Culture
How F1's Red Bull mastered the art of the 2-second pit stop
Between the Racing Lines | Formula One is complicated, confusing and constantly evolving. This story is part of our guide to help any fan — regardless of how long they’ve watched the sport or how they discovered it — navigate the pinnacle of motorsports.
Box, box.
Every Formula One fan is familiar with that radio message, the call for a driver to head in for a pit stop. Whether it’s changing tires, serving a time penalty or repairing damage, the pit stop is one of the most strategically important moments during any grand prix. The longer you spend off the track, the farther behind you fall. McLaren holds the world record for the fastest pit stop — 1.80 seconds, set during the 2023 Qatar Grand Prix — but no team has matched the consistency of Red Bull’s blazing pace.
For each of the last six seasons, the Milton Keynes-based team has won the DHL Fastest Pit Stop Award based on their stop times throughout the year. They should repeat in 2024, holding nine of the 10 fastest stops over the last five races. The top three came from the Chinese Grand Prix weekend, where Red Bull stunned the F1 world with two flawless double stacks, changing the tires on Max Verstappen and Sergio Pérez’s cars in rapid succession. The first took 4.18 seconds; the second, 3.95 seconds.
Best double stack ever? 🤔⏱️#F1 || #ChineseGP 🇨🇳pic.twitter.com/V8iSDF7Y8e
— Oracle Red Bull Racing (@redbullracing) April 21, 2024
Whether a routine stop or a double stack, pit stops are choreographed dances. They begin the moment activity buzzes in the garage as more than 20 team members hurry out to their positions in the pitlane, waiting for the drivers to pull into the box. As Jonathan Wheatley, Red Bull’s Sporting Director, said, “Your perfect pitstop involves everyone having that perfect two seconds.”
It’s a game of millimeters and milliseconds. Here’s how it goes down.
The positions
Pit stops are a whirlwind of noise and speed, typically taking 2.5 seconds or less. The drivers need to hit their marks within the outlined area, and the crew members then jack up the front and back of the car, swap out the four wheels, and lower the car — all in unison when nailed perfectly.
“You get a buzz,” said Phil Turner, the team’s chief mechanic. “You get that adrenaline rush that you know you’ve had a good pit stop. You just tell by the sound, the noise, and how quick the car drops.”
It starts with the people, all of whom hold other team positions in addition to being on the pit crew. Teams are limited by how many people can be trackside, and some roles require people to be at computers when pit stops unfold. Wheatley described a pit stop as “an endeavor by 22 human beings.”
The wheels
Number of people: 12
This grouping is a trio per wheel — wheel off, wheel on and a wheel gunman. For wheel off and wheel on, strength is a requirement, said Jack Harrison, a mechanic on the team and a ‘wheel on’ member. Each wheel weighs over 44 pounds (20 kg). “You’ve got to have some sort of size to be able to manipulate the wheel to where you want it to be.”
The call is typically given around 15 seconds out, and the ‘wheel on’ crew carries the tires from the garage to the pit box. All three at the four tire locations crouch, and the wheel gunman readies to loosen and tighten the wheel nuts as the car slams to a halt. “I don’t ever think the car’s gonna hit me,” said wheel gunman Callum Adams. That doesn’t mean it can’t happen, but it’s a matter of trusting the driver will stop where they’ve practiced. Adams’ favorite part of his role is his proximity to the car because when it’s dropped, he can see the clutch engage and the wheels spin.
What may surprise fans about the wheel off, wheel on process is that the wheel nut stays attached to the tire itself. The wheel gunman loosens the wheel nut before the car has stopped, Adams said, and they’re working “on the wheel nut for the new wheel before it’s even on the car. That’s where you make up the time.” The ‘wheel off’ crew member is taking the tire off as the car is coming off the ground, thanks to the jacks.
Jackmen
Number of people: 4
This grouping includes two main players: a front and rear jackman.
Because the cars are so low to the ground, both jacks need to lift at the same time. If the car stops short, front jackman Chris Gent said he struggles “to get the jack under the car because the car is so low, and the jack will only go under really when the car is on all four wheels.” If the rear jack lifts before the front, Gent says he has to signal for the car to be lowered to fit his jack under the car.
