Modern poetry has a way of unearthing feelings that we sometimes forget. “Into My Heart an Air That Kills” written by A.E Housman compels me to relive the past in such a bitter sweet way. It reminds me of the house I once lived in when I was a child in South America. The house has been demolished and all signs that I once lived there has since been removed… But then again Housman and Hardy seem to follow me now. Especially Hardy. There isn’t a winter tree that doesnt “score the sky” as Hardy phrased it. I found myself looking up to the winter sky as the birds cheerfully chirped and I couldn’t help but think about “The Darkling Thrush”. It was beautiful and the branches scored the sky just as he said. The link leads to a reading of “The Darkling Thrush” that I personally loved I hope that you will too.

 

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