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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
| WITH RUE MY HEART IS LADEN... |
| 05.28.05 (4:11 pm) [edit] |
|
I love British poets. Not the modern ones, I’m not big on much that is modern. I’m speaking of the ones long deceased. There a quality about them. They are so dreary and don’t feel the need to apologize for it. I first discovered them when I blindly took an advanced English class my sophomore year of college. I didn’t realize it was an advanced class. A sorority sister talked me into it when she discovered that it was an opportunity to sit next to a boy who I was briefly smitten with. As it turned out, my interest in the boy did not last through Yeats and for the remainder of the semester I struggled to keep my head above water. Each time the professor asked a question, I would pray that he would call on one of the more enlightened members of the class… one of the brooding, intelligent ones who so obviously read the dictionary while sitting on the toilet. I was a party girl looking for a date… nobody was dying to hear my view of W.H. Auden…or so I thought. As it was bound to happen, one day the professor called on me. Well aware that I was a fish out of water, he taunted me, waiting--I decided-- for me to fail. Schuster; I remember that he called me Schuster because for some reason it scared the crap out of me… Schuster, what was Housman writing about in this poem? Stammering and sweating, I said the first thing that came to my mind… "it’s about death". I felt the shame of their indignant looks burning on my neck…stupid sorority girl. I’m sure that the professor was the only person more shocked than I was by my correct answer. From that day on, I sat up a little straighter. I made an honest effort to understand the thought and emotion behind the words. Sometimes I actually raised my hand; and when all else failed I stuck to my theory that I had a good chance of being correct by answering that it was either about love, or death, or both. It is so much easier to believe the worst about ourselves. Anyway, as my writing can never compare to the British poets that I have come to know and love, and as I am feeling a bit dreary myself this Memorial Day weekend… I thought that I would share two of my favorites poems by A.E. Housman. If you want to read something uplifting look up Maya Angelou. If you want a dose of raw emotion reflective of my mood… read on. It is, after all, Memorial Day. To an Athlete Dying Young by A. E. Housman (1859-1936) The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. Today, the road all runners come, Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields were glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut, And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out, Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. So set, before its echoes fade, The fleet foot on the sill of shade, And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. And round that early-laurelled head Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, And find unwithered on its curls The garland briefer than a girl's. WITH RUE MY HEART IS LADEN WITH rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipt maiden And many a lightfoot lad. By brooks too broad for leaping The lightfoot boys are laid; The rose-lipt girls are sleeping In fields where roses fade. |
posted by: fangeezer (reply)
post date: 05.28.05 (1:36 pm)
beautiful blog
posted by: billlyryan (reply)
post date: 05.28.05 (4:30 pm)
I think you are one of the most amazing people I've ever come across. I think you are breathtakingly beautiful- not only in your memory and grief but your heart as well.
I don't think I can ever get enough of your words, no matter how they come out of your heart.
posted by: FinalyFree (reply)
post date: 05.28.05 (9:29 pm)
This poem was one of my assignments in Honors English in High School. I was under the supervision of the esteemed Dr. Wilson, yes a PH.d teaching High School students. He bears a striking resemblance to your professor. However, the fears you speak of take me back to Comp 101, I think I may have pee'd my pants the first time I was called upon.
Lovely post, Lori.
posted by: JAS (reply)
post date: 05.29.05 (5:30 pm)
Beautiful Blog. It's so much fun to learn new thing about you. As your mom, I thought I knew everything. lol.....but do moms ever know everything about there kids? I just look forward to finding out more. I always thought you where an interesting child, but your even more interesting as an adult. Thank you for sharing your thoughts....love you......mumsy
posted by: speshy (reply)
post date: 05.30.05 (3:38 pm)
W.H. Auden...I loved his poem..funeral blues.. right? :)
I'm in agreeance with everyone that's commented on this blog..I'm always amazed at your writing and how you express yourself... I love reading your blog- and I hope you'll continue writing for a long time!
K
posted by: max (reply)
post date: 05.30.05 (11:19 pm)
love it
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 05.31.05 (4:55 pm)
Reply to: fangeezer
thank you...and thanks for looking past my
dark mood. :)
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 05.31.05 (4:57 pm)
Reply to: billlyryan
I never know what to say to you... you are always so kind and encouraging. I think so highly of you... so your words mean so much more. I hope... and I mean this in all seriousness... I hope very much that we meet someday. thanks again.
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 05.31.05 (5:10 pm)
Reply to: FinalyFree
:) weren't we just silly little girls thinking we were all grown up? there is always that person who knows how to push all of your buttons...i wonder why in our case they were English Professors? I wouldn't want to be 19 again for any reason... well, perky breasts maybe... but other than that... no way. thanks.
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 05.31.05 (5:12 pm)
Reply to: JAS
oh mama... if you ONLY KNEW the stories I could tell you... it would make your toenails curl! I'm glad you like it. Looking forward to our weekend. Love you.
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 05.31.05 (5:19 pm)
Reply to: speshy
yes... funeral blues...stop all the clocks.
thank you so much for your kind words and for reading. I hope to continue writing until I am either six feet under or someone breaks my fingers...
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 05.31.05 (5:22 pm)
Reply to: max
thank you maxwell... my only son. how ya doin?
posted by: altricial (reply)
post date: 06.01.05 (10:18 am)
Lovely Post. Lovely Poems. Thank You.
posted by: FinalyFree (reply)
post date: 06.01.05 (12:07 pm)
Reply to: LoriSchuster
Oh ya, perky breasts for sure!
posted by: lindy (reply)
post date: 06.03.05 (8:25 am)
'one of the brooding, intelligent ones who so obviously read the dictionary while sitting on the toilet.'
That made me snort out loud. How embarrassing.
Ach, that horrid dread seeping through you with anticipation of being called upon for something you have no confidence in knowing... and when it happens, thousands of tiny nerves shoot through bottom side just like the moment you knew you were about to receive a spanking from your father... yech!
'To an athlete dying young' gave me goose bumps so intensely that I felt my arms shaking. I know, had I read it in high school, I'd not have felt the same way as I possessed neither interest or intellect to appreciate the emotion trapped within Housman's walls.
I have a good friend who introduced me to the writing of Maya Angelou. The first poem I read of hers sent me reeling. The second had me on the floor in awe. I am not surprised to find her referenced here. Amazingly, it came to pass that my friend spent an evening in the company of this powerful life force known as Maya Angelou. I know that as a new reader, the moment wouldn't have been as meaningful to me as it was to her.
This was a lovely collection of your sentiments, Lori. Errr, I mean, 'Schuster!'
Grace, beauty, humor, strength.
Alison Haley Cloud
Nov. 16, 1987-March 1, 2005