“It’s also awkward (if) they stop on the first few laps of a race when the car has a full amount of fuel, and then the car is so much heavier than whether it’s midway or towards the end,” Gent added. “It feels completely different to jack it up when it’s a lap or two into the race.”
Each jack is different, but Gent described his as one that can rotate and has two levers, one that releases the jack and the other that allows the jack to tilt.
“When the car arrives, we jack it up, and you can jack it to a certain point, and then you can relax because it has two little feet that come out so the car is always at the same height, which is obviously quite important for the gunmen,” Gent said. He later added that, in theory, the jackmen don’t have to pull the lever to release the jack, which drops the car to the ground, but he does so in case there is a failure in the lights system.
There are spare jackmen for both positions, just in case of an issue. If a front wing is damaged, teams will use a side jack instead and replace the wing.
Gent has been hit by a car before but “never any real damage other than being knocked back quite a long way.” When it comes to getting over the initial reaction to jump out of the way of a moving vehicle, Gent said, “A lot of it is down to trust, isn’t it?”
Car steadier
Number of people: 2
When the car is lifted, two people grab hold of the cockpit area, keeping it stable as other crew members do their work. If needed, they may clean the mirrors or radiators.
Front wing adjuster
Number of people: 2
These crew members help make aerodynamic changes to the wing, which impact understeer or oversteer based on the driver’s feedback.
Lollipop (aka the green light)
This resembles how NASCAR teams hold out a sign as drivers enter the pit box. Within the world of F1, this individual would give the signal for when the car can release, but over time, it’s become more electronic. A system now indicates when the driver can leave the pit box.
The guns and jacks are essentially linked to a traffic light system of sorts, but the decision of when the car is released lies with the crew member with the override button, who monitors pit lane traffic. The green lights indicate the wheels are secure, and once there is space for a safe release, the driver gets the go-ahead to exit the pit box. If the stewards deem a pit box exit to be unsafe release, drivers may face a five-second time penalty.
The practice
Teams practice pit stops during a race weekend, and fans can watch from pit lane or their seats during certain windows. But these sessions also take place back at the factory, both in and out of the season. Harrison said Red Bull will practice anywhere from five to 20 pit stops during these sessions. Wheatley commented how, with Red Bull, “your first pitstop is likely to be for a race win.”
However, as Harrison noted, there is work that is done before a “real physical practice,” like what fans see during a race weekend. Whether it’s with the entire crew or just the specific group, like the corner crews, they’ll visualize the pit stops with props. Harrison said, “We’ll be using those to be able to help you. Even just with the movements, not necessarily the weight of the wheel.” It’s about being limber and warming up for the real deal.
Practicing with the entire pit stop team is easier, he said, because a big component of an efficient stop is listening to each other. As part of the corner crew, he finds it helpful to hear the jackmen and the four-wheel guns, but he can also see the different parts of the pit stop in his peripheral vision. Each grouping has slightly different techniques, so practicing with the same people becomes a strength.
“The size of people doesn’t make a difference,” Harrison said. “The amount of time you’ve been doing it with the same people makes a difference because I will put my foot in a certain position, which may be different to the left rear side. I’ll wedge my foot underneath the (wheel) gunman’s knee, and then I can feel where he moves. And then with sight as well, I can see where he moves so I can move to him.
“So if the car goes long or short, he’ll move his body to react to that, whereas I’ll do the same with my body to where his body moves.”
Given the length of the F1 season and because life happens, teams do select backups for each position. During practice, people swap in and out.
As for physical requirements, Harrison said core strength, stability, overall strength, and cardio are all key, and the crew works towards staying nimble. For the wheel on position, for example, core and leg exercises are helpful because you’re essentially in a squat position, waiting to fit the wheel to the car, Harrison said. Adams said that flexibility and core strength are important for the wheel gunman because if the car stops short or long, they need to adjust quickly while being low to the ground, not losing their balance.
