Yeats

[PrinceMyshkin]

Between Byzantium and Innisfree
the bones of William Butler Yeats
lie, no different, perhaps than any other man
long buried there or here, on any span
of hallowed or unhallowed ground.

“O chestnut-tree,” he wrote: “great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?”*

And we may ask the same, O great-throated poet,
are you the lines you wrote
or the life you lived?
And how have we deserved your gift?

He was not, perhaps, the father
we all wanted. For that he was too stern.
An older brother, perhaps, an uncle
who dropped in seldomly
as we watched and waited for his return.

He never sought for subjects
but sat there in his special silent place
and let them come to him, giving them
his body for their living-space.

He didn’t have much humour
of the North American kind,
but was amused, I think, by the happenstance
of time, that staggered
when it meant to dance.



* Yeats, Among School Children

[Buh4Bee]

I liked this very much. I have to admit I am no literary giant and have not read Keats, but he appears to be a solemn fellow. He seems like a writer that took comfort from writing, since life is not worth looking at half the time.

The last stanza was enjoyed.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I liked this very much. I have to admit I am no literary giant and have not read Keats, but he appears to be a solemn fellow. He seems like a writer that took comfort from writing, since life is not worth looking at half the time.

The last stanza was enjoyed.

Thank you, Jersea, but please note: the poem is for or about Yeats, not Keats! And if you wanted to get a start reading him, you might refer to those poems mentioned in http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=52243

[Buh4Bee]

Duh, I can't believe I read Yeats' name incorrectly. This is why I am so awesome at remediating the dyslexic.

I actually read up on Keats, instead of Yeats. I see he was one of the Romantics. I'll read about Yeats now.

[hillwalker]

You may find this hard to believe but a small group of just spent the last 2 or 3 days reading most of WBY's better-known poetry - in search of a clue linking it to Peter Gabriel (rock musician) in an Amazon music forum!!!

Some would say that was dragging the great man's work down to the commonplace - but it gave us an excuse to reacquaint ourselves with his poems (as if any excuse is needed).

Some of his mysticism is a bit quaint in this day and age - but he also had the ability to distill so much into so few words.

"When You Are Old" and "The Second Coming" are exquisite.

Your poem does his memory justice - and I love the ending
"The happenstance of time, that staggered when it meant to dance."

H

[alexar]

I wish there was a poet to write with such unembarrassed clarity and feeling as Yeats did about the Irish Troubles in his day. For instance:

The Stare's Nest by My Window

The bees build in the crevices
Of loosening masonry, and there
The mother birds bring grubs and flies.
My wall is loosening; honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty; somewhere
A man is killed, or a house burned,
Yet no clear fact to be discerned:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

A barricade of stone or of wood;
Some fourteen days of civil war;
Last night they trundled down the road
That dead young soldier in his blood:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart's grown brutal from the fare;
More substance in our enmities
Than in our love; O honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

That last stanza is wise and strong and still so relevant and necessary.

[Hawkman]

Hi Prince,

A fine reminder of a noble tallent. I was trawling through my anthologies and dug this one up:

A Coat

I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world's eye
As if they'd wrought it.
Song, let them take it
For there's more enterprise
In walking naked.

WB Yeates (1865-1939)

[Revolte]

Hurray! I really like this. I just started reading Yeats recently.

[paperleaves]

I am blown away by the brilliance of this.

How do you write so magnificently? Your connections are so enthralling, your rhyme and voice so eloquent...

love
Kate

[Babbalanja]

My favorite Yeats poem:

When You are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

[lallison]

Lovely tribute, Yeats is one of the all time best. You always hit your mark with a marksman's accuracy! Here is one of my often overlooked favorites by him about a king in Irish folklore who abdicated his throne to go and live the life of a wanderer:

Who goes with Fergus?

Who will go drive with Fergus now,
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade,
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, maid,
And brood on hopes and fear no more.

And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery;
For Fergus rules the brazen cars,
And rules the shadows of the wood,
And the white breast of the dim sea
And all dishevelled wandering stars.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Hillwalker. Alexar, Hawkman, Paperleaves, Jersea, Revolte, Babbalanja, Lallison:

Many thanks to all of you, especially those who added some of your favourite poems by Yeats.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Your poem does his memory justice - and I love the ending
"The happenstance of time, that staggered when it meant to dance."

H

That last was me trying to 'channel' his voice. (And hoping, if there is another plane of existence, that he would not sneer at me for trying to do so.)

[blank|verse]

Nicely done, Prince, a fitting tribute; Yeats is one of those poets who, after reading, one always feels slightly more hopeful and optimistic about the world. And in a similar way, the same can be said of your poems as well!

[anzki4]

Although I´ve never read any Yeats - because I´ve only recently started reading poetry - I like this one.

I like the first stanza most. A great reminder about mortality of all of us.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Thanks Anzki4 and B|V


Nicely done, Prince, a fitting tribute; Yeats is one of those poets who, after reading, one always feels slightly more hopeful and optimistic about the world. And in a similar way, the same can be said of your poems as well!

I confess that one of my reactions to reading Yeats is often Now, why can't I write like that?