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How Novak Djokovic changed his game to become the GOAT

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How Novak Djokovic changed his game to become the GOAT

Goran Ivanisevic has seen it happen so many times over the past four years. 

His star pupil, Novak Djokovic, shows up to the practice court in a foul mood, griping that his game is a disaster, that he needs to get better… at everything. His serve, his attacking play, even his backhand — one of the great backhands tennis has ever seen — it’s all a mess. 

There is barely any acknowledgement of the resume, the 24 Grand Slam titles, the 74 other tour trophies, and more than 1,000 match victories. He’s got to improve, or he’s cooked.    

“He’s crazy,” Ivanisevic said of Djokovic with a shake of the head, midway through last year, when Djokovic was in the midst of yet another of the greatest seasons any tennis player has ever put together and still whining to his coach at every turn. 

Very good tennis players often express a desire to try to improve, and Djokovic is no different. But it’s one thing to say it, and it’s another thing to actually do it, especially after you’ve reached the pinnacle of the sport, over and over and over. 

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In 2015, Djokovic stampeded through perhaps the most ridiculous tennis campaign any man has managed. It’s the season Djokovic often mentions when he is asked to choose the best version of himself. That happens a lot now, since he has rendered the greatest male of all time debate moot — the only person left to compare Djokovic with is Djokovic.

He has won the most Grand Slam singles titles, the most Masters 1,000 titles, which are the next biggest events on the men’s tour, and has spent more weeks (406 and counting) ranked No 1 in the world than anyone else.

He reached all four Grand Slam finals in that 2015 season and won three of them (losing at the French Open to Stan Wawrinka). He went wire-to-wire as the world No 1. He played in 15 consecutive finals and won 11 of them. There was a ‘Big Four’ back then that also included Nadal, Roger Federer and Andy Murray. Djokovic went 15-4 against those three and was 4-0 against Nadal, his top rival. 

Normal behavior after a season like that is to just keep doing what works. Djokovic doesn’t really do normal behavior, and he doesn’t really play tennis today the way he did in 2015, when he defended the court as few others could, then pulled rabbits out of hats, winning so many points he had no business winning. 

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That is a far cry from Djokovic’s winning formula last season, the one he will likely use to kickstart his 2024 this month in Australia. All of Djokovic’s best seasons share a theme — they get rolling in January in Australia, where Djokovic is about to try to win an 11th Australian Open men’s singles title. He won his 10th last year, the most in history.

He describes Australia as his “happy place”, a country where he finds his groove, and nothing — not even pulled or torn muscles — can take him out of it. He has not lost a match at the ‘A.O.’ in six years.

“It’s important to have the right start, kind of launch into the rest of the season,” he said during the United Cup, the mixed team competition he played before 2024’s first Grand Slam. “The more you win in a certain tournament, the more comfortable and confident you feel every next time you arrive.”

But Djokovic’s success is about so much more than good karma. It’s about figuring out how to change his game to accommodate his ageing body, which he acknowledges doesn’t move as well as it once did, and to keep up with the evolution of a sport that is now far less friendly to defenders who want to chase balls across the back of the court and pull rabbits out of hats.

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With the top players hitting with more power and precision than ever, defending all day, rather than trying to take the initiative and finish points, has become increasingly difficult at the highest level. 

Djokovic has had three truly epic years — 2011, 2015 and 2023. In each of them, he won three Grand Slam finals and armloads of other trophies.

Luckily for us, his last epic season before 2023 happened just after the revolution in advanced tennis analysis, making possible a revelatory deep dive into Djokovic then and now.

The metrics are the byproduct of ball and player tracking data collected through high-speed cameras and analyzed in real-time from technology developed by a British company, TennisViz, and Tennis Data Innovations (T.D.I), a joint venture of the ATP Tour and ATP Media.

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These combined efforts have delivered fans, players and coaches information that previous generations could never dream of capturing, showing whether a player is attacking or defending on every shot; the quality of those shots based on the speed, spin, and landing spot; how often they win points they shouldn’t — their so-called steal score; how clinical they are at finishing points they should win; and how often they win the all-important baseline battles that so much of modern tennis has become.

The data tells the story of the evolution of Djokovic, from someone who specialized in winning tennis wars of attrition, to someone who now looks to attack at nearly every opportunity.

In numerical terms, the changes may seem, on the surface, to be incremental, but in a sport that turns on a handful of points in each match, seemingly small changes can result in big differences. Remember, Djokovic has won 14 of his 24 Grand Slam titles since 2015.

It starts with the serve.

Djokovic’s serve is nearly unrecognizable from 2015. Full props on that to Ivanisevic, who possessed a lethal serve in his playing days and has worked tirelessly with Djokovic since 2019, achieving startling results. Djokovic’s first serve averaged 120.1 miles per hour in 2023, compared with 115.4 in 2015.