An effective pit stop extends beyond the physical. It’s about the senses and muscle memory. The Milton Keynes-based team decided to try executing a pit stop in complete darkness during the off-season, and Adams said, “It made everyone sort of realize how much their role was done on feel and muscle memory.”
The final product
A pit stop technically begins the day before a race, Wheatley said.
That’s when the team discusses race strategy. Come race day, he’ll brief the team if there could be something unusual coming, and they’ll perform a series of stops during their routine practice session, mixing it up some to prepare. During the race, Wheatley keeps the team up to speed on how the race is unfolding strategically. Pit stops are about nailing the right timing, such as trying to do the opposite strategy of a rival to gain positions. Wheatley said, “Generally, we make a decision to pit, I think, later than some teams would be comfortable with. We like to have a team that can react very quickly and in a very short lead time ahead of a pit stop.”
When it looks like the call to pit is coming, Wheatley begins preparing the team, not getting too excited. “If I’m calm, everyone should be calm.”
Then comes the countdown. The crew members file out of the garage in a specific order to avoid getting in each other’s way, Gent said. Typically, the farthest people will leave first, he added, “so you’re not climbing over people to get to your position.”
Any number of things could go wrong during a pit stop, like a wheel gun failure (which is why they have spares). Mistakes do happen, like jacks not engaging properly on the first try. But as much as a smooth pit stop depends on the crew members, it’s also about the driver’s approach, specifically “the speed and consistency of deceleration into the pit box,” Wheatley said. If drivers don’t hit their marks, the other twenty-some crew members will need to adjust. That awareness also applies to the crew, particularly with the group changing the wheel. Sometimes the tires touch during the swap, and as Wheatley said, “When they touch, that’s when you get your 2.6-second stop and not a 2-second stop or a 1.8-second stop. So it’s down to marginal gains from that point.”
Another factor that can impact timings is the depth of the pit crew. In 2023, Wheatley said, Red Bull “faced immense challenges” with keeping a consistent first team because of the number of races, where they fell on the calendar, illness (a stomach bug floated around the Mexico City paddock, for example), and other life matters, like children being born. This is where the reserves come into play.
“Whilst it doesn’t mean you can do a 1.8-second pit stop every weekend, that’s not actually our target,” Wheatley said. “And so we need to have enough people trained and able to do 2.2-second pit stops every single time the car comes in the pits. And we’ve been lucky enough that we haven’t had such an illness that’s compromised that.”
At the heart of every pit stop are the people and the seamless teamwork. Each person’s routine is different, down to whether they watch the car come down pit lane or when they snap down their visor. Then comes the rhythm — stop, lift, wheels (and the loud whirring that comes with the guns), drop and release. Pit stops are a staple of an F1 grand prix weekend, yet each person describes the strategic event differently.
Turner opted for “a massive adrenaline rush.” Adams described them as “exhilarating” while Harrison chose “rewarding.”
Truthfully, it’s an art.
(Graphics by Drew Jordan/The Athletic. Lead image: Bryn Lennon – Formula 1/Formula 1 via Getty Images; Design: Eamonn Dalton/The Athletic)
Now that we’ve memorized the first half of our poem, let’s learn a little more about the man who wrote it. (Haven’t memorized anything yet? Click here to start at the beginning.)
For most of his life, Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-73) was a star. He was widely read, quoted, argued over and gossiped about, achieving a level of fame that few writers now — and not many then — could contemplate. His New York Times obituary did not hesitate to call him “the foremost poet of his generation.”
Celebrity of that kind is ephemeral, but Auden’s words have continued to circulate in the half century since his death. Maybe you’ve heard some of them before. In the 1994 film “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” his poem “Funeral Blues” is recited by Matthew (John Hannah) over the casket of his lover, Gareth (Simon Callow).
In the Gen-X touchstone “Before Sunrise” (1995), Jesse (Ethan Hawke) regales Celine (Julie Delpy) with an impression of Dylan Thomas reading Auden’s “As I Walked Out One Evening.”
