Heres a virtual movie of WH Auden reading his much loved poem "Musee des Beaux Arts" This time voiced by myself and set to a bit of Twilighty zone type music. I love this poem it is my favourite WH Auden poem,and I must admit when I made this recording I had never heard the recording of Auden himself reading his poem so this is how I imagined he might have read it,and I rather like the sound of my reading.Auden was one of the better poets for reading his own work. Alas some of the great poets were not that great at reciting their own works,but Auden was one of the most experienced and media savvy poets of his era,but enjoyable as his reading is I reckon even he doesnt get the full potential out of his many layered, thought provoking little homage to a fine painting and the human condition so in my reading I try to extract a little more of the the Pathos in Audens very knowing words.W.H. Auden's best known poem 'Musee des Beaux Arts' is about the reaction of people to the suffering of other persons and the relation of art to human response to suffering. The poem makes a reference to the mythological character Icarus who falls to the ocean after the wax wings made by his father Daedalus melt, and who subsequently drowns. 'Musee des Beaux Arts' and its portrayal of human apathy to suffering, the physical universe and redemptive death are evaluated.You can see the painting he is refering to here..http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/...Kind Regards Jim Clark All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2008Musee des Beaux Arts W.H. Auden About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters; how well, they understood Its human position; how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along; How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting For the miraculous birth, there always must be Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating On a pond at the edge of the wood: They never forgot That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse Scratches its innocent behind on a tree. In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on. [ More Detail ]
Heres a virtual movie of WH Auden reading his much loved poem "Musee des Beaux Arts" W.H. Auden's best known poem 'Musee des Beaux Arts' is about the reaction of people to the suffering of other persons and the relation of art to human response to suffering. The poem makes a reference to the mythological character Icarus who falls to the ocean after the wax wings made by his father Daedalus melt, and who subsequently drowns. 'Musee des Beaux Arts' and its portrayal of human apathy to suffering, the physical universe and redemptive death are evaluated.You can see the painting he is refering to here..http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/bruegel/icarus.jpgKind Regards Jim Clark All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2008Musee des Beaux Arts W.H. Auden About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters; how well, they understood Its human position; how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along; How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting For the miraculous birth, there always must be Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating On a pond at the edge of the wood: They never forgot That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse Scratches its innocent behind on a tree. In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on. [ More Detail ]
Part One: http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=XMP_klii_E0 [The Poem]Commentary on the poem Under Which Lyre, by Auden, looking at its relevance today and how it questions the meaning of art, education and life.No small task!http://members.wizzards.net/~mlworden/atyp/auden.htm [ More Detail ]
Under Which LyreA Reactionary Tract for the TimesThe text is too long to print here, but if you wish to read along it can be found at:http://members.wizzards.net/~mlworden/atyp/auden.htmMy favourite poem of all time? Possibly. [ More Detail ]
I should preface this entry by saying that today's video almost didn't happen. I was immediately out of the house when I woke up this morning and have gotten back just in time to pick out a poem and do a reading of it. Conversely, I could have done another haiku or a short lyric poem, but I really didn't have much writing time today. Tomorrow there should be another full entry.I also selected this Auden poem because it's one of my favorites. I was going to do a Billy Collins one, but chances are that I'm going to be doing another cover Saturday and/or Sunday because of a busy weekend, so keep an eye out for Collins in the near future. This poem doesn't have an official title as far as I know, it's usually just called by the first line, like a lot of the Dickinson poems are. Anyway, here's the text.W.H. AudenStop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come.Let aeroplanes circle moaning overheadScribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.He was my North, my South, my East and West,My working week and my Sunday rest,My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.For nothing now can ever come to any good. I was also looking to the side of the screen this time because that's where the text was on screen. I would have rerecorded it, but I had enough background noise in this one that I didn't want to risk having to do ten more takes.Enjoy.I did not write this poem and cannot take any creative credit. All credit goes to W.H. Auden.I would also like to thank my second subscriber for the comments and the subscription! Also, everyone please subscribe, comment, rate, and share with friends! [ More Detail ]
