Yeats
The Lake isle of innisfree
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.
The scholars (1919) In all these above lines, the speaker's personal prejudices are dominant. The First line gives the sense of the speaker's disgust, hatred, and disturbed passion towards the scholars. Ink is the means of expressing one's view, ideas, feelings, etc. In that case, the lovers also cough in ink because they also express their songs of passions in ink. The last two lines imply the self-assumption that Catullus, a first-century Latin poet, notable for his passionate love poems, had not gone that way. He raises a question what would people say If Catullus had walked on the track of others? To justify this final remark, the speaker has taken many false premises.
BALD heads forgetful of their sins, Old, learned, respectable bald heads Edit and annotate the lines That young men, tossing on their beds, Rhymed out in love's despair 5 To flatter beauty's ignorant ear. They'll cough in the ink to the world's end; Wear out the carpet with their shoes Earning respect; have no strange friend; If they have sinned nobody knows. 10 Lord, what would they say Should their Catullus walk that way?
The scholars (1929) In all these above lines, the speaker's personal prejudices are dominant. The First line gives the sense of the speaker's disgust, hatred, and disturbed passion towards the scholars. Ink is the means of expressing one's view, ideas, feelings, etc. In that case, the lovers also cough in ink because they also express their songs of passions in ink. The last two lines imply the self-assumption that Catullus, a first-century Latin poet, notable for his passionate love poems, had not gone that way. He raises a question what would people say If Catullus had walked on the track of others? To justify this final remark, the speaker has taken many false premises.
Bald heads forgetful of their sins, Old, learned, respectable bald heads Edit and annotate the lines That young men, tossing on their beds, Rhymed out in love's despair To flatter beauty's ignorant ear. All shuffle there; all cough in ink; All wear the carpet with their shoes; All think what other people think; All know the man their neighbour knows. Lord, what would they say Did their Catullus walk that way?
A prayer for my son This poem talks of Yeats's strong, deep anxiety that his son will be murdered. Since working closely with Ezra Pound in 1913, all of Yeats's poetic works are only concerned with the real world; this is not a dream. He names his son as Michael, born on 22nd August 1921. Yeats talks of knowing some people who want to murder his son because of something which will bring his son fame or riches in the future. "The bays" are ceremonial Roman or Greek head-wreaths of bay leaves worn by celebrated people. In the last verse Yeats compares his son's birth during the civil war in Dublin to the Biblical story of Mary and Joseph journeying to Nazareth: "... when through all the town there ran / The servants of Your enemy..." or soldiers. However in 1921, when the civil war in Ireland was in full flow, the Yeats family and Michael were living in peace in England. If they had actually been in Dublin, personally threatened by the violence and disorder of that place and time, this poem might have referred to Michael. But though Yeats no doubt followed news of events in Ireland's capital very closely, he and his family were not involved in the war at all. Avoidance of the unrest of the Irish civil war was one reason they lived in England instead of Ireland at that time.
Bid a strong ghost stand at the head That my Michael may sleep sound, Nor cry, nor turn in the bed Till his morning meal come round; And may departing twilight keep All dread afar till morning's back, That his mother may not lack Her fill of sleep. Bid the ghost have sword in fist: Some there are, for I avow Such devilish things exist, Who have planned his murder, for they know Of some most haughty deed or thought That waits upon his future days, And would through hatred of the bays Bring that to nought.
Easter 1916 Easter Rising of 1916, Irish republic was proclaimed and its force seized key sites in Dublin. New life for Ireland. Torn emotions, many involved were executed including Mauds ex husband.
Hearts with one purpose alone Through summer and winter seem Enchanted to a stone To trouble the living stream. The horse that comes from the road, The rider, the birds that range From cloud to tumbling cloud, Minute by minute they change; A shadow of cloud on the stream Changes minute by minute; A horse-hoof slides on the brim, And a horse plashes within it; The long-legged moor-hens dive, And hens to moor-cocks call; Minute by minute they live: The stone's in the midst of all.
Wrote during the volatile situation of WWII. War was immenant. Politics" is a poem written by William Butler Yeats. In this poem, Yeats speaks of how there is a young woman studying and he finds her attractive. However, he believes he is too old for her, so instead of going over there and holding her in his arms he daydreams about it. The line before the beginning of the poem by Mann is simply a way to tell us that people use politics to discuss every day activities. Therefore, Yeats does the same thing Mann states
How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics, Yet here's a travelled man that knows What he talks about, And there's a politician That has both read and thought, And maybe what they say is true Of war and war's alarms, But O that I were young again And held her in my arms.