In both these scenes, the characters use Auden’s poetry to give voice to a longing for which they otherwise might not have words. Auden’s poetry is often useful in that way. It speaks to recognizable human occasions, and it isn’t always all about him.
“The More Loving One” might not be something you’d quote at a funeral or on a date, but it is almost effortlessly quotable — the perfect expression of a thought you never knew you had:
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Ken Burns, filmmaker
The word “I” occurs five times in this stanza, but we don’t know much about the person speaking. His personality is camouflaged and revealed by craft.
Auden, born in the northern English cathedral city of York, began practicing that craft as a schoolboy, and honed it at Oxford. Not long after graduating in 1928, he was anointed by critics and readers as the great hope of modern English poetry. A charismatic, divisive figure, he gathered acolytes, imitators and haters.
He swam in the intellectual and ideological crosscurrents of the 1930s, drawing Marxism, psychoanalysis and mystical nationalism into his writing. Assimilating a daunting array of literary influences — Old English and Ancient Greek, French chansons and Icelandic sagas — he forged a poetic personality that was bold, confiding and seductive.
His love poems of that era were candid, discreet dispatches from a calendar of feverish entanglements, wrenching breakups and one-night stands, usually with other men. He also wrote about the feverish politics of the time — class conflict; the rise of fascism; the Spanish Civil War — in ringing rhetoric he later disavowed.
In 1939 Auden moved to America, acquiring U.S. citizenship after World War II. In New York he fell in love with Chester Kallman, a young American writer who became his life partner.
It was a complicated relationship, starting as a passionate affair and enduring through decades of domestic companionship and creative collaboration. Kallman’s refusal to be sexually exclusive wounded Auden, a dynamic that poignantly shades this poem’s most memorable couplet:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Yiyun Li, writer
In America, Auden distanced himself from the radical politics of his earlier career and embraced Anglican Christianity. His intellectual preoccupations shifted toward religion and existentialism — to the kinds of big questions we think about late at night, or when we look to the sky.
Making the leap from wunderkind to grand old man without seeming to stop in middle age, he became a mentor for several generations of younger poets. He was a prolific and punctual contributor of reviews and essays to various publications, including this one, for which he wrote a rave of J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Fellowship of the Ring” in 1954.
Through it all, Auden devoted fanatical attention to the finer points of poetic technique. His notebooks are full of numbers, word lists and markings that show just how deep this commitment went. He counted every syllable, measured every stress.
He gathered rhymes and other words with a lexicographer’s zeal and a crossword puzzler’s precision.
The third stanza of “The More Loving One” is a miniature showcase of Auden’s skill. Of the four epigrams arrayed before us, it may be the most technically perfect.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
W.H. Auden, poet
The rhythm is flawless, without an extra syllable or an accent out of place. The grammar is also fastidious. Here is a single sentence, springloaded with equivocation, beginning with one idea and sliding toward its opposite.
This quatrain is the poem’s ideal formal representation of itself, a kind of proof of concept: four lines of impeccable iambic tetrameter in an AABB rhyme scheme. The by-the-book regularity of this stanza should give you a leg up in memorizing it, and you can test yourself below!
But the rest of the poem is an argument against perfection, just as it is a celebration of uncertainty and humility — as we’ll see tomorrow.
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
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.Your first task: Learn the first two lines!
Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.
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.
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.
PERMANENCE, by Sophie Mackintosh
Sophie Mackintosh’s novels are always speculative in some way, with either the author or her characters forging a world governed by its own logic and rules. In their boldness and their ability to convey the violence of patriarchy, they recall the work of Jacqueline Harpman — not only the cherished “I Who Have Never Known Men,” but also “Orlanda,” her wild riff on Virginia Woolf’s “Orlando.”
Like Harpman, Mackintosh has a spare and confident hand. Her work is sometimes described as dreamlike; certainly, its contours are sketched with rapidity and confidence and relatively little detail. Her prose operates according to the same principle, at once lyrical and precise, like this from her second novel, “Blue Ticket”: “On the ground was a dead rabbit, disemboweled. Still fresh, the dark loops of its insides glistening like jam.”
