Nicholas Jenkins highlights that W.H Auden’s early works of profound poetic genius were moulded by the catastrophic aftermath of World War One. Even though the war is not explicitly referenced, it silently breathes life into the formation and context of his poems, seeping into his personal affairs and education. As the son of a medical professional who served in Gallipoli, and educated in institutions preparing young adults for a future impacted by the war, Auden was inevitably affected.
Jenkins proposes Auden’s awareness of how pride in one’s homeland was entwined with the growing influence of “national socialism” post-war. Primarily residing in rural England rather than urban London, Auden’s poetry bypasses the commercialized version of the country, instead they visually map out the profound depths of the countryside, marked by the scars of industrialization – places he explored as a youngster and university student. These poems achieved great popularity and recognition. A notable event in Auden’s life being the reception of the king’s gold medal for poetry at just 31, clad in borrowed attire, recognizing then that he had to abandon England to continue his evolution as a writer.
Nonetheless, Jenkins grapples with the private aspects of Auden’s life, primarily his romantic experiences. Details regarding Auden’s intimate relations, involving figures such as a priest, teachers, his own older brother, a landlady, sex-workers, and his students, are scandalous. Yet as an analyst, Jenkins seems ill-equipped to explore them. Rather than situating these facts within the context of homosexual middle-class men in the 1920s and 1930s, he supplies tenaciously Freudian interpretations of individual poems, overlooking clearly visible aspects.
Despite these inadequacies, Jenkins remains a fervent supporter of Auden, whose originality and intricate intelligence continue to be a source of inspiration. At a time when nationalism and identity politics had saturated the arts, Auden believed that a poet’s compassion should consistently favour the opposition. He daringly, albeit inaccurately, depicts England as an impregnable fortress perched on the Atlantic cliff, the barrier between continental Europe and the sea filled with exiles. As Auden observes how native narratives swiftly adopt him, he too departs for the “exile-filled seas” at the end of Jenkins’ analysis.
“Echoes from the grave resurface, recounting untold narratives of the IRA truce after three decades. Sarah Manguso’s ‘Liars’ provides a skillful depiction of an unbalanced marital relationship rife with dysfunction. ‘The Island’ brought to life by Nicholas Jenkins, probes into WH Auden’s deeply private sexuality, shedding light on the dying embers of traditional Englishness. ‘Prequel’, penned by Rachel Maddow, offers a thrilling tale about American fascists, though it comes at the expense of deep historical study. This forthcoming autumn will see the release of John McAuliffe’s latest assembly of poems, ‘National Theatre’.”