In fully half the poems the speaker is dead. In others, he is about to die or wants to die, or his girlfriend is dead. Death is a really important stage of life to Housman; without death, Housman would probably not have been able to be a poet. Housman, himself, died in
Not of much use to society, really. Yet one night when I was walking back home down Boulevard de Clichy, en route to Rue des Martyrs, I was accosted by a young woman who put her arm through mine and asked if I was a doctor. She was tall, and not especially pretty.
Was slightly dark-skinned, clearly of North African extraction, and not too made-up. She was well enough dressed. Come home with me. We came to a street called Rue Darcet, just after Place de Clichy, where we went upstairs to a squalid little apartment.
It was hardly an apartment, more a bedsit. I was surprised, however, to see three reproductions of what seemed to be portraits of eminent doctors hanging on her wall.
She opened a bottle of quite a decent burgundy, and offered me a cigar, which I declined. Undeterred, she lit one for herself and helped me with the wine. You had no grey in your beard then. I remember you well, coming out of serious operations, flushed with having handed that great surgeon his instruments — I forget his name.
There was a man who loved to cut, snip and trim. You were in awe of his ability to do amazing things in such a short amount of time. Admit it, my sweet. You are a doctor.
She took a bundle of papers from a cupboard, photocopies of old headshots of famous surgeons that we all might have heard of. She pointed to one and asked me if I recognised him. And this fellow is another surgeon who called your acquaintance a monster who wears his black soul on his face.
Because they disagreed on a diagnosis, and the patient died. It was the time of the rioting. I saw him once when he gave a talk at the Sorbonne. They all showed young doctors working as interns but none of them looked remotely like me. But others are kinder. I gathered from a couple of his colleagues that he was broke, so I invited him to come and see me as often as he liked, and ask for whatever he wanted.
I conveyed this to him indirectly. I have a fantasy, you see. I made my excuses about the hour being late, and got up to go. I thanked her for the wine and the conversation, and made my way down to the street. The sad people that are loose in the world, I thought. I was given the taste for horror so I could stand the world, as a knife leads to healing.
Is there such a thing as an innocent monster? All mad people should be protected. Who is to say why some of us exist, and why some of us might have been better served by not having come into existence.
He stayed in his redoubt in the Hautes Vosges on the slopes of Storckentopf, although to call his dwelling a redoubt was insulting it. No, it had been erected by the best Alsace builders to have all the grace and impregnability of a small medieval castle.
It was so elegantly made that some said the best German builders had been inveigled over the border to assist the French craftsmen.
What was there to bring le Meneur Joubert back to polluted and now dangerous Paris? Well, a head of state, even one self-appointed, had occasional matters of state to account for and the parliament was unfortunately still in Paris, a juicy target for any ambitious terrorist, of which there seemed to be a growing number.Mark Scroggins: Thank you very much for visiting the Quote Investigator blog and posting a wonderfully insightful comment.
Your expertise and helpfulness is deeply appreciated.
May 09, · The best blog for scholarly discussion of poetry is The Era of Casual urbanagricultureinitiative.com attention to what John Hollander has called 'the minute particulars of particular poems and the great particularities of particular poets' is forensic in breadth and detail.
urbanagricultureinitiative.com - The Academy of American Poets is the largest membership-based nonprofit organization fostering an appreciation for contemporary poetry and supporting American poets.
Alfred Edward Housman, a classical scholar and poet, was born in Fockbury in the county of Worcestershire, England on March 26, His poems are variations on the themes of mortality and the miseries of human condition Magill The Poetry of A.
Housman Housman was created in Burton-On-Trent, England, in , just as the US Civil War was ending. As a young child, he was disturbed by the information of slaughter from the former British colonies, which was changed profoundly.
The Seashell Anthology of Great Poetry [Christopher Burns] on urbanagricultureinitiative.com *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers.
Now in its sixth printing and adopted as a text by more than 50 top colleges and secondary schools. One well known prep school provides a copy of the anthology to each incoming freshman and the faculty teaches to the book for four .