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That’s not about improved racket technology or lighter balls. The tour average has barely budged, rising from 116.1mph to 116.7.

That Djokovic serve is not only faster but also landing in better spots – five centimeters closer to the lines in 2023 than in 2015, and eight centimeters closer to them than the tour average. That’s important no matter what surface he is playing on, but it can be especially potent on the slick, fast ones of Melbourne Park, where serves to the sideline corners slide off the court almost instantly. 

Djokovic has long been one of the great serve returners in tennis history. He’s better at that now, too. His return of his opponent’s second serve landed on the backhand wing on 47 per cent of points in 2023, compared with 39 per cent in 2015, putting him in a far better position to attack. 

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Once the points took shape last season, Djokovic seized an attacking position 26 per cent of the time, compared with 21 per cent in 2015. Tennis geeks refer to a player’s ability to win points from an attacking position as the ‘conversion rate’. Last season, Djokovic’s conversion rate was a clinical 72.1 per cent, top in the sport and 3.3 percentage points higher than his conversion rate of 68.8 per cent in 2015. The tour average is 66 per cent. 

How did he become so clinical? His forehand got two miles per hour faster over the past eight years. That helps.

Also, his attacking position was 60 centimeters further into the court than it was in 2015, meaning he is hitting the ball far earlier than he used to, suffocating opponents by stealing split seconds from their recovery and preparation times.

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The result of his increasing aggressiveness was a decrease in how much he had to defend, how many balls he had to chase down, and how many rabbits he had to pull out of hats. Tennis geeks refer to that as a player’s ‘steal score’, which is the percentage of points a player wins after being in a defensive position.

As thrilling as it is to claw back a point that appears lost, it’s exhausting and seriously hard on a 36-year-old physique. No one knows that better than Djokovic.

In 2015, Djokovic and Nadal co-led the sport with a steal score of 43.3 per cent. That is kind of crazy to think about — almost half the time their outgunned opponents had Djokovic and Nadal on the run, those poor overmatched souls still lost the point. 

Last season, Djokovic’s steal score was a far less miraculous 36.4 per cent, still above the tour average of 34 per cent and a lot kinder to those 36-year-old knees. In other words, he’s still better than most at making magic happen when he needs to, but he’s become so much more efficient that he’s winning without expending as much energy.

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It’s a logical strategy for any ageing great. Federer became more aggressive, and Nadal has tried to as well, coming to the net to finish points when the opportunities are there. But Djokovic has been more successful than both, winning so many of the biggest titles in the sport at this point in his career.

For opponents, there really is only one solution: attack before he attacks, make him run, and force him to play more defensively, the way he did during his previous tennis life.

Easier said than done, of course.

The winning formula has Djokovic setting big goals for 2024. “It’s not a secret that I want to break more records and make more history,” he said. “That’s something that keeps motivating me.”

He wants more Grand Slam titles, an Olympic medal, which has somehow eluded him, a Davis Cup with Serbia. He relishes thrashing the young guns — players two tennis generations removed from him who can’t understand how he has refused to give way. 

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Djokovic battled a wrist injury during the United Cup. But anyone banking on that stopping him should remember him winning the Australian Open last year with a seriously injured hamstring that Ivanisevic said would have caused most other players to quit and, in 2021, with a tear in an abdominal muscle.  

“I know what I need to do to maintain my body and mind and spirit in the optimal state to have the opportunity to break records and to go further,” Djokovic said.

He still loves to play tennis, but winning continues to be the primary motivation, especially when he is on the road and away from his family for weeks at a time. 

“That mentality is not changing for 2024 or any next year potentially that I play,” he said.

How he actually plays the game, well, that may be another, ever-evolving story.

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Just ask Ivanisevic.

(Top photo: Manan Vatsyayana/AFP via Getty Images)

Culture

Poetry Challenge Day 2: Love, How It Works and What It Means

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Poetry Challenge Day 2: Love, How It Works and What It Means

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Maybe you woke up this morning haunted by the first four lines of W.H. Auden’s “The More Loving One” — or tickled by its tongue-in-cheek handling of existential dread. (Not ringing any bells? Click here to begin the Poetry Challenge).

This is a love poem. Perhaps that seems like an obvious thing to say about a poem with “Loving” in its title, but there isn’t much romance in the opening stanza.

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Looking up at the stars, I know quite well 

That, for all they care, I can go to hell, 

But on earth indifference is the least 

We have to dread from man or beast. 

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Ada Limón, poet

Nonetheless, the poem soon makes clear that love is very much on its mind.

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How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

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David Sedaris, writer

The polished informality gives the impression of a decidedly cerebral speaker — someone who’s looking at love philosophically, thinking about how it works and what it means.

