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Autumn Journal

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London “littered with remembered kisses” (IV), like Birmingham or Barcelona, contains dispersed things and people and their memories. Michael Carley is an engineering lecturer who would rather have written Autumn Journal or designed a testastretta desmo.

In his opening Note, written in March 1939, he says; “It is the nature of this poem to be neither final nor balanced. Now we are back to normal, now the mind is Back to the even tenor of the usual day, Skidding no longer across the uneasy camber Of the nightmare way. But ultimately for me, it was also simply delightful to have my particular interests in Ireland, poetry, modernism, and classical history blended so beautifully into one text. YOU CAN GET THIS OLD RARE BOOK AS GIVEN IN THE FIRST IMAGE OF LEATHER BINDING ONLY AGAINST REQUEST WITHOUT EXTRA CHARGES. Singled out by MacNeice to add and compile his dailiness, it seems fitting that the meanings of and and its disturbing presence will designate a very kinetic collection.

But he is also a man who is not married, one who does not have an access to an ivory tower, and, perhaps most importantly, one who does not have a funk–hole (VIII). Steve Ellis, "Dante and Louis MacNeice: A Sequel to the Commedia" in Dante’s Modern Afterlife, Palgrave Macmillan 1998, pp. Sommer argues that collection is a series of acts of collecting ( colligere) and a product of that collecting, a work or phenomenon that has lasting qualities and which always remains open even after it has been finished or abandoned. This form (a) gives the whole poem a formal unity but (b) saves it from monotony by allowing it a great range of appropriate variations. The French Catholic poet and diplomat, Paul Claudel (who Auden assured us would be pardoned by time ‘for writing well’) is supposed to have said the following: ‘In the Michael O'Loughlinshort space of time that remains to us after the crisis and before the catastrophe, let us drink a glass of champagne.

She notes in her Diary that, despite everything, she wanted to “gather rosebuds while we may” ( Diary 5: 165). At least it was possible to get through to the end, which seems like a near impossibility with new works just now.

There’s no other poem quite like Autumn Journal, and few which communicate that mixture of dread, distraction and incidental beauty which seems so uncannily descriptive of our own present moment. The inclusion and support of the ordinary and everyday in a verse journal contextualize the subject. They are here to talk about Louis MacNeice’s Autumn Journal (1939), a book-length poem in 24 stanzas.

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