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Few volumes of poetry in the English language have enjoyed as much success with both literary connoisseurs and the general reader as A. E. Housman's A Shropshire Lad, first published in 1896. Scholars and critics have seen in these timeless poems an elegance of taste and perfection of form and feeling comparable to the greatest of the classic. Yet their simple language, strong musical cadences and direct emotional appeal have won these works a wide audience among general readers as well.
This finely produced volume, reprinted from an authoritative edition of A Shropshire Lad, contains all 63 original poems along with a new Index of First Lines and a brief new section of Notes to the Text. Here are poems that deal poignantly with the changing climate of friendship, the fading of youth, the vanity of dreams — poems that are among the most read, shared, and quoted in our language.
- Sales Rank: #1215282 in eBooks
- Published on: 2012-03-01
- Released on: 2012-03-01
- Format: Kindle eBook
From Library Journal
The great Housman's most famous collection here gets the facsimile treatment. The slim volume contains the complete text plus a scholarly introduction and a bibliography of related works. Though pricey, this is a gorgeous little edition.
Copyright 1995 Reed Business Information, Inc.
Review
Housman is a high-water mark of British lyric poetry, and this fine production captures perfectly his strong, melodic beat and decisive rhyme, and his wonderful way with words. Samuel West's cultivated Midlands accent may not be specifically Shropshire, but his voice and reading are true to Housman who was not, after all, some rough Shropshire lad himself but an Oxford don. His Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now and To an Athlete Dying Young are beautifully rendered here. West, you feel, reads poetry as it should be read confidently, with ease and conviction, as if all the world spoke in meter and rhyme. --D.A.W., AudioFile Magazine
About the Author
Housman was a classical scholar and poet.
Most helpful customer reviews
28 of 29 people found the following review helpful.
ghost-like remembrances of forgotten way of life.
By darragh o'donoghue
the title of 'A Shropshire Lad' indicates both rural specificity and human universality, and it is in the gap between the two that the poems' tension and tragedy lie. they evoke a timeless pastoral world, of streams, plains and roses; of ploughing, carousing and love-making; of villages, churches and football; all belonging to the unchanging cycle of the seasons. In this context man as a type, as a member of a community, is eternal also, not least in the folk idiom in which Housman's classical clarity is decaptively cloaked.
as an individual, however, the 'lad' is insubstantial, doomed to leave or die as rural life continues unchanging without him. Many of the poems are narrated by exiles or ghosts, crushed to find the old routine the same as if they had never existed - the phantom of 'Is my team ploughing?' discovers even his grieving sweetheart now warm in his interlocutor's bed; he of 'Bredon Hill' plans his wedding, only to attend his own funeral.
Housman uses a direct and simple vocabulary and metre with devastating resonances, the very music of the poetry at once rooted in the eternal communal land and yet indicative of sadness and loss. Written in 1896, the irony of death and change in the never-ending countryside was doubled by the reality that the countryside was changing, that the centuries-old lifestyles were being encroached on by industry and modernity - what seemed to be inviolable itself becomes obsolete. in hindsight, a third, poignant irony is added - within 20 years of publication, these lads would be sent to the slaughter in World War One, as previsioned in 'On the idle hill of summer'. One of Housman's greatest admirers, the composer George Butterworth, who wrote two song-cycles based on these beautiful poems, would be one such victim.
20 of 21 people found the following review helpful.
Easy, entertaining reading
By A Customer
Housman is one of those very popular poets that are looked down by your English professor as being low brow and unfit for the elect. If you're the type who claims to belong to these elite, good luck for your choice of a sour life, you should never be caught with this book.
Everybody else, dip in, the water is just fine.
In Housman's poetry, there is sense, and ideas you can understand on first reading. Moreover, there are rare qualities you seldom see nowadays - rhyme, rhythm, correct grammar, proper punctuation, and words spelled so you can confirm from any English dictionary that they were used right.
Be warned however that Housman's themes are repetitious (probably explains why he never wrote much poetry - perhaps he realized he is beginning to sound like a broken record even for the little poetry he was able to write), mostly about the transitoriness of youth and the tender sadness of death. Reading him too much too often is like listening to the greatest hits collection of a minor singer - after the third song, you get tired. But you did enjoy the first two.
When I first bought this book in April 2000, the list price was only $1.00 and Amazon's price was 80c. It was good value then even for someone living in Asia. Now that there's a special surcharge, I guess it's just good value if shipping cost is minimized.
For your money, however, try to find the old edition with line drawings. That was the first time I read Housman, and the line drawings realy enhanced the haunting loneliness of the sad poems.
