All is vanity
Interestingly, my post about Musée des Beaux Arts seems to have got quite a few hits during the last 24 hours. From an average of a few visits a day – mostly, I am sure, from generously minded friends – there was a sudden peak of several hundred hits, mostly from the U.S.
Either, I suppose, a freshman or GenEd poetry class has been assigned the poem for analysis with the deadline coming up in the very near future, and have therefore been frantically searching the net for the equivalent of a SparkNotes interpretation.
Otherwise, there must exist some kind of search motor multiplication function related to the keywords in the title – Auden’s vineyard – of which I’m not aware, in which case I’m being fooled by perfectly impersonal equations. I guess the next few days will show.
In the first case, I am of course happy to supply the net with easily understandable (not to say slightly superficial) comments on poetry – although I am sure the reader will be aware that the “loose immodest tone” that easily emerges out of the blog format might not provide the very best of examples for (academic) imitation. For all you know, there are gruesome factual slip-ups in there. (You are certainly more than welcome to participate in the informal “peer review” the internet makes so available!)
Regardless (unless someone should confirm the ‘eqations’ hypothesis), this does very good, or bad, things for my vanity, according to which point of view one adheres to. Luckily for me there are – of course there are – several apt reminders pertaining to such vanity to be found in Auden’s poetry.
How hard to stretch imagination
To live according to our station.
For we are all insulted by
The mere suggestion that we die
Each moment and that each great I
Is but a process in a process
Within a field that never closes.
Have a good weekend!