I was reading Auden--But I thought
you didn't like Auden, I said.
Well, I've been reading him again,
and I like him better now, you said.
That was what I admired about you
your ability to regroup
without cynicism, your love of poetry
than your love of consistency.
As in an unruffled fish-pond
the fish draw to whatever comes
thinking it something to feed on
there was always something to feed on
your appetite unslaked
for the fortifying and tasty
events of reading.
I try to think of you now
nestling into your own light,
as in Dante, singing to God
the poet and literary critic.
As you enter among them,
the other thousand surfaced glories
--those who sought honor
by bestowing it--
sing at your approach
Lo, one who shall increase our loves.
But maybe less druggy,
a bit plainer,
[Thom Gunn, 'To Donald Davie in Heaven' from Boss Cupid: Poems]