Montenegro @ Auden Beat ClubJuly-12-2008www.myspace.com/israelmontenegrowww.beatport.com/artist/montenegroTracklisting:Johan Ilves - Strangers Cliff (Alex Young Remix)Montenegro - Walking on The StreetMembers Of Mayday - 10in01 (Montenegro Remix) [ More Detail ]
He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to beOne against whom there was no official complaint,And all the reports on his conduct agreeThat, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a saint,For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.Except for the War till the day he retiredHe worked in a factory and never got fired,But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,For his Union reports that he paid his dues,(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)And our Social Psychology workers foundThat he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every dayAnd that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it cured.Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declareHe was fully sensible to the advantages of the Installment PlanAnd had everything necessary to the Modern Man,A gramophone, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.Our researchers into Public Opinion are contentThat he held the proper opinions for he time of year;When there was peace, he was for peace; when there was war, he went.He was married and added five children to the population,Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his generation.And our teachers report that he never interfered with their education.Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard. [ More Detail ]
In the documentary "Night Mail" (1936), John Grierson narrates the opening scene with WH Auden's poem of the same name, "Night Mail." Auden wrote the poem specifically for the film. Visit my channel for more films that quote poetry.To make the poem's rhythm better sound like a chugging train, Auden's text was slightly altered for the film. Its original version is provided here. (On a personal note, this is one of my very favorite poems. I teared up the first time I heard it.)Night MailWH AudenThis is the Night Mail crossing the border,Bringing the cheque and the postal order,Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,The shop at the corner and the girl next door.Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb --The gradient's against her, but she's on time.Past cotton-grass and moorland boulderShovelling white steam over her shoulder,Snorting noisily as she passesSilent miles of wind-bent grasses.Birds turn their heads as she approaches,Stare from the bushes at her black-faced coaches.Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;They slumber on with paws across.In the farm she passes no one wakes,But a jug in the bedroom gently shakes.Dawn freshens, the climb is done.Down towards Glasgow she descendsTowards the steam tugs yelping down the glade of cranes,Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnacesSet on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.All Scotland waits for her:In the dark glens, beside the pale-green lochsMen long for news.Letters of thanks, letters from banks,Letters of joy from girl and boy,Receipted bills and invitationsTo inspect new stock or visit relations,And applications for situationsAnd timid lovers' declarationsAnd gossip, gossip from all the nations,News circumstantial, news financial,Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,Letters with faces scrawled in the margin,Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,Letters to Scotland from the South of France,Letters of condolence to Highlands and LowlandsNotes from overseas to Hebrides --Written on paper of every hue,The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,The chatty, the catty, the boring, adoring,The cold and official and the heart outpouring,Clever, stupid, short and long,The typed and printed and the spelt all wrong.Thousands are still asleepDreaming of terrifying monsters,Or of friendly tea beside the band at Cranston's or Crawford's:Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,Asleep in granite Aberdeen,They continue their dreams,And shall wake soon and long for letters,And none will hear the postman's knockWithout a quickening of the heart,For who can hear and feel himself forgotten? [ More Detail ]
In "Four Weddings and a Funeral" (1994), John Hannah, playing Matthew, reads WH Auden's poem "Funeral Blues." Visit my channel for more films that quote poetry.Funeral BluesWH AudenStop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good. [ More Detail ]
Andreas Schnermann, Inga Lühning, Joachim Król&Band. Live at "Schauspielhaus-Köln""Tell Me the truth about Love" W.H. AudenInga Lühning voiceJoachim Król rezitationAndreas Schnermann pianoMatthias Bergmann tp/flghPaul Heller saxKai Brückner guitDietmar Fuhr bassSebastian Merk drJohanne Stadelmann violin 1Malina Mantcheva violin 2Iryna Bayeva violaFelicia Merick cello [ More Detail ]
Andreas Schnermann, Inga Lühning, Joachim Król&Band. Live at "Schauspielhaus-Köln""Tell Me the truth about Love" W.H. AudenInga Lühning voiceJoachim Król rezitationAndreas Schnermann pianoMatthias Bergmann tp/flghPaul Heller saxKai Brückner guitDietmar Fuhr bassSebastian Merk drJohanne Stadelmann violin 1Malina Mantcheva violin 2Iryna Bayeva violaFelicia Merick cello [ More Detail ]