Now I watch my father turn and walk out
to the pastures where his mares are.
Alone, he lets his hands
drift over the deep chords in their
bodies, closing his blind eyes to that music.
W.H. Auden lived a secret life, not as a man with a second family or an illicit habit but as, weirdly enough, a genuinely kind human being. He paid for a friend’s costly operation and camped outside the apartment of a woman who suffered from night terrors until she felt safe enough to sleep on her own again. So why did the poet want to hide his good deeds? He claimed he didn’t want to be admired for basic decency.
"It’s easy to see why an actor who became famous very young might be captivated by others who were brought down by the same young fame. It’s easy to see why he might seek so much outside of Hollywood (the man now has five MFAs) even as he’s constantly told it’s where he belongs, and it gets harder to think he should stop. In this way, finding Bidart must have been like finding an angel — someone who supports and even champions his multifold pursuits."
APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land,
we’re graduating in may
do we seriously still have to do the reading
theres like three weeks left you cant be serious
mixing Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
can we have class outside
Failed poems about sex, ball of yarn
twists from pink to green
to tangerine, good for baby hats,
years left over, dump of deadly drafts
stinking of the notebooks, forms
to re-register for government help,
sew-your-own-clothes manual, unused,
abuts, it always does, T.J. Clark’s unread
The Absolute Bourgeois.