Into My Heart an Air That Kills
Embracing Dual Love as an Immigrant: Reflections on 'Into My Heart an Air That Kills'
As an immigrant in a new country, connecting deeply with A.E. Housman's poem "Into My Heart an Air That Kills" is easy.
Moving from my birth country and countrymen isn't just about the physical relocation but also a profound emotional transition. The best gift I’ve given myself in this journey is allowing myself to love more than one place—the country of my birth and my new adopted country.
Housman's poem speaks to this dual sense of belonging in a way that resonates deeply with immigrants. The opening lines, "Into my heart an air that kills / From yon far country blows," capture the nostalgia and longing for a homeland. This 'air that kills' is not one of destruction but one filled with memories and affection for a place left behind.
As Housman reflects on the 'blue remembered hills' and 'spires and farms,' we reminisce about the land, the smell, and the day's heat. While distant and untouchable, these images are vivid and comforting, painting a picture of a past filled with warmth and familiarity.
"The land of lost content" Housman speaks of can be likened to the immigrant's homeland - a place of past joy and contentment, now living in memories. Yet, it is not just a land of longing but also a reminder of the growth and changes we've embraced.
The final note of the poem, "The happy highways where I went / And cannot come again," is the perfect ending, although melancholy. It acknowledges the irreversible journey of life and symbolizes the paths we’ve taken from our birthplace to our new home. While we cannot physically return to our past, we carry it on our new paths.
Housman's poem captures the nostalgia for what we've left behind and the beauty of embracing a new life. As immigrants, we learn to hold our homeland in our hearts while allowing ourselves to fall in love with a new land, its culture, and its people.
Into my heart an air that kills
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows;
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.