Poem for today, Sunday, football on the telly , though that is not the suffering that I am feeling right now. I need to kick start myself out of a calamitous spiral which will end in tears, although I seldom cry, my tears are nearly always dry. I hope you read the poem, and go back over it. It is really quite marvellous in an understated wry sort of a way. I don’t know much about Auden, but this poem suggests a similar outlook on life to myself, rather too realist to be comfortable. As T S Eliot said ‘Humankind cannot bear too much reality’. I want to bury myself in some worthwhile pursuit to hide from a world that overwhelms and disappoints. My problem is lack of applicaton. I am a flibbertygibbit. I flit from one thing to another without becoming adept enough to be pleased with any outcome. Ahh well, I shall retreat to the bookshelf, to the solace of the poets, to the oblivion of the novelist.
Enjoy the week ahead, and let me know how you manage reality.