I’ve begun studying Autumn Journal (1939) with great love. Though shorter, it’s every bit as brilliant as Tennyson’s In Memoriam or Wordsworth’s Prelude.
I have to take my time to read the sections over and over, noticing and appreciating different things on each read—diction, rhythm, assonance, consonance, rhyme, closure, the power and pathos. I’m sorry it took me decades to find this very different Irish poet. He does not make me think of Yeats or Heaney but maybe Auden.
I would write more now but I have to meet with my friend Patricio, who’s going to advise me on how to fix my website—which I broke myself.