The Poetry Of A E Housman Essay

unmistakable. However, these themes went entirely over the heads of the

people of Housman’s day, in the early 1900s.

The best known collection of Housman’s poetry is A Shropshire Lad,

published in 1925, followed shortly by More Poems, 1927, and Even More

Poems, 1928. Unsurprisingly, most collections have the same sense and

style. They could easily be one collection, in terms of stylistic

content. All show a sense of the fragility of life, the perversity of

existence, and a thinly veiled homosexual longing, in spite of the fact

that many of the poems apparently (but subliminally?) speak of young

women. It is clear from these works that women were only a metaphor for

love, which in Housman’s case usually did not include the female half of

society. More Poems contains perhaps the best statement of Housman’s

philosophy of life, a long, untitled poem (no. LXIX) with oblique

references to the town of his birth, Burton-on-Trent, and statements like

And while the sun and moon endure

Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure…

Indeed, how much more pessimistic can one be?

Not only a poet and storyteller, Housman was a noted classical scholar.

He is known for his extensive translations of the Greek classics,

especially Greek plays by Euripides and Sophocles. Unfortunately, the

bulk of his manuscripts were lost in a disastrous fire in his office at

Oxford, which was caused by a lit cigar falling into a stack of papers.

There were rumors that Housman was hidden in a closet with a young boy at

the time, and therefore did not see the fire in his own office until it

was too late to extinguish it. The Trustees of the college, however,

managed to squelch the rumors, and Housman’s academic tenure was not

threatened by the incident.

Now only a few gems of his poetic translation remain. One of the finest

is from Sophocles’ Alcestis, which begins

Of strong things I find not any

That is as the strength of Fate…

Indeed, a comment on Housman’s sense of fatalism.

Housman is considered a minor poet, primarily because of his use of rhyme

and meter, and frequent and effective use of imagery and symbolism. (It

is generally accepted that major twentieth-century poetry must inevitably

go beyond the strictures of late-nineteenth century styles, so any poet

using such styles can only be classed as minor.) Nonetheless, I like

him. I can forgive his sexual orientation, especially since my own

father and brother share it (and sometimes I wonder about myself!) His

wonderful poetry and other writings stand apart, by themselves, in their

unique and special splendor.