Zaterdag

23

Maart

Doggerel by a Senior Citizen

 Our earth in 1969

 Is not the planet I call mine,

 The world, I mean, that gives me strength

 To hold off chaos at arm's length.

 My Eden landscapes and their climes

 Are constructs from Edwardian times,

 When bath-rooms took up lots of space,

 And, before eating, one said Grace.

 The automobile, the aeroplane,

 Are useful gadgets, but profane:

 The enginry of which I dream

 Is moved by water or by steam.

 Reason requires that I approve

 The light-bulb which I cannot love:

 To me more reverence-commanding

 A fish-tail burner on the landing.

 My family ghosts I fought and routed,

 Their values, though, I never doubted:

 I thought the Protestant Work-Ethic

 Both practical and sympathetic.

 When couples played or sang duets,

 It was immoral to have debts:

 I shall continue till I die

 To pay in cash for what I buy.

 The Book of Common Prayer we knew

 Was that of 1662:

 Though with-it sermons may be well,

 Liturgical reforms are hell.

 Sex was of course -- it always is --

 The most enticing of mysteries,

 But news-stands did not then supply

 Manichean pornography.

 Then Speech was mannerly, an Art,

 Like learning not to belch or fart:

 I cannot settle which is worse,

 The Anti-Novel or Free Verse.

 Nor are those Ph.D's my kith,

 Who dig the symbol and the myth:

 I count myself a man of letters

 Who writes, or hopes to, for his betters.

 Dare any call Permissiveness

 An educational success?

 Saner those class-rooms which I sat in,

 Compelled to study Greek and Latin.

 Though I suspect the term is crap,

 There is a Generation Gap,

 Who is to blame? Those, old or young,

 Who will not learn their Mother-Tongue.

 But Love, at least, is not a state

 Either en vogue or out-of-date,

 And I've true friends, I will allow,

 To talk and eat with here and now.

 Me alienated? Bosh! It's just

 As a sworn citizen who must

 Skirmish with it that I feel

 Most at home with what is Real.

W.H. Auden (1907-1973)