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If equal affection cannot be, 

Let the more loving one be me. 

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Reginald Dwayne Betts, poet

Musing this way — arguing in this fashion — he stands in a long line of playful, thoughtful poetic lovers going back at least to the 16th century. He sounds a bit like Christopher Marlowe’s passionate shepherd:

Come live with me and be my love,

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And we will all the pleasures prove,

That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,

Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

Christopher Marlowe, “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

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Auden’s poem, like Marlowe’s, is written in four-beat lines:

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How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

Josh Radnor, actor

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And it features strong end rhymes:

If equal affection cannot be, 

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Let the more loving one be me. 

Samantha Harvey, writer

These tetrameter couplets represent a long-established poetic love language. Not too serious or sappy, but with room for both earnestness and whimsy. And even for professions of the opposite of love, as in this nursery rhyme, adapted from a 17th-century epigram:

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I do not like thee, Doctor Fell

The reason why I cannot tell.

But this I know and know full well

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I do not like thee, Doctor Fell.

There is some of this anti-love spirit in Auden’s poem too, but it mainly follows a general rule of love poetry: The person speaking is usually the more loving one.

This makes sense. To write a poem requires effort, art, inspiration. To speak in verse is to tease, to cajole, to seduce, all actions that suggest an excess of desire. That’s why it’s conventional to refer to the “I” in a poem like this as the Lover and the “you” as the Beloved. The line “Let the more loving one be me” could summarize a lot of the love poetry of the last few thousand years.

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W.H. Auden as a young man. Tom Graves, via Bridgeman Images

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But who, in this case, is the beloved? This isn’t a poem to the stars, but about them. Or maybe a poem that uses the stars as a conceit and our complicated feelings about them as a screen for other difficult emotions.

What the stars have to do with love is a tricky question. The answer may just be that the poem assumes a relationship and then plays with the implications of its assumption.

This kind of play also has a long history. Since love is both abstract and susceptible to cliché, poets are eager to liken it to everything else under the sun: birds, bees, planets, stars, the movement of the tides and the cycle of the seasons. Andrew Marvell’s “Definition of Love,” from the 1600s, wraps its ardor in math:

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As lines, so loves oblique may well

Themselves in every angle greet;

But ours so truly parallel,

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Though infinite, can never meet.

Andrew Marvell, “The Definition of Love

The literary term for this is wit. The formidable 18th-century English wordsmith Samuel Johnson defined a type of wit as “a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike.” “The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together,” he wrote; that kind of conceptual discord defines “The More Loving One.”

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The second stanza is, when you think about it, a perfect non sequitur. A hypothetical, general question is asked:

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How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

Mary Roach, writer

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The answer is a personal declaration that is moving because it doesn’t seem to apply only or primarily to stars:

If equal affection cannot be, 

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Let the more loving one be me. 

Tim Egan, writer

Does this disjunction make it easier or harder to remember? Either way, these couplets start to reveal just how curious this poem is. We might find ourselves curious about who wrote them, and whom he might have loved. Tomorrow we’ll get to know Auden and his work a little better.

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Your task today: Learn the second stanza!

Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.

Question 1/6

Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.

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How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

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Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.

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Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.

Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.

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Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.

Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.

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What America’s Main Characters Tell Us

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What America’s Main Characters Tell Us

Literature

Oedipa Maas from ‘The Crying of Lot 49’ (1966) by Thomas Pynchon

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Karl Leitz for Anthony Cotsifas Studio

“The unforgettable, cartoonish protagonist of this unusually short novel is a California housewife accidentally turned private investigator and literary interpreter, and the mystery she’s attempting to solve — or, more specifically, the conspiracy she stumbles upon — is nothing less than capitalism itself,” says Ngai, 54. “As Oedipa traces connections between various crackpots, the novel highlights the peculiarly asocial sociality of postwar U.S. society, which gets figured as a network of alienations.”

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Sula Peace from ‘Sula’ (1973) by Toni Morrison

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Karl Leitz for Anthony Cotsifas Studio

“Sula arguably begins to disappear as soon as she’s introduced — despite the fact that the novel bears her name. Other characters die quickly, or are noticeably flat. This raises the politically charged question of who gets to ‘develop’ or be a protagonist in American novels and who doesn’t. The novel’s unusual character system is part of its meditation on anti-Black racism and historical violence.”

The speaker of ‘Lunch Poems’ (1964) by Frank O’Hara

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Karl Leitz for Anthony Cotsifas Studio

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“Lyric poems are fundamentally different from narrative fiction in part because they have speakers as opposed to narrators. Perhaps it’s a stretch to nominate the speaker of ‘Lunch Poems’ as a main character, but this book changed things by highlighting the centrality of queer counterpublics to U.S. culture as a whole, and by exploring the joys and risks of everyday intimacy with strangers therein.”

