, counterculture politics, direct action, and what we now call small press publishing.

The book contains freeform rants, comments upon topical events, advice to friends and/or would-be revolutionaries, lists, cynicism, utopian ideologues and utopian dreams. Somewhat surprisingly, alongside the down-to-earth survival techniques she shares there is also the presence of the spiritual weaving through her work alongside questioning insight:

   You cannot write a single line w/ out a cosmology

   a cosmogony

   laid out, before all eyes


   There is no way out of the spiritual battle

   the war is the war against the imagination

   you can’t sign up as a conscientious objector.          (‘Revolutionary Letter #75’)

   As soon as we submit

   to a system based on causality, linear time

   we submit, again, to the old values, plunge again

   into slavery.                                                              (‘Revolutionary Letter #51’)

At other times, however, she is jubilantly optimistic and proclaimative:

   I will not rest

   till we walk free & fearless on the earth

   each doing in the manner of his blood

   & tribe, peaceful in the free air             (‘Revolutionary Letter #20’)

Other poems offer dialogue with other poets – be they famous or unknown, or immediate responses to local (the NYC police clearing Tompkins Park of the homeless, her neighbours’ need for money or food) and international events such as 9/11, The Gulf War, or The Occupy movement:

   Occupy the planet

   the Oceans

   as well

               as the Land

   Mind is unlimited

   Can go anywhere

   Occupy the Night Sky,

   Mother Nuit

   Occupy your breath

   Your Body & remember

   We are one Body

   Occupy with Love                   (‘Revolutionary Letter #108’)

I like the fact Di Prima is often angry, sometimes anti-technology (‘did you ever try to email chicken soup?’) informative and instructive, and that her work includes both elation and despair. She cuts through the crap of political rhetoric, points out what is important in society – be that local or international, and reminds us that we can change the world as individuals, starting with where we live, how we live and who we live with or next to. It’s easy to be cynical about poems as a container of comment or narrative, let alone as a catalyst for revolution, but it’s also good to be reminded that words do affect us and can inspire, effect and facilitate change.

Di Prima’s work, like that of Adrian Mitchell, Kenneth Patchen and Julian Beck, can often be labelled simplistic and obvious, naive and unnuanced, but as I numbly watch the bombs fall on Ukraine and wonder what on earth I can do, it’s good to be reminded as a writer that poetry can matter:

   What matters:

                            the memory

   of the poem

                            taking root in


                            of minds…           (‘Revolutionary Letter #110’)

Rupert Loydell 9th March 2022

The Underground Cabaret by Ian Seed (Shearsman Books)

The Underground Cabaret by Ian Seed (Shearsman Books)

The ‘small square of blocks of prose presented as poetry’, as Ian Seed once defined prose poems, is deftly crafted in this collection, which is the final volume of a quartet, following New York HotelIdentity Papers and Makers of Empty Dreams. The stories, or, more accurately, fragments of stories, are tight, sharp and fascinating in their essentiality, revealing a surreal perspective that exists at the verge of absurdity, an upside-down world that is real and unreal at the same time. As in surrealist thought, so-called tangible reality is considered artificial, and, in opposition to that, the world of dreams, or nightmares, becomes the ‘real’ world. It is a subversive perspective that challenges and questions not only our certainties but also our perceptions. The detailed descriptions present in Seed’s prose poems set his pieces in a credible environment that is nevertheless reverted and subverted in each prose poem. It is a play of mirrors where characters and images are always shifting and suggest different meanings or no meaning at all. This conveys a sense of deep uncertainty but also great freedom of thought and movement. Repetitive patterns give consistency to this collection in a relentless exploration of themes such as loneliness, isolation, loss of identity, absence of passion and alienation; they emerge from everyday life and obsess the protagonist.

We found what looked like a piece of light, unmoving, frozen in the shape of a human being. We were afraid to touch it – it looked cold enough to burn us. What would happen if we could unfreeze it? Would it melt and vanish, or would it keep its shape and come alive? Could we take it away with us? Would it make any difference to how we lived, or loved, one way or another? (‘In the Empty House’)

     Some settings recur, such as second-hand bookshops, tunnels, corridors, beds, cafés and different cities located in Italy, France and England where Seed has travelled and lived. They are claustrophobic environments where the protagonist feels lost, haunted by his visions, and diminished and ignored by his friends and family. People who are commonly considered vulnerable, such as elderly people, migrants, homeless people and orphans, are sometimes depicted, with deliberate irony, as threatening; they invade his space and he flees from them. The poet’s inner self observes this comedy of life of sorts and is detached and estranged; he strays from the main focus of his stories and is eventually distracted by marginal details that derange the apparent logic of the discourse. Thus, the stories are unresolved and each ending often contradicts the beginning in an exploration that seems to be triggered by pure curiosity for its own sake. As Baudelaire claims in the introduction of Paris Spleen, prose poems have ‘neither head nor tail, since, on the contrary, it is all alternately and reciprocally head and tail’. He adds that prose poems communicate a reverie in a ‘poetic prose, musical without rhythm or rhyme, supple and choppy enough to accommodate the lyrical movement of the soul’. Seed also refers to the prose poems of Kenneth Patchen (Love and War Poems, published in 1968) he read in his youth as well as to William Blake, Max Jacob, Pierre Reverdy and Jeremy Over. In his essay ‘Discovery and Rediscovery (published in Fortnightly Review on 19 October 2018), Seed remarks how much he admires the lyricism of the language of the prose poem that contrasts with the objectivity of the description. According to him, this greatly enforces the message and highlights a subversive side out of academic and commercial worlds. This strategy attracted his imagination to the point of inspiring him to write in new ways after two decades of silence and to publish his work eventually. Seed’s work is not only in line with the tradition of the prose poems of Baudelaire and those written by recent authors but he also incorporates unusual elements, uncanny views that involve the protagonist. He withdraws when life attempts to grip him, when nothing makes a difference and mud and gold might be interchangeable. Therefore, the inadequacy of the protagonist, who often slips and falls when he is near the goal, seems quite intentional, a way of ‘making fun of the authorities’ and so avoiding being involved in what is considered a meaningless game. This opens up the poems to different views and boundless freedom that are always in dialogue with who we imagine we are and who we would like to be.

Carla Scarano D’Antonio 21st July 2021

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