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or out-of-date,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)
