The voice that speaks to us in the poem is not necessarily the voice of the poet. It is not the voice of the commentator, either. Yet we all have voices within us that we need to recognize as a part – part – of who we are. Poets remind us of the multiple voices within that complexity that is the self.

In my view, which is probably jaundiced, Auden had a few golden years. His early poetry is, to my mind, precocious, flaunting his poetic powers even as he has not all that much to write about. His late poetry is overly Christian: like T. S. Eliot, he found a needed coherence as he aged by embracing religion.

This is an odd essay. I begin heading in one direction only to find myself, along the way, heading in an entirely different direction.