Beloved, we are always in the wrong,Here is the complete poem, but I think the best is above. See for yourself (scroll down). Tohu-bohu? That's a French phrase for confusion/disorder.
Handling so clumsily our stupid lives,
Suffering too little or too long,
Too careful even in our selfish loves;
The decorative manias we obey
Die in grimaces round us every day,
Yet through their tohu-bohu comes a voice
Which utters an absurd command -- Rejoice.
Friday, July 22, 2005
W H Auden: tohu-bohu
I have seen this stanza a couple of times in the last 24 hours. It is from In Sickness and in Health, a longish poem written in the autumn of 1940 by W H Auden and dedicated to Maurice and Gwen Mandelbaum. Auden's poem September 1, 1939 was much quoted after 9/11. Now, another Auden that seems appropriate for these times.