Untitled Poem by Kingsley Amis
Untitled
Things tell less and less:
The news impersonal
And from afar; no book
Worth wrenching off the shelf.
Liquor brings dizziness
And food discomfort; all
Music sounds thin and tired,
And what picture could earn a look?
The self drowses in the self
Beyond hope of a visitor.
Desire and those desired
Fade, and no matter:
Memories in decay
Annihilate the day.
There once was an answer:
Up at the stroke of seven,
A turn round the garden
(Breathing deep and slow),
Then work, never mind what,
How small, provided that
It serves another's good
But once is long ago
And, tell me, how could
Such an answer be less than wrong,
Be right all along?
Vain echoes, desist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 4:33:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Oh, what a disheartening glimpse of a person outliving a sense of adventure, a desire to see new places and hear new things, especially if it is old age stealing away the person's ability to enjoy by robbing the eyesight and the hearing and the ability to walk. I pray this is not necessarily true for every senior citizen.
Those who read my comments or my writings would see that I do not limit the scope of literature but neither do I reject poetry that is radiant with happiness as being unworthy of being read or enjoyed.. Shakespeare penned both tragedies and comedies and I think most lovers of literature enjoy both.
oh, do not mistake my comment for criticism. The topic is of course disheartening unless you are already heartless
I find it kind of limited in scope of sensibility that every poem should be radiant with happiness, or, as poet Joseph Payne Brennan used to put it: Discouraging verse is proscribed.