A Shropshire Lad and Other Poems: The Collected Poems of by A. E. Housman

By A. E. Housman

A. E. Housman was once one of many best-loved poets of his day, whose poems conjure up a powerful and idyllic rural global imbued with a poignant feel of loss. they're expressed in basic rhythms, but convey an exceptional ear for the subtleties of metre and alliteration. His scope is broad -- starting from non secular doubt to severe nostalgia for the nation-state. This quantity brings jointly 'A Shropshire Lad' (1896) and 'Last Poems' (1922), in addition to the posthumous choices 'More Poems' and 'Additional Poems', and 3 translations of extracts from Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides that reveal his mastery of Classical literature.

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Only the sound of silence breaking on silence. Night presses its body down upon the ice tired after the long hunt. Its gleaming fur smells of distance, of men’s fires. Night’s milk is cold. They try a long-handled net first. Then bare hands, grabbing at shoulders, scruff of the neck. The dog has no further inside himself to shrink. The men’s arms or the ice. Their shouts echo and the world has edges again. 43 Frozen Boot Before anything made sense and I was wandering in the ancient city of my ancestors where there was always rain impending and later the threat of snow I wrapped a scarf around my head and kept on walking pausing on Žaliasis bridge the menacing bronze figures scythe-wielding farmer giant factory worker waiting for me on either end it was a kind of medicine to be suspended for a while a tiny drop of water trembling over the icy river and when I finally crossed the bridge I ran my hand along the frozen boot of the factory worker because how else do you talk to statues, later I visited Mary’s shrine the air sweating ambergris my lungs purged of breathlessness and idle chatter my trembling stilled and it was bestowed upon me on my way back a paper snowflake lying on the sidewalk 44 Proof For Adele Chudzik The day they moved your belongings outside it snowed, the flakes came to rest on your stained pillow, huge clustered snowflakes clung to a pile of paperbacks.

In a sudden scrawl he was gone, a body of poured water flowing till the dust drank him in. 38 Fist The octopus frightened me the first time I saw it—I didn’t believe something so strange lived even in a place I couldn’t see. It flew forcefully through the water a human hand gesturing with a dancer’s confidence and sometimes the anger of a fist. I stood before the tank in the darkened room beads of spotlight scattering upon the water’s surface the heavier oil of light plunging down into that square of cold sea.

Yet it’s flying and spinning because it too was flung once. I watch the stars fall, and my blood ignites as it feels its way through my body. As if the hum of everything out there suddenly here, called my name. 28 I Stood Still I stood still and the journey came to find me no matter that I was unprepared the journey carried me along on its back each step it took echoed up from the earth and settled in my bones we have come so far my body is filled with hoof beats when we get there my weapon will become my offering this blade of glittering distance 29 Pebbles Saying goodbye to a place is never easy, how does one go about it, no one to speak to, no words to say just memories and regrets that will remain unincarnate.

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