When Mackintosh writes about masculine power, she does so in a way that articulates both its seductions and its terrors. Her newest novel, “Permanence,” is less explicitly concerned with the structure of patriarchy, but it has the same erotic charge as her earlier work, the same preoccupation with social prohibitions and the thrill that comes from breaking them.
Like “Blue Ticket,” “Permanence” turns on a highly pronounced binary. In “Blue Ticket,” adolescent girls are issued either a blue or white ticket on the day of their first period. A white ticket denotes a future of marriage and children, a blue ticket one of work — even, it seems, a career. The divide is stark and self-evidently faulty, its coarseness an expression of the brutalizing regime the characters are trapped in.
“Permanence” features a similar opposition, neatly delineated. Clara and Francis are conducting an illicit affair. One morning, they wake up in an alternate reality where they are openly living together. The novel shuttles between these two worlds, one ordinary and familiar, the other a curdled paradise for adulterers.
The thinness of this “city of impermanence” — “fluid, cohesive and yet disparate” — emerges at once. The sky is “uncannily blue,” the newspaper bears no date, the edge of the city is marked by “a slick ring of water, as far as the eye could see.”
Still, a boundary cannot keep the other world from seeping in. Initially, elegantly, this is a problem in the structure of desire. Having been provided the life they dreamed of, in which their longing for each other is fully met, Clara and Francis begin to experience, to their uneasy surprise, boredom and discontent.
Without absence, the intensity of their desire for each other wanes. They even begin, or at least Francis does, to long for the relief of their ordinary life: “Another day ahead of them of petting, giggling, lying around. It seemed insubstantial suddenly, though only the day before he had felt he could do it forever.”
Soon enough, it becomes clear that the problem between Francis and Clara doesn’t lie in the outside impediments of the world they live in, but in their relationship itself. Francis remains troublingly himself — a married father of a small child, reluctant to leave his family, however much he is in love with Clara: “He did love her, and he did want to be with her. … But he already had reality elsewhere, reality which he sometimes felt trapped by, he would admit, but which he could not truly imagine cutting loose.”
“Permanence” might seem like an outlier in the current array of articles and books about open marriages and polyamory, and at first glance the line of distinction between the two worlds, much like the division between blue and white tickets, seems almost old-fashioned. But as Mackintosh persuasively illustrates, the familiar emotions of jealousy, infatuation and eventually indifference — these persist and can flourish in any relationship, however free of prohibition.
“You want this,” Clara tells herself, and then, “You no longer want this,” as it occurs to her that “maybe it was in absence that they loved each other best, and most honestly.”
In her work, Mackintosh devises scenarios that are bold and almost aggressively simplified. But her terrain is complexity and contradiction, and in her hands these oppositions twist and turn in on themselves.
It’s hardly a surprise when the central character in “Blue Ticket” decides to eschew her designation and have a child, declaring, “True and false were no longer opposing binaries. My body was speaking to me in a language I had not heard before.” Nor is it especially startling when discontent chases Clara and Francis from one world to the other, unraveling their relationship.
What is more disquieting is the surreptitious ease with which Mackintosh’s speculative worlds start to align with our own, allowing the reader to see how so many of the old prohibitions and conventions — around choice, around marriage — remain, somehow, firmly in place.
That moment of recognition, in a landscape that is startlingly alien, is the source of Mackintosh’s power as a writer.
PERMANENCE | By Sophie Mackintosh | Avid Reader Press | 240 pp. | $28
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.
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.
Ada Limón, poet
Nonetheless, the poem soon makes clear that love is very much on its mind.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
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.
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
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,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
Auden’s poem, like Marlowe’s, is written in four-beat lines:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Josh Radnor, actor
And it features strong end rhymes:
If equal affection cannot be,
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:
I do not like thee, Doctor Fell
The reason why I cannot tell.
But this I know and know full well
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.
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:
As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.
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.”
The second stanza is, when you think about it, a perfect non sequitur. A hypothetical, general question is asked:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Mary Roach, writer
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,
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.
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
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.
Your task today: Learn the second stanza!
Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.
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.
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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