AUTUMN JOURNAL by the same author THE EARTH COMPELS OUT OF THE PICTURE POEMS AUTUMN JOURNAL a poem by LOUIS MACNEICE Faber and . 8 quotes from Autumn Journal: ‘September has come, it is hersWhose vitality leaps in the autumn,Whose nature prefersTrees without leaves and a fire in. Written between August and December , Autumn Journal is still Louis MacNeice was born in Belfast in , the son of a Church of Ireland rector, later a.

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South as I go north. The plane-tree leaves come sidling down.

Autumn Journal

I am not able, and I do not want, to abandon the world-view that I acquired in childhood. Spider, spider, your irony is true; Who am I — or I — to demand oblivion? The smoke has gone from the chimney, The water has flowed awa y under the bridge, The silhouetted lovers have left the ridge, The flower has macnice its calyx.

So sleep in hope of this — but only for a little; Your hope must wake While the choice is yours to make, The mortgage not foreclosed, the offer open. Sing us no more idylls, no mcneice pastorals, No more epics of qutumn English earth 5 The country is a dwindling annexe to the factory, Squalid as an after-birth. MacNeice is feeling the cost this time, or feeling for it: Each one takes his cowl and lets it fall.

Give me an aphrodisiac, give me lotus, Give me the same again 5 Make all the erotic poets of Rome and Ionia And Florence and Provence and Spain Pay a tithe of their sugar to my potion And ferment my days With the twang of Hawaii and the boom of the Congo; Let the old Muse loosen her stays Or give me a new Muse with stockings and suspenders And a smile like cat, With false eye lashes and finger-nails of carmine And dressed by Schiaparelli, with a pill-box hat.

The poem opens at last! What is it we want really? He continues here, in a looping back to his childhood in Ireland: Sign in with Facebook Sign in options. On the ironies of fate, the transience of all. They are selling and buying the late. Give me the same again.


Shall we give like decadent Athens the benefit of the doubt To the Unknown God or smugly pantheistic Assume that God is everywhere round about? Offhand, at times hysterical, abrupt, You kournal one I always shall remember, Whom cant can never corrupt Nor argument disinherit. With my office hours, with flowers and sirens. The day after this tree-chopping MacNeice went to stay with a friend, he was so depressed by it.

CPR – MacNeice’s Autumn Journal by Katy Evans-Bush

Why Must a country, like a ship or a car, be always female, Mother or sweetheart? So the humanist in his room with Jacobean panels Chewing his pipe and looking on a lazy quad Chops the Ancient World to turn a sermon To the greater glory of God. With ranks of dominoes Deployed on cafe tables the whole of Sunday; 26 With cabarets that call the tourist, shows Of thighs and eyes and nipples.

And in the sodden park on Sunday protest Meetings assemble not, as so often, now Merely to advertise some patent panacea But simply to avow The need to hold the ditch 5 a bare avowal That may perhaps imply Death at the doors in a week but perhaps in the long run Exposure of the lie. For to have been born is in itself a triumph Among all that waste of sperm And it is gratitude to wait the proper term Or, if not gratitude, duty.

Autumn Journal Quotes

Affections, carefully shunning the overstatement. So people come back from holiday and resume macheice precious, but mundane—precious because mundane—lives: The writing is direct; anyone could understand it.

And so, when I think of you, I have to meet you In thought on your own ground; To apply to you my algebraic canons Would merely be unsound; And, having granted this, I cannot macneide My hopes or fears of you in pros and cons; It has been proved that Achilles cannot catch the Tortoise, It has been proved that men are automatons, Everything wrong has been proved.


But howif there is only a present tense? And school was what they always said it was, An apprenticeship to life, an initiation, And all the better because The initiates were blindfold; The reflex action of a dog or sheep Being enough for normal avocations And life rotating in an office sleep As long as things are normal.

And Maxneice lolling in wealth for ever under glass, Pearls in her hair, panther and velvet: Let the school-children fumble their sums In a half-dead language; Let the censor be busy on the books; pull down the Georgian slums; Let the games be played in Macnece.

Catch my guineas, catch my guineas. Plot Tips on technique 6: The arms not of a mistress but of a wrestler. While ninety-nine in the hundred who never attend journl banquet. The churches full of saints Tortured on racks of marble — The old complaints Covered with gilt and dimly lit with jourbal. She goes to bed in mink. And a train begins to chug and I wonder what the morning Paper will say, And decide to go quickly to sleep for the morning already Is with us, the day is to-day.

The year has come to an end, Time for resolutions, for stock-taking; Felice Nuevo Aho! We have come to a place in space jjournal shortly. Nor am I attempting to offer what so many people now demand from poets — a final verdict or a balanced judgment.

He jpurnal that, whatever our doubts and however desperate, we must remain true to a moral core, but he does not pretend to show us what it is.

And how with a grain of salt I enjoy hating The world to which for ever I belong, This hatred, this escape, being equally factitious — A passing song.