The Living Dead

~ Honouring our poetic ancestors ~

A Shropshire Lad 
XXXII

From far, from eve and morning 
And yon twelve-winded sky, 
The stuff of life to knit me 
Blew hither: here am I. 

Now — for a breath I tarry 
Nor yet disperse apart — 
Take my hand quick and tell me, 
What have you in your heart. 

Speak now, and I will answer; 
How shall I help you, say; 
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters 
I take my endless way.

– A. E. Housman (1859-1936)


I featured Housman here a couple of years ago, and earlier here. He's one of my favourite poets, one of the few whose poems I sometimes get "on the brain" – an expression more usually applied to songs (before someone invented "earworm", that is). This poem is one that arrives in my mind now and then, during the many years since I first read it.

Some of the language, like "yon" and "hither", is old-fashioned now, but essentially it is simple, straightforward language, not a wasted word. The ballad form is also simple – with, in this case, perfect rhyme scheme, rhythmic pattern (rather than metre) and syllable count. The music is lovely; and the concepts are profound.  I think he's a great master.

He was at one time very well-known. Some of you may be familiar with his work; to others it might well be new.

In his life he was a noted classical scholar, and apparently rated his own poetry as secondary to that. Or perhaps he just regarded them as too different to compare: he is on record as declaring that poetry should appeal to the emotions, not the intellect. And the academic work was his bread-and-butter, after all. He was a Professor of Latin, first at University College London, and thereafter at Trinity College, Cambridge. 

Only two books of his poems were published in his lifetime, A Shropshire Lad and Last Poems. The first in particular, though a slow starter, became much loved, and has never entirely lost its popularity. A number of those poems have been set to music. Last Poems was an immediate success. After his death, his brother posthumously published More Poems, and later the Complete Poems. His works are still in print. I've just bought this illustrated Kindle edition from Amazon Australia (at a price I couldn't resist) after spotting it in my searches:

Material shared in 'The Living Dead' is presented for study and review. Poems, photos, and other writings and images remain the property of the copyright owners where applicable (older poems may be out of copyright).

The Living Dead

~ Honouring our poetic ancestors ~

Last Poems

XVIII

By A E Housman 1859-1936

The rain, it streams on stone and hillock,  

The boot clings to the clay.

Since all is done that's due and right

Let's home; and now, my lad, good-night,  

For I must turn away.  

Good-night, my lad, for nought's eternal;  

No league of ours, for sure.

To-morrow I shall miss you less,

And ache of heart and heaviness  

Are things that time should cure.  

Over the hill the highway marches  

And what's beyond is wide:

Oh soon enough will pine to nought

Remembrance and the faithful thought  

That sits the grave beside.  

The skies, they are not always raining  

Nor grey the twelvemonth through;

And I shall meet good days and mirth,

And range the lovely lands of earth  

With friends no worse than you.  

But oh, my man, the house is fallen  

That none can build again;

My man, how full of joy and woe

Your mother bore you years ago   

Tonight to lie in the rain.

The link on the poet's name, above, refers you to a previous posting of a poem by Housman in this series, with all the background information I found about him that time.

I like to give you the experience of a great variety of poets, but many are worth repeating – and in this case, I’ve had this poem ‘on the brain ‘ a bit lately. (Do you find that happens to you too, with favourite poems, as with songs?)

I like its down-to-earth acceptance of both death and grief. The poem is at once emotional and philosophical. The dead man may have been close friend or family member – clearly, someone loved and valued. Housman manages to make this elegy both personal and universal.

I like the restrained, almost commonplace language and conversational tone, which encompass the ‘let’s get on with it’ mood of the first verse, the aching cry at the end, and the journey of reflection in between.

In all his poems Housman had ‘the art that conceals art’: straightforward words in a simple ballad style with obvious but unobtrusive rhymes, adding up to huge emotional power.

Yes, this poem has a sad subject, yet I find it also both satisfying and cathartic.

Writings and photos posted in The Living Dead for study and review remain the property of the copyright owners.

The Living Dead

Honouring our poetic ancestors

White in the Moon the Long Road Lies

By A. E. Housman 1859-1936

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. 

Simply, this is one of my favourite love poems, which captured my imagination when I was in my teens and has never lost its magic and pathos for me. In simple language the poet creates lyrical music, beautiful images, and intense emotional longing.

Englishman Alfred Edward Housman was a great classical scholar who became a Professor of Latin at Cambridge University. Many critics consider it somewhat surprising that this same man wrote poetry noted for its sweetly simple lyricism, set largely in the English countryside. His best known work was A Shropshire Lad, which is still very well-known. His language continues to speak to us today. The poem I've chosen is taken from A Shropshire Lad, and there are a number of others in it which I love too. I don't think Housman ever wrote a bad poem (though most of the great poets did occasionally, just like the rest of us).

You can read or download A Shropshire Lad free from Project Gutenberg or read Housman's poems at PoemHunter. This one has been set to music, and you can listen to it on YouTube  — a version I don't care for. I see that on Amazon you can buy Bryn Terfel's recording for 99¢, which may or may not be better (I haven't listened). The YouTube treatment was too operatic for me. I love opera — but I don't think it suits this simple, lovely poem. However, taste is subjective of course, in both music and poetry. I think Housman's words can stand alone, and I hope you do too.

It's worth noting that, in a time and place when male homosexuality was not only socially unacceptable but punishable by law, Housman, himself homosexual, wrote and published several very fine poems deploring this extreme prejudice and its damaging effects. While he didn't spell things out explicitly, the meaning was there to be discerned, but was usually missed during his lifetime — as discussed in the PoemHunter biography.  You'll find those poems, too, in A Shropshire Lad.