Exiles: The Lost One (2011)
We would rather be ruined than changed
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die.
–W.H. Auden, Epilogue to The Age of Anxiety (1947)
I came across a post from 2011 this morning that began with the lines above. They words were written by poet W.H. Auden in the aftermath of World War II in his Pulitzer Prize winning poem The Age of Anxiety, a work that later was translated into music in the form of a symphony by Leonard Bernstein and ballet by Jerome Robbins. Though the war had ended, people everywhere struggled with a world that was forever changed. The war had exposed the fragility of our belief in many things and people sought some sort of meaning and substance in this suddenly changed landscape.
These words seemed appropriate for today, on the 25th anniversary of 9/11. That, too, was a time where we were faced with a violent lurch in our world, one that had far-reaching impact on many aspects of our lives from that September day in 2001 to this very moment.
As it was with Auden in 1947, this past quarter century has been an Age of Anxiety. It has been a period of growing fear, alienation, instability for most people. The wound inflicted on our psyche on 9/11 went deep and we responded with anger and fear. This response provided the perfect opportunity for those who would exploit our emotions for material and political gain.
Our continued anxiety was a winning money-making strategy. While the prosperity of the masses was good and reliable for the moneymen, it was not enough. Our fear was the needed market mover.
And we followed along faithfully, easily prompted to be fearful and divided.
Our fear became a valuable commodity in itself.
And we held tightly on to our fear like it was just that.
It was gold to us while our hope was seemingly a note written on the back of an envelope– flimsy and easily lost.
How do we come out of this Age of Anxiety? Have we ever fully emerged from that Age of Anxiety that Auden described in 1947?
I don’t know.
I sit here this morning looking for the hope written on the back of an envelope lost in the papers scattered on my desk. It makes me wonder how we can turn our hope for the future into the valuable commodity it deserves to be, not something to be thrown thoughtlessly aside.
I just don’t know. Wish I did. Wish I believed I did even if didn’t know.
Some cock-eyed optimism might sound pretty damn good right now.
Or not. Again, I don’t know.
These are my thoughts for this day in this our 25th year of our Age of Anxiety.
Just my opinion for what little that is worth. Maybe my thesis and perspective on it is completely off base. Wouldn’t be the first time.
I calls ’em likes I sees ’em.
Pretty sure Auden didn’t write that.
Here’s one of my all-time favorite songs, (Time) The Revelator, from Gillian Welch. I share it here every couple of years or so. When I worked in my first and much more rustic studio (no phone, TV, internet, or other distraction) up in the woods in the early 2000’s, this song was in heavy rotation on my playlist. Time has caught up with my old studio, and it is slowly collapsing into the forest floor. Some kind of symbolism there, I’m sure.