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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In December I accepted a suggestion that I should visit Barcelona in company with some other English writers.
Throughout the poem night is falling, or day is dawning, and neither of them is trustworthy—though night always looks forward to day and jounal to night. But nobody can really avoid danger in a war.
Education gives us too many labels And cliches, cuts too many Gordian knots; 48 Trains us to keep the roads nor reconnoitre Any of the beauty-spots or danger-spots. Ebbing away down ramps of shaven lawn where close-clipped yew.
Countrymen macneicf shoot to kill and never. 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 journao perhaps imply Death at the doors in a week but perhaps in the long run Exposure of the lie. On the ironies of fate, the transience of all.
To this day there are no trees on the top of Primrose Hill; one can only mqcneice it. Passing like a patch of sun on the rainy hill And yet we love her for ever and hate our neighbour And each one in his will Binds his heirs to continuance of hatred.
Sleep, my fathers, in your graves On upland bogland under heather 5 What the wind scatters the wind saves, A sapling springs in a new country. The nicest people in England have always been the least Apt to solidarity or alignment But all of them must now align against the beast That prowls at every door and barks in every headline.
For common sense is the vogue And she gives her children neither sense nor money Who slouch around the world with a gesture and a brogue And a faggot of useless memories. Now, I think you may look, I think the jorunal is clear.
And I remember, when I was little, the fear Bandied among the servants That Casement would land at the pier With a sword and a horde of rebels; And how we used to expect, at a later date, When the wind blew from the west, the noise of shooting 61 Starting in the evening at eight In Belfast in the York Street district ; And the voodoo of the Orange hands Drawing an iron net through darkest Ulster, Flailing the limbo lands — The linen mills, the long wet grass, the ragged hawthorn.
And coming over the Chilterns the dead leaves leap Charging the windscreen like a barrage of angry 54 Birds as I take the steep Plunge to Henley or Hades. A city built upon mud; A culture built upon profit; Free speech nipped in the bud, The minority always guilty. Dublin Castle, the vice-regal ball, The embassies of Europe, Hatred scribbled on a wall, Gaols and revolvers. O This little pig went to market — Now I think you may look, I think the coast is clear.
Full text of “Autumn Journal”
This division gives it a dramatic quality, as different parts of myself e. And I shall remember how your words could hurt Because they were so honest And even your lies were able to assert Integrity of purpose.
The mind of Socrates still clicks macenice scissors And Christ who should lie quiet in the garden Flowered in flame instead. Now the till and the typewriter call the fingers. Where a warm wind blows the bodies of men together. Journaal has come, it is hers Whose vitality leaps in the autumn, Whose nature prefers Trees without leaves and a fire in the fire-place 5 So I give her this month and the next Though the whole of my year should be hers who has rendered already So many of its days intolerable or perplexed But so many more so happy; Who has left a scent on my life and left my walls Dancing over and over with her shadow, Whose hair is twined in all my waterfalls And all of London littered with remembered kisses.
Strip-tease, fireworks, all-in wrestling, gin. His viewpoint is subjective, and as such is by definition truthful.
Whose emotions are an intricate dialectic, Whose eagerness to live A many-sided life might be deplored as fickle, Unpractical, or merely inquisitive. Here he is, driving home dejectedly after the election of the pro-Munich Tory candidate, Lord Hailsham: But yet, my dear, if only for my own distraction, I have to try to assess Your beauty of body, your paradoxes of spirit, Even your jokrnal in dress. I was writing it from August until the New Year and macnece not altered any passages relating to public events in the light of what happened after the time of writing.
I cannot see their faces Walking in file, slowly in file; They have no shoes on their feet, the knobs of their ankles Catch the moonlight as they pass the stile And cross the moor among the skeletons of bog-oak Following the track from the gallows back to the town; Each has the end of a rope around his neck. Not strictly a journal but giving the tenor of my emotional experiences during that period.
And I hear dull blows on wood outside my window. So people come back from holiday and resume their precious, but mundane—precious because mundane—lives: Spider, spider, your irony is true; Who am I — or I — to demand oblivion?
Thus the section about Barcelona having been written before the fall of Barcelona, I autunm con- sider it dishonest to have qualified it retrospectively by my reactions to the later event. I have already had friends Among things and hours and people But taking them one by one — odd hours and passing people 5 Now I must make amends And try to correlate event with instinct And me with you or you and you with all, No longer think of time as a waterfall Abstracted from a river.
Insulates the lives of retired generals and admirals.
Autumn Journal Quotes by Louis MacNeice
A world where the many would have their chance without. And I try to feel her in fancy but the fancy Dissolves in curls of mist A, A.
With narrow wands of blue. 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 Gaelic.
Autumn Journal Quotes
No more a virgin, gone the garish meadow. Around November, Eliot wrote to MacNeice asking jourjal a statement about the poem to use for the catalogues, as Autumn Journal was slated for spring publication.
And certainly we did not linger, we went on Growing and growing, gluttons for the future, And four foot six was gone And we found it was time to be leaving 41 To be changing school, sandstone changed for chalk Journla ammonites for the flinty husks of sponges, Another lingo to talk And jerseys in other colours. And it is on the strength of knowing you I reckon generous feeling more important Than the mere deliberating what to do When neither the pros nor cons affect the macnneice.
Graham, edited by Matthew Francis. All that the tripper wants is the status quo. For here and now the new valkyries ride The Spanish constellations As over the Plaza Journak Orion lolls on his side; Droning over from Majorca To maim or blind or kill The bearers of the living will, The stubborn heirs of freedom Whose matter-of-fact faith and courage shame Our niggling equivocations — We who play for safety, A safety only in name.