W. H. Auden

Karsh, Yousuf, 1908-2002 · 1972

In Stephen Spender's garden in London, the poet W.H. Auden talked about "coming home." The Oxford University he knew, which he had longed for during bouts of nostalgic depression while living in New York, no longer existed for him when he returned to England. He spent two hours talking to my wife - prophetically - about friends who had died He smoked incessantly, his conversation punctuated by wracking coughs. Meanwhile the light was gone from the garden and I could only take a quick photograph of a beautiful and ravaged face. "Come soon, come soon," he invited, but I knew I would never see him again (Karsh, 2003).