The act of writing always changes something about your perception of the world...something like the uncertainty principle. Being totally absorbed in writing robs you of your observation of the outside world, while observing too much gives you too much thought, with no visble consequence. Not too bad, but visible consequences are important in today's world. I love Auden anyway, hehe just bought his Collected poems His commentary on The Tempest also deals with the problem for Shakespeare...how to highlight portions of life to make them seem real, yet always ensure that the audience is partly detached. If art and life were one, art would give life no meaning, nor vice-versa. ( I don't think I'm following myself quite too well either=p). It's like what Brecht tried to do, detach the audience, make them think without emotion. But you cannot take away emotion because it is part of life. That's why they cried at Grandmother Courage.

On a totally unrelated note. Auden is so lyrical

Dance, Dance while you can

This is a poem I particularly like. We have to balance our own expectations with the society's. Lately, the individual has become so important, and it is easy to think that. I think of myself as rather self-important too. But I think I may accept the fact that I am part of a society, and I don't really mind doing things like serving in the army, because of duty. Duty, and other words associated negatively with tradition, hidebound tradition etc etc. Well, the power of writing. Listen to this one, read it aloud.

As I Walked Out One Evening (W.H Auden)

As I walked out on evening,
Walking down Bristol Street
The crowds upon the pavement,
Were fields of harvest wheat

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway
"Love has no ending.

"I'll love you dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street

"I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

"The years shall run like rabbits
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages
And the first love of the world."

But all the clocks in the city
began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you
You cannot conquer Time.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

"In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day

"Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

"O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-White Boy is a Roarer
And Jill goes down on her back.

"O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

"O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart."

It was late, late in the evening
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming
And the deep river ran on.