A Poem of Henry Reed
This is the title poem of the only volume of verse Reed published in his lifetime.
This is the title poem of the only volume of verse Reed published in his lifetime.
Thomas Hardy, though best known for his novels, was a poet who exercised significant influence on the next generation.
I don’t know how many of our readers know enough French to work through this brief poem, but for them, I shall give a few notes as well as the bald translation. If anyone knows of a good translation, I shall add it to the post.
Douglas Young was a classical scholar, poet, historian, and Scottish nationalist. He died in 1973 after unwisely taking up running for his health.
As I sat at the café, I said to myself,
They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
This poem is one of Swift’s masterpieces. His savage wit, his ruthless dissection of human motives, his arrogance–and his self-contempt–all combine to produce a masterful satire.