Auden the Admirable

Dara writes:

I have decided that I admire the work of 20th-century British poet W.H. Auden more than I love it.

I applaud Auden's moral seriousness, his commitment not to turn a blind eye to the horrors, including World War II, of his time. I applaud his deep investment in poetry, and yet his incapacity to inflate either his own influence or his verse's importance. I find this combination of profound dedication and self-deprecation very appealing, and also missing in many of today's poets.

Auden's command of the English language astounds me. Has there since Shakespeare been a writer so on top of his game in that regard? The poet's flexibility with form invigorates me. Really, he could do it all, and he bore the mark of a master, which is that his formal poems never seem like exercises. Instead, his rhymes fall trippingly off the tongue. I admire Auden the person. He seems like a congenial man with a sense of humor.

His personality was revealed last night at a tribute to him at New York's 92nd Street Y. The centenary of his birth was about two weeks ago. Oliver Sacks and Charles Rosen spoke, and charmed. Sacks has such a Princess Bride of a British voice--"Twu Wuv." Auden's friend Shirley Hazzard rambled at length. Unfortunately she seemed not get her bearings and repeated the phrase "he had good manners" several times.

What I gleaned from the event is that certain rhymes and vistas of Auden wow me, yet I get lost in the poems as a whole. He was such a philosopher; his discursiveness can ruin poems for me. I'm not left reeling from one sustained image, as I am with work by George Herbert, John Keats, or Robert Frost, as examples.

But lines do shine, and I do thank Shirley Hazzard for contributing to the evening this, about three friends sharing an idyllic June day:

That later we, though parted then,
May still recall these evenings when
Fear gave his watch no look;
The lion griefs loped from the shade
And on our knees their muzzles laid
And Death put down his book.

I celebrate Auden the humanist and knower of human truths.

Elegance at the 92nd Street Y

Dara writes:

Last night James and I attended an excellent reading hosted by the Unterberg Poetry Center at Manhattan's venerable 92nd Street Y. The occasion: a tribute to past Center directors Grace Schulman, Karl Kirchwey, and David Yezzi, all poets themselves.

I always enjoy David Yezzi's work, but I am not an impartial judge as I am friendly with David through his work at The New Criterion. David read a few newer poems that benefited from a Larkian disenchantment and wry humor. David read these in a laconic, everyday voice that really allowed the poems' true meanings to be revealed. Mr. Kirchwey's work was a delight: erudite without ever being precious or smug. He displays a sense of humor but is never ironic. He has a great command of rhyme, and language interests him intensely. He said he is now obsessed with translating Verlaine; from what I can tell he also knows Greek and Latin, among other tongues. I bought his new book, The Happiness of this World, and will look forward to reading it.

Many poetry world luminaries, such as Marie Ponsot, Veejay Seshadri, and Alice Quinn attended the reading. A lovely spread followed, including "Hostess" desserts: coconut snowballs and chocolate cupcakes. To my surprise, the Y even made cookies with the readers' names printed on them. The cookies were presented as little gifts on trays. As a woman and I admired them, she noted, "And I thought the Y was having money troubles!"

The one off-note of the evening was the reading by Grace Schulman. I am not familiar with her poetry, though I do own the Marianne Moore book she edited. Never liked Moore's antics. Sorry. But I came with an open mind to appreciate Schulman. Unfortunately, her voice croaked and cracked and made it very hard to absorb her poems, which did nothing for me. Yes, I have applied for the Discovery/"The Nation" young poets' prize that she oversees and I haven't won, but I am an adult and do not bear her a grudge. Many of my fellow, non-poet listeners agreed with my assessment of her performance.

Still Life with Octopus

Dara writes:

A new poem of mine is out in the Fall issue of Cimarron Review, the journal out of Oklahoma State University. If you can't find the journal at your local good magazine store or library, you can find it here, where the crew has been kind enough to put my poem online.