This interview has been edited and condensed.

More in Literature

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Poetry Challenge: Memorize “The More Loving One” by W.H. Auden

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Poetry Challenge: Memorize “The More Loving One” by W.H. Auden

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Let’s memorize a poem! Not because it’s good for us or because we think we should, but because it’s fun, a mental challenge with a solid aesthetic reward. You can amuse yourself, impress your friends and maybe discover that your way of thinking about the world — or even, as you’ll see, the universe — has shifted a bit.

Over the next five days, we’ll look closely at a great poem by one of our favorite poets, and we’ll have games, readings and lots of encouragement to help you learn it by heart. Some of you know how this works: Last year more Times readers than we could count memorized a jaunty 18-line recap of an all-night ferry ride. (If you missed that adventure, it’s not too late to embark. The ticket is still valid.)

This time, we’re training our telescopes on W.H. Auden’s “The More Loving One” — a clever, compact meditation on love, disappointment and the night sky.

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Here’s the first of its four stanzas, read for us by Matthew McConaughey:

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The More Loving One by W.H. Auden 

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well 

That, for all they care, I can go to hell, 

But on earth indifference is the least 

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We have to dread from man or beast. 

Matthew McConaughey, actor and poet

In four short lines we get a brisk, cynical tour of the universe: hell and the heavens, people and animals, coldness and cruelty. Commonplace observations — that the stars are distant; that life can be dangerous — are wound into a charming, provocative insight. The tone is conversational, mixing decorum and mild profanity in a manner that makes it a pleasure to keep reading.

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Here’s Tracy K. Smith, a former U.S. poet laureate, with the second stanza:

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How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

If equal affection cannot be, 

Let the more loving one be me. 

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Tracy K. Smith, poet

These lines abruptly shift the focus from astronomy to love, from the universal to the personal. Imagine how it would feel if the stars had massive, unrequited crushes on us! The speaker, couching his skepticism in a coy, hypothetical question, seems certain that we wouldn’t like this at all.

This certainty leads him to a remarkable confession, a moment of startling vulnerability. The poem’s title, “The More Loving One,” is restated with sweet, disarming frankness. Our friend is wearing his heart on his well-tailored sleeve.

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The poem could end right there: two stanzas, point and counterpoint, about how we appreciate the stars in spite of their indifference because we would rather love than be loved.

But the third stanza takes it all back. Here’s Alison Bechdel reading it:

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Admirer as I think I am 

Of stars that do not give a damn, 

I cannot, now I see them, say 

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I missed one terribly all day. 

Alison Bechdel, graphic novelist

The speaker downgrades his foolish devotion to qualified admiration. No sooner has he established himself as “the more loving one” than he gives us — and perhaps himself — reason to doubt his ardor. He likes the stars fine, he guesses, but not so much as to think about them when they aren’t around.

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The fourth and final stanza, read by Yiyun Li, takes this disenchantment even further:

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Were all stars to disappear or die, 

I should learn to look at an empty sky 

And feel its total dark sublime, 

Though this might take me a little time. 

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Yiyun Li, author

Wounded defiance gives way to a more rueful, resigned state of mind. If the universe were to snuff out its lights entirely, the speaker reckons he would find beauty in the void. A starless sky would make him just as happy.

Though perhaps, like so many spurned lovers before and after, he protests a little too much. Every fan of popular music knows that a song about how you don’t care that your baby left you is usually saying the opposite.

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The last line puts a brave face on heartbreak.

So there you have it. In just 16 lines, this poem manages to be somber and funny, transparent and elusive. But there’s more to it than that. There is, for one thing, a voice — a thinking, feeling person behind those lines.

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W.H. Auden in 1962. Sam Falk/The New York Times

When he wrote “The More Loving One,” in the 1950s, Wystan Hugh Auden was among the most beloved writers in the English-speaking world. Before this week is over there will be more to say about Auden, but like most poets he would have preferred that we give our primary attention to the poem.

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Its structure is straightforward and ingenious. Each of the four stanzas is virtually a poem unto itself — a complete thought expressed in one or two sentences tied up in a neat pair of couplets. Every quatrain is a concise, witty observation: what literary scholars call an epigram.

This makes the work of memorization seem less daunting. We can take “The More Loving One” one epigram at a time, marvelling at how the four add up to something stranger, deeper and more complex than might first appear.

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So let’s go back to the beginning and try to memorize that insouciant, knowing first stanza. Below you’ll find a game we made to get you started. Give it a shot, and come back tomorrow for more!

Your first task: Learn the first four lines!

Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.

Question 1/6

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Let’s start with the first couplet. Fill in the rhyming words.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well 

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That, for all they care, I can go to hell, 

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Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.

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Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.

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Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.

Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.

Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.

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