Auden starts his poem off with an almost story like tone. It
has a bit of nonchalance to it’s wording.
It speaks of how the masters (of painting I presume) were spot on about
their subject matter. Auden
implies that many people go through their life time waiting for something
spectacular to happen. How children
don’t really want something like that to happen. How life keeps on pressing forward. In the last block Auden refers’ to
Breughel’s painting of Icarus.
Something fantastic happened, but in the end everyone was so busy with
their own lives that they barely pay the event any mind.
I like this poem
as a thought experiment. It feels
to me that Auden was making a comment on how people get so wrapped up in their
own things that it hardly registers when something exciting comes along. It makes me wonder how much that is
true, even in this modern age.
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