The circus animal's desertion The speaker describes searching in vain for a poetic theme: he says that he had tried to find one for "six weeks or so," but had been unable to do so. He thinks that perhaps, now that he is "but a broken man," he will have to be satisfied with writing about his heart, although for his entire life ("Winter and summer till old age began") he had played with elaborate, showy poetic themes that paraded like "circus animals": "Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot, / Lion and woman and the Lord knows what."
I I sought a theme and sought for it in vain, I sought it daily for six weeks or so. Maybe at last being but a broken man I must be satisfied with my heart, although Winter and summer till old age began My circus animals were all on show, Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot, Lion and woman and the Lord knows what. II What can I but enumerate old themes, First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams, Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose, Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems, That might adorn old songs or courtly shows; But what cared I that set him on to ride, I, starved for the bosom of his fairy bride. And then a counter-truth filled out its play, `The Countess Cathleen' was the name I gave it, She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away But masterful Heaven had intervened to save it. I thought my dear must her own soul destroy So did fanaticism and hate enslave it, And this brought forth a dream and soon enough This dream itself had all my thought and love. And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea; Heart mysteries there, and yet when all is said It was the dream itself enchanted me: Character isolated by a deed To engross the present and dominate memory. Players and painted stage took all my love And not those things that they were emblems of. III Those masterful images because complete Grew in pure mind but out of what began? A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street, Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can, Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone I must lie down where all the ladders start In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.
Under Ben bulben "Under Ben Bulben" is a long poem of ninety-four lines divided into six movements celebrating William Butler Yeats's vision of an artistically integrated spiritual reality. He exhorts readers and artists to share this vision for the fulfillment of the human race through art. The poem's title refers to a mountain north of the village of Sligo, County Sligo, in the west of Ireland, where Yeats's maternal ancestors (the Pollexfens) had settled. The area afforded Yeats a principal contact with Irish folklore and with the peasantry, both of which figure greatly in his works, including the masterpiece of his extreme old age, "Under Ben Bulben."
I Swear by what the Sages spoke Round the Mareotic Lake That the Witch of Atlas knew, Spoke and set the cocks a-crow. Swear by those horsemen, by those women, Complexion and form prove superhuman, That pale, long visaged company That airs an immortality Completeness of their passions won; Now they ride the wintry dawn Where Ben Bulben sets the scene. Here's the gist of what they mean. II Many times man lives and dies Between his two eternities, That of race and that of soul, And ancient Ireland knew it all. Whether man dies in his bed Or the rifle knocks him dead, A brief parting from those dear Is the worst man has to fear. Though grave-diggers' toil is long, Sharp their spades, their muscle strong, They but thrust their buried men Back in the human mind again. III You that Mitchel's prayer have heard `Send war in our time, O Lord!' Know that when all words are said And a man is fighting mad, Something drops from eyes long blind He completes his partial mind, For an instant stands at ease, Laughs aloud, his heart at peace, Even the wisest man grows tense With some sort of violence Before he can accomplish fate Know his work or choose his mate.
The wild swans at coole about 130 miles from Dublin is a place called Coole Park. It now belongs to the government (it's kind of like a national park), but it used to belong to a woman named Lady Gregory numbers are eternal. The swans never change. Be like swans, rejuvenate is the way to beat time
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, And now my heart is sore. All's changed since I, hearing at twilight, The first time on this shore, The bell-beat of their wings above my head, Trod with a lighter tread. Unwearied still, lover by lover, They paddle in the cold Companionable streams or climb the air; Their hearts have not grown old; Passion or conquest, wander where they will, Attend upon them still. But now they drift on the still water, Mysterious, beautiful; Among what rushes will they build, By what lake's edge or pool Delight men's eyes when I awake some day To find they have flown away?
Easter 1916 Easter Rising of 1916, Irish republic was proclaimed and its force seized key sites in Dublin. New life for Ireland. Torn emotions, many involved were executed including Mauds ex husband.
I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the head Or polite meaningless words, Or have lingered awhile and said Polite meaningless words, And thought before I had done Of a mocking tale or a gibe To please a companion Around the fire at the club, Being certain that they and I But lived where motley is worn: All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.
An Irish airman foresees his death He wanted adventure not to serve the british. Negative view of WWI.
I know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate Those that I guard I do not love; My country is Kiltartan Cross, My countrymen Kiltartan's poor, No likely end could bring them loss Or leave them happier than before. Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public man, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds; I balanced all, brought all to mind, The years to come seemed waste of breath, A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death.
