Copies were distributed at local post offices on April 15, which, depending on one's interpretive stance, could be defined as cosmic irony or sarcasm. W.H. Auden, who died in 1973, was one of the twentieth century's most astute observers and critics of modernity, and a fine poet. Auden apparently didn't take too readily to the blessings of technology. A s a matter of course, many modern poets take pot shots at technology and its bedfellow, materialism, ironically pounding out reactionary rhythms and rhymes on their laptops. But it's not enough simply to decry technological progress.
Technology carries with it an effect on our minds and souls.
Instead, we've allowed technocratic thinking to turn poetry into another product, something to be manufactured upon demand and delivered to the masses in a hype-driven public relations campaign, like soap or breakfast cereal or the stuff of the annual ad fest that accompanies The Super Bowl. We've endowed the camera with a sense of truth-showing that it simply does not inherently own. Television's view of the news is not an unvarnished, unmanipulated version. Similarly, we've endowed the automobile with mystical personality powers far beyond its ability to move persons and things quickly and comfortably. America, especially, has become the cathedral of the cult of the car.