To An Athele Dying Young

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'The time you won your town the race

We chaired you through the market-place;

Man and boy stood cheering by,

And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,

Shoulder-high we bring you home,

And set you at your threshold down,

Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away

From fields were glory does not stay

And early though the laurel grows

It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut

Cannot see the record cut,

And silence sounds no worse than cheers

After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout

Of lads that wore their honours out,

Runners whom renown outran

And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,

The fleet foot on the sill of shade,

And hold to the low lintel up

The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head

Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,

And find unwithered on its curls

The garland briefer than a girl's.'

A.E Housman

When i was wondering what to post today i realised that it has been a long, long time since i last did a poetry post, and that i've been missing it. So what better way to dive back into the land of verse than with one of my most favourite poets: Housman, and one of my most favourite poems by housman: To an athlete dying young.

This poem is bitter sweet, painfully and terribly so. Though it begins with a recollection of greater times, of victory and triumph, it moves quickly into the understanding that now is not one of those times, that the athlete in question has died young, and they are carrying him to his grave. 

Whether or not you are an athlete, believe me i am not, you can identify with this poem. Although it is ostensibly sad, how can death not be, it also consoles, in some bizarre way, the athlete in question. 'early though the laurel grows, it withers quicker than a rose', the speaker says, the laurel being the plant used when crowning an athlete, saying that athletic ability is fleeting, more fleeting than beauty even, and that death perhaps cements his victories and good name forever. 'Silence sounds no worse than cheers', the speaker says. 

This poem is so profound, and i love it dearly with all my heart. It was one of the first housman poems i ever read, or should i say heard, for the first time i was exposed to this poem was through the movie Out of Africa. Meryl Streep reads this poem when robert redford dies at the very end, and the tears fall, and fall and fall... Better to burn out than to fade away... who's that now... Neil Young maybe. The point is, in both of the cases, the athlete and robert redford, a young death, while not being celebrated exactly, should not always be mourned, and grieved inconsolably. The memory of their individual greatness lives on.

And what better time to think of this poem, and the message that is expounds, than soon after Heath Ledger's iconic post-humous golden globe win. We're all rooting for you heath, and can't wait to hear your name called our at the oscars next month. 

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

If you, like me, have a love of housman, then i'm sure you will share my love of this poem. If you don't know much housman, then i can whole-heartedly recommend him as one of my favourite poets, a real artist and a beautiful wordsmith. 'Loveliest of trees the cherry now' and 'here dead we lie' are my other favourites by him. What a master.

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