I discovered “Aubade” yesterday, via Ann Kennedy Smith’s Substack post on Larkin and his mother. Now it appears again, inviting me to know it better. A touchstone poem for me is “Birches” by Robert Frost. You have to reach a certain age to come anywhere close to getting it, and there is always more to discover or wonder about. It concludes:
Thank you for this, Rona. Lovely. I hope you have a wonderful time getting to know 'Aubade' climbing through its branches, perhaps. It is the most wonderful poem.
Thanks so much for sharing this, Ros. I love your comment on rhyme. I'm usually not a fan of rhyming poems, but there are some exceptions, especially when it comes to poems that use the rhyme so seamlessly you don't even notice it. I remember once I had to write an essay on Elizabeth Bishop's poem "Arrival at Santos," and after a week of studying it and commenting on it someone pointed out it was actually written in the ballad form. I slapped my forehead. It was so natural sounding that I had completely missed the fact it was a formal poem.
Thanks Ros. Yes me need more sensitive souls like yours.
I’d like to offer Ulysses by Tennyson. It was the favourite poem of an English graduate American friend of mine who died in a climbing accident. I miss him still. I recently performed it at an Open Mic night and a woman ran up to me as I was leaving and flung her arms around me thanking me for taking her to her ‘warm’ place. It was a lovely moment.
I discovered “Aubade” yesterday, via Ann Kennedy Smith’s Substack post on Larkin and his mother. Now it appears again, inviting me to know it better. A touchstone poem for me is “Birches” by Robert Frost. You have to reach a certain age to come anywhere close to getting it, and there is always more to discover or wonder about. It concludes:
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
Thank you for this, Rona. Lovely. I hope you have a wonderful time getting to know 'Aubade' climbing through its branches, perhaps. It is the most wonderful poem.
Thanks so much for sharing this, Ros. I love your comment on rhyme. I'm usually not a fan of rhyming poems, but there are some exceptions, especially when it comes to poems that use the rhyme so seamlessly you don't even notice it. I remember once I had to write an essay on Elizabeth Bishop's poem "Arrival at Santos," and after a week of studying it and commenting on it someone pointed out it was actually written in the ballad form. I slapped my forehead. It was so natural sounding that I had completely missed the fact it was a formal poem.
Thanks Ros. Yes me need more sensitive souls like yours.
I’d like to offer Ulysses by Tennyson. It was the favourite poem of an English graduate American friend of mine who died in a climbing accident. I miss him still. I recently performed it at an Open Mic night and a woman ran up to me as I was leaving and flung her arms around me thanking me for taking her to her ‘warm’ place. It was a lovely moment.
What a lovely illustration of the value of poetry.