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Selected Poems (Anglais) Broché – 13 février 2007

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Who stands, the crux left of the watershed,

On the wet road between the chafing grass

Below him sees dismantled washing-floors,

Snatches of tramline running to the wood,

An industry already comatose,

Yet sparsely living. A ramshackle engine

At Cashwell raises water; for ten years

It lay in flooded workings until this,

Its latter office, grudgingly performed,

And further here and there, though many dead

Lie under the poor soil, some acts are chosen

Taken from recent winters; two there were

Cleaned out a damaged shaft by hand, clutching

The winch the gale would tear them from; one died

During a storm, the fells impassable,

Not at his village, but in wooden shape

Through long abandoned levels nosed his way

And in his final valley went to ground.

Go home, now, stranger, proud of your young stock,

Stranger, turn back again, frustrate and vexed:

This land, cut off, will not communicate,

Be no accessory content to one

Aimless for faces rather there than here.

Beams from your car may cross a bedroom wall,

They wake no sleeper; you may hear the wind

Arriving driven from the ignorant sea

To hurt itself on pane, on bark of elm

Where sap unbaffled rises, being Spring;

But seldom this. Near you, taller than grass,

Ears poise before decision, scenting danger.

August 1927


From the very first coming down

Into a new valley with a frown

Because of the sun and a lost way,

You certainly remain: to-day

I, crouching behind a sheep-pen, heard

Travel across a sudden bird,

Cry out against the storm, and found

The year's arc a completed round

And love's worn circuit re-begun,

Endless with no dissenting turn.

Shall see, shall pass, as we have seen

The swallow on the tile, Spring's green

Preliminary shiver, passed

A solitary truck, the last

Of shunting in the Autumn. But now

To interrupt the homely brow,

Thought warmed to evening through and through

Your letter comes, speaking as you,

Speaking of much but not to come.

Nor speech is close nor fingers numb,

If love not seldom has received

An unjust answer, was deceived.

I, decent with the seasons, move

Different or with a different love,

Nor question overmuch the nod,

The stone smile of this country god

That never was more reticent,

Always afraid to say more than it meant.

December 1927


Control of the passes was, he saw, the key

To this new district, but who would get it?

He, the trained spy, had walked into the trap

For a bogus guide, seduced with the old tricks.

At Greenhearth was a fine site for a dam

And easy power, had they pushed the rail

Some stations nearer. They ignored his wires.

The bridges were unbuilt and trouble coming.

The street music seemed gracious now to one

For weeks up in the desert. Woken by water

Running away in the dark, he often had

Reproached the night for a companion

Dreamed of already. They would shoot, of course,

Parting easily who were never joined.

January 1928


Taller to-day, we remember similar evenings,

Walking together in the windless orchard

Where the brook runs over the gravel, far from the glacier.

Again in the room with the sofa hiding the grate,

Look down to the river when the rain is over,

See him turn to the window, hearing our last

Of Captain Ferguson.

It is seen how excellent hands have turned to commonness.

One staring too long, went blind in a tower,

One sold all his manors to fight, broke through, and faltered.

Nights come bringing the snow, and the dead howl

Under the headlands in their windy dwelling

Because the Adversary put too easy questions

On lonely roads.

But happy now, though no nearer each other,

We see the farms lighted all along the valley;

Down at the mill-shed the hammering stops

And men go home.

Noises at dawn will bring

Freedom for some, but not this peace

No bird can contradict: passing, but is sufficient now

For something fulfilled this hour, loved or endured.

March 1928


Watch any day his nonchalant pauses, see

His dextrous handling of a wrap as he

Steps after into cars, the beggar's envy.

"There is a free one," many say, but err.

He is not that returning conqueror,

Nor ever the poles' circumnavigator.

But poised between shocking falls on razor-edge

Has taught himself this balancing subterfuge

Of the accosting profile, the erect carriage.

The song, the varied action of the blood

Would drown the warning from the iron wood

Would cancel the inertia of the buried:

Travelling by daylight on from house to house

The longest way to the intrinsic peace,

With love's fidelity and with love's weakness.

March 1929


Will you turn a deaf ear

To what they said on the shore,

Interrogate their poises

In their rich houses;

Of stork-legged heaven-reachers

Of the compulsory touchers

The sensitive amusers

And masked amazers?