15 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
A great poet who offers perfect gems in slender volumes
By L. E. Cantrell
Recently, I was appalled to discover that the top one hundred hits under the heading "A. E. Housman" do not disclose a single volume of his collected poetry to be in print, save for a ridiculously overpriced and bloated scholarly edition of interest only to plodding, dry-as-dust, doctoral candidates. This is a disgraceful state for one of the great poets of the turn of the Twentieth Century, one who in his miniaturist way was a peer of Elliott and Pound.
Alfred Edward Housman was born in 1859. At Oxford, he was universally regarded as a high-flyer, an odds-on favorite to win a "First in Greats." All went well until his final term in 1881, when he crashed and burned during a disastrous final examination. Not only did he fail to get his "First," he managed to get his degree only after months of delay, and that was a lowly, utterly undistinguished "pass".
Housman was, to say the least, not loquacious about his life. What seems to have happened was that he fell hopelessly, eternally, absurdly, romantically in love with one of his roommates, a stolidly athletic young man named Moses Jackson. Jackson, alas for Housman's hopes, proved to be inconveniently and irredeemably straight. Not long before the final examinations, Housman apparently declared his passion for Jackson, who seems politely, even kindly to have said something on the order of "No, thanks." In cricket terms, Housman was "hit for six" and he never recovered to the day he died.
Housman's expectations of an academic career went down in flames along with his "First." He slunk away from Oxford to work in the Patent Office, where--surprise, surprise--Jackson was also working, although the latter drew a higher salary because of his better degree. For ten years Housman toiled in these unfertile fields while on the side he contributed learned articles on classical subjects to the leading scholarly journals.
Such was the brilliance of the man that in 1892 he was unprecedentedly plucked directly from the academic sterility of the Patent Office to become Professor of Latin at London University College. In 1911, he moved up a very large notch to become a professor at Cambridge, a very unusual thing, then, for an Oxford man. He remained at Cambridge, recognized as one of the jewels in the University's crown, until he died.
Housman remained quietly attached to Jackson, even through Jackson's marriage and after he moved thousands of miles away to live in Vancouver, British Columbia (where I am writing this). Housman became the godfather for one of Jackson's children. When Jackson was on his deathbed in 1923, Housman rushed to him a copy of his second book of poetry, "Final Poems," so that Jackson might read it in his last hours. Jackson, of course, was the unnamed subject of some of the poems in that book, just as he had been in Housman's first, "A Shropshire Lad."
After Housman's death in 1936, his younger brother, the novelist Laurence Housman, rummaged through his papers and from them published the third slender volume of Housman' poetry, "More Poems."
Housman was not prolific. He seems to have worked in short, intense spurts of creativity no more than three or four times in his life. He devoted far more time and effort to his life-long magnum opus, a multi-volume critical edition and study of Manilius, a late Roman poet of truly breathtaking obscurity, dullness and unimportance. Housman appears to have had the very last word on Manilius, largely because it is hard to conceive that anyone else would care enough to add another. Housman's lasting fame rests on just three slender volumes of poetry, respectively 96, 71 and 66 pages in length.
Housman is the bard of tiny, perfect, miniatures. He is always formal in structure. One critic quite acutely called him the last Roman poet. There are no sprawling epics in him, hardly any smiling pastorals. He writes in a fit of sustained and remarkably entertaining depression, a poetic equivalent of film noir.
Here is Housman the Roman, writing of Britain's standing army of regular soldiers, all but destroyed in 1914:
These, in the day when heaven was falling,
The hour when earth's foundations fled,
Followed their mercenary calling
And took their wages and are dead.
Their shoulders held the sky suspended;
They stood, and earth's foundations stay;
What God abandoned, these defended,
And saved the sum of things for pay.
("Last Poems," XXXVII)
Here is Housman in gaudily Romantic despair:
The Queen of air and darkness
Begins to shrill and cry,
"O young man, O my slayer,
To-morrow you shall die."
O Queen of air and darkness,
I think `tis truth you say,
And I shall die to-morrow;
But you will die today.
("Last Poems," III)
And here is Housman in his first and most famous volume of poetry, "A Shropshire Lad":
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
`Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
`The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
`Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, `tis true, `tis true.
("A Shropshire Lad," XIII)
"A Shropshire Lad" was first published in 1896. "When I was one-and-twenty" was written in January 1895, at which time Housman was thirty-five and a professor of Latin. When Housman was twenty-one, though, he was an undergraduate at Oxford and sharing space with Moses Jackson. Despite the warnings he must have heard, he gave his heart away, no use to talk to him. When he was two-and-twenty, he paid with sighs a plenty and examination's rue, and oh, `twas true, `twas true.
Housman was a great poet in a small package. Grab anything of his that you come across. He'll make it worth your while.
Full five stars / For many a rose-lipt maiden / And many a lightfoot lad.
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