TEN SONGS
(Song Number One)
W. H. Auden (1907 - 1973)

There was never any question that I would get around to offering a poem by Auden. He certainly was one of the 20th century's finest English language poets, and I have long had a great fondness for his work. In fact, I am sure I will return to Auden numerous times.

The problem has been to choose which Auden poem to offer first. The logical choice was "September 1939." It is his best known poem from that period at the beginning of World War II, when, I believe, he wrote some of his best poetry. But aside from the poem's best known, and certainly factual line, which refers to the 1930's as a "low dishonest decade," I am not really fond of it. Interestingly, neither was Auden, who tried to exclude it from his collected works.

So I have settled on the opening "song" in "Ten Songs." I like this poem because it is powerful, as much of Auden's work is. And I like it because it is simple, as much of his work is not. Auden could be maddeningly obtuse at times, a technique that, if it is done well, can provide a wonderful, intellectually stimulating experience. But, in my opinion, nothing beats a great poet offering his thoughts straight up, no ice and no chaser. This poem definitely meets that criterion.

This poem is highly emotional, reflecting the terrible problems that German Jews were facing at the time in their effort to find sanctuary from the Nazis. It is worth noting in this context, that Auden, who was gay, had married Thomas Mann's daughter, Erika Mann, in 1935, in order to provide her with a passport out of Nazi Germany. Mann himself got out just in time, in 1938.

Auden was born into a middle-class family in York, England. His father was a doctor, his mother a devout Anglo-Catholic. He began writing poetry as a student at Christ Church, Oxford, and published his first book of poems at the age of 21. His early work was decidedly leftist. In keeping with these leanings, he went to Spain as a civilian in support of the Republican side in the revolution, where he wrote one of his most controversial poems, Spain 1937. He later disowned this poem, and in reaction to the desecration of the Catholic churches and the slaughter of priests, which he witnessed while in Spain, he began his movement away from his left wing politics toward the distinctive Anglo-Catholic religiosity that marked the rest of his career.

Ten Songs (Number One)

Say this city has ten million souls,
Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:
Yet there's no place for us, my dear, yet there's no place for us.

Once we had a country and we thought it fair,
Look in the atlas and you'll find it there:
We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now.

In the village churchyard there grows an old yew,
Every spring it blossoms anew:
Old passports can't do that, my dear, old passports can't do that.

The consul banged the table and said:
'If you've got no passport you're officially dead':
But we are still alive, my dear, but we are still alive.

Went to a committee; they offered me a chair;
Asked me politely to return next year:
But where shall we go to-day, my dear, but where shall we go to-day?

Came to a public meeting; the speaker got up and said:
'If we let them in, they will steal our daily bread';
He was talking of you and me, my dear, he was talking of you and me.

Thought I heard the thunder rumbling in the sky;
It was Hitler over Europe, saying: 'They must die';
We were in his mind, my dear, we were in his mind.

Saw a poodle in a jacket fastened with a pin,
Saw a door opened and a cat let in:
But they weren't German Jews, my dear, but they weren't German Jews.

Went down to the harbour and stood upon the quay,
Saw the fish swimming as if they were free:
Only ten feet away, my dear, only ten feet away.

Walked through a wood, saw the birds in the trees;
They had no politicians and sang at their ease:
They weren't the human race, my dear, they weren't the human race.

Dreamed I saw a building with a thousand floors,
A thousand windows and a thousand doors;
Not one of them was ours, my dear, not one of them was ours.

Stood on a great plain in the falling snow;
Ten thousand soldiers marched to and fro:
Looking for you and me, my dear, looking for you and me.

March 1939

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