Yet wear no ruffian badge

Nor lie behind the hedge

Waiting with bombs of conspiracy

In arm-pit secrecy;

Carry no talisman

For germ or the abrupt pain

Needing no concrete shelter

Nor porcelain filter.

Will you wheel death anywhere

In his invalid chair,

With no affectionate instant

But his attendant?

For to be held for friend

By an undeveloped mind

To be joke for children is

Death's happiness:

Whose anecdotes betray

His favourite colour as blue

Colour of distant bells

And boys' overalls.

His tales of the bad lands

Disturb the sewing hands;

Hard to be superior

On parting nausea;

To accept the cushions from

Women against martyrdom,

Yet applauding the circuits

Of racing cyclists.

Never to make signs

Fear neither maelstrom nor zones

Salute with soldiers' wives

When the flag waves;

Remembering there is

No recognised gift for this;

No income, no bounty,

No promised country.

But to see brave sent home

Hermetically sealed with shame

And cold's victorious wrestle

With molten metal.

A neutralising peace

And an average disgrace

Are honour to discover

For later other.

September 1929


Sir, no man's enemy, forgiving all

But will his negative inversion, be prodigal:

Send to us power and light, a sovereign touch

Curing the intolerable neural itch,

The exhaustion of weaning, the liar's quinsy,

And the distortions of ingrown virginity.

Prohibit sharply the rehearsed response

And gradually correct the coward's stance;

Cover in time with beams those in retreat

That, spotted, they turn though the reverse were great;

Publish each healer that in city lives

Or country houses at the end of drives;

Harrow the house of the dead; look shining at

New styles of architecture, a change of heart.

October 1929



It was Easter as I walked in the public gardens

Hearing the frogs exhaling from the pond,

Watching traffic of magnificent cloud

Moving without anxiety on open sky--

Season when lovers and writers find

An altering speech for altering things,

An emphasis on new names, on the arm

A fresh hand with fresh power.

But thinking so I came at once

Where solitary man sat weeping on a bench,

Hanging his head down, with his mouth distorted

Helpless and ugly as an embryo chicken.

So I remember all of those whose death

Is necessary condition of the season's setting forth,

Who sorry in this time look only back

To Christmas intimacy, a winter dialogue

Fading in silence, leaving them in tears.

And recent particulars come to mind:

The death by cancer of a once hated master,

A friend's analysis of his own failure,

Listened to at intervals throughout the winter

At different hours and in different rooms.

But always with success of others for comparison,

The happiness, for instance, of my friend Kurt Groote,

Absence of fear in Gerhart Meyer

From the sea, the truly strong man.

A 'bus ran home then, on the public ground

Lay fallen bicycles like huddled corpses:

No chattering valves of laughter emphasised

Nor the swept gown ends of a gesture stirred

The sessile hush; until a sudden shower

Fell willing into grass and closed the day,

Making choice seem a necessary error.

April 1929


Coming out of me living is always thinking,

Thinking changing and changing living,

Am feeling as it was seeing--

In city leaning on harbour parapet

To watch a colony of duck below

Sit, preen, and doze on buttresses

Or upright paddle on flickering stream,

Casually fishing at a passing straw.

Those find sun's luxury enough,

Shadow know not of homesick foreigner

Nor restlessness of intercepted growth.

All this time was anxiety at night,

Shooting and barricade in street.

Walking home late I listened to a friend

Talking excitedly of final war

Of proletariat against police--

That one shot girl of nineteen through the knees,

They threw that one down concrete stair--

Till I was angry, said I was pleased.

Time passes in Hessen, in Gutensber...

Biographie de l'auteur

W. H. Auden (1907-73) was born in York, England, and educated at Oxford. During the 1930s he was the leader of a left-wing literary group that included Christopher Isherwood and Stephen Spender. With Isherwood he wrote three verse plays. He lived in Germany during the early days of Nazism, and was a stretcher-bearer for the Republicans during the Spanish Civil War. Auden's first volume of poetry appeared in 1930. Later volumes include Spain (1937), New Year Letter (1941), For the Time Being, a Christmas Oratorio (1945), The Age of Anxiety (1947; Pulitzer Prize), Nones (1951), The Shield of Achilles (1955), Homage to Clio (1960), About the House (1965), Epistle of a Godson (1972), and Thank You, Fog (1974). His other works include the libretto, with his companion Chester Kallman, for Stravinsky's opera The Rake's Progress (1953); A Certain World: A Commonplace Book (1970); and The Dyer's Hand and Other Essays (1968). In 1939 Auden moved to the United States and became a citizen in 1946, and beginning that year taught at a number of American colleges and universities. From 1956 to 1961 he was professor of poetry at Oxford. Subsequently he lived in a number of countries, including Italy and Austria, and in 1971 he returned to England. He was awarded the National Medal for Literature in 1967.

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Amazon.com: 12 commentaires
24 internautes sur 26 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
A First Auden, better than ever 26 décembre 2008
Par Rico - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché
Over four Christmases, this title sat on my Amazon wish list, ignored by my wife. This year, I bought it myself and let her wrap it for me. How lucky that, while my wish for this book sat ungranted, Edward Mendelson added explanatory notes and twenty poems to his original selection. The additional poems in this "Expanded Edition" include the lovely "Funeral Blues," whose recitation in "Four Weddings and a Funeral" provided most of that movie's emotional heft and social import.

The poems that Mendelson, Auden's literary executor, selected for this volume are printed here in their first book-published versions. Mendelson also edited Auden's "Collected Poems," from which Auden himself excluded some poems and for which he revised others. Mendelson discusses the choice between "Selected Poems" and "Collected Poems" in the Introduction to this book:

"The present selection ... [reprints] the texts of Auden's early editions and [includes] poems that he later rejected. A historical edition of this kind, one that reflects the author's work as it first appeared in public rather than his final version of it, is not intended as an argument that Auden's revisions or rejections were arbitrary or misguided; he had strong literary and ethical motives for choosing them, and in almost every instance they produced versions of his poems that were more coherent and complex than the originals. Probably the best way to experience Auden's work is to read the early versions first for their greater immediate impact, and the revised versions afterward for their greater subtlety and depth. For most readers this book will be a First Auden, and the edition of his 'Collected Poems' that was published posthumously according to his final intentions may be recommended as a Second."
25 internautes sur 28 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
For lovers of Auden's poetry 20 février 2007
Par Armchair Interviews - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché
W.H. Auden was a twentieth century English poet. He emphasized the individual, past and present, in their frail condition.

Auden's writing varied as to subject, style, and type as he aged. Love poems, politics, culture, morals, individuals; what a wealth of poetry the public has from Auden because of the number of years he lived and wrote. Twenty poems have been added to this expanded edition including some of Auden's lighter poems. This aids the reader, student, or lover of Auden to see a more complex, complete, fuller and well-rounded poet.

A nice touch within the volume was the inclusion of brief notes explaining references that might be unclear. Other positive features consisted of chronological arrangement of material, and an index of titles and first lines.

Armchair Interviews says: A must for all Auden students, whether a casual reader or lover of his poetry.
20 internautes sur 26 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Start from the back 10 juillet 2010
Par L. Jordan Bickel - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
The poems are arranged chronologically. I started at the front and got stuck - the language is thick and too abstracted for my taste. I almost gave up on him, but decided to read his later stuff before putting it down. I then read the book back to front and enjoyed his material from the 1960's the very best. I'm glad I didn't give up. My suggestion, start from the back.
2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Essential 1 janvier 2014
Par R. Albin - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
This is the revised edition of a selection of Auden's poems. Both this edition and the original selection were prepared by Auden's literary executor, Edward Mendelson. The original edition contained 100 poems. This edition adds 20 poems, including some of Auden's lighter work, to give a broad prespective on Auden's work. Potential readers need to be aware of 2 important features of this selection. While there are some selections from some of Auden's longer works, the full texts of most longer poems are necessarily excluded. Later in life, Auden revised parts of some poems and even omitted some well known poems from his collected works. Mendelson chose the earliest texts for this book. The selected poems include all of Auden's most famous work and cover the whole breadth of his career.

This book is simply wonderful reading. Auden is one of the greatest poets of the 20th century and one of the greatest in the English language. His wonderfully controlled use of and variety of language, moral vision, wit, and unobtrusive erudition are peerless among modern poets. For anyone wishing to read more Auden, I also recommend the Collected Works.
4 internautes sur 6 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
A passionate soul 23 août 2009
Par Charlene Smith - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché
WH Auden is one of the most beautiful writers and poets on love and loss, deeply intellectual, inherently questioning, this collection from evocative countryside penscapes to beautiful, beautiful words on relationships and the inner turmoil and joy they cause. This book is essential to anyone who knows and loves Auden or has yet to meet the vibrant passions within his words.
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