Three stressed syllables to slow down like Henry David Thoreau Walden. Island were Yates spent his childhood. Return to nature from the city.The Lake isle of innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
The Lake isle of innisfree
I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Under Ben bulben "Under Ben Bulben" is a long poem of ninety-four lines divided into six movements celebrating William Butler Yeats's vision of an artistically integrated spiritual reality. He exhorts readers and artists to share this vision for the fulfillment of the human race through art. The poem's title refers to a mountain north of the village of Sligo, County Sligo, in the west of Ireland, where Yeats's maternal ancestors (the Pollexfens) had settled. The area afforded Yeats a principal contact with Irish folklore and with the peasantry, both of which figure greatly in his works, including the masterpiece of his extreme old age, "Under Ben Bulben."
IV Poet and sculptor do the work Nor let the modish painter shirk What his great forefathers did, Bring the soul of man to God, Make him fill the cradles right. Measurement began our might: Forms a stark Egyptian thought, Forms that gentler Phidias wrought. Michael Angelo left a proof On the Sistine Chapel roof, Where but half-awakened Adam Can disturb globe-trotting Madam Till her bowels are in heat, Proof that there's a purpose set Before the secret working mind: Profane perfection of mankind. Quattrocento put in paint, On backgrounds for a God or Saint, Gardens where a soul's at ease; Where everything that meets the eye Flowers and grass and cloudless sky Resemble forms that are, or seem When sleepers wake and yet still dream, And when it's vanished still declare, With only bed and bedstead there, That Heavens had opened. Gyres run on; When that greater dream had gone Calvert and Wilson, Blake and Claude Prepared a rest for the people of God, Palmer's phrase, but after that Confusion fell upon our thought. V Irish poets learn your trade Sing whatever is well made, Scorn the sort now growing up All out of shape from toe to top, Their unremembering hearts and heads Base-born products of base beds. Sing the peasantry, and then Hard-riding country gentlemen, The holiness of monks, and after Porter-drinkers' randy laughter; Sing the lords and ladies gay That were beaten into the clay Through seven heroic centuries; Cast your mind on other days That we in coming days may be Still the indomitable Irishry. VI Under bare Ben Bulben's head In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid, An ancestor was rector there Long years ago; a church stands near, By the road an ancient Cross. No marble, no conventional phrase, On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!
Sailing to Byzantium The speaker, referring to the country that he has left, says that it is "no country for old men": it is full of youth and life, with the young lying in one another's arms, birds singing in the trees, and fish swimming in the waters. There, "all summer long" the world rings with the "sensual music" that makes the young neglect the old, whom the speaker describes as "Monuments of unageing intellect. He hopes the sages will appear in fire and take him away from his body into an existence outside time, where, like a great work of art, he could exist in "the artifice of eternity."
O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity. Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
The municipal gallery re-visited The poem is about the poet's visit to the public gallery where he recalls the great events and the great figures of the last thirty years in which he was also a part.
ROUND me the images of thirty years: An ambush; pilgrims at the water-side; Casement upon trial, half hidden by the bars, Guarded; Griffith staring in hysterical pride; Kevin O'Higgins' countenance that wears A gentle questioning look that cannot hide A soul incapable of remorse or rest; A revolutionary soldier kneeling to be blessed; An Abbot or Archbishop with an upraised hand Blessing the Tricolour. 'This is not,' I say, 'The dead Ireland of my youth, but an Ireland The poets have imagined, terrible and gay.' Before a woman's portrait suddenly I stand, Beautiful and gentle in her Venetian way. I met her all but fifty years ago For twenty minutes in some studio. III Heart-smitten with emotion I Sink down, My heart recovering with covered eyes; Wherever I had looked I had looked upon My permanent or impermanent images: Augusta Gregory's son; her sister's son, Hugh Lane, 'onlie begetter' of all these; Hazel Lavery living and dying, that tale As though some ballad-singer had sung it all; Mancini's portrait of Augusta Gregory, 'Greatest since Rembrandt,' according to John Synge; A great ebullient portrait certainly; But where is the brush that could show anything Of all that pride and that humility? And I am in despair that time may bring Approved patterns of women or of men But not that selfsame excellence again. My mediaeval knees lack health until they bend, But in that woman, in that household where Honour had lived so long, all lacking found. Childless I thought, 'My children may find here Deep-rooted things,' but never foresaw its end, And now that end has come I have not wept; No fox can foul the lair the badger swept -- VI (An image out of Spenser and the common tongue). John Synge, I and Augusta Gregory, thought All that we did, all that we said or sang Must come from contact with the soil, from that Contact everything Antaeus-like grew strong. We three alone in modern times had brought Everything down to that sole test again, Dream of the noble and the beggar-man. VII And here's John Synge himself, that rooted man, 'Forgetting human words,' a grave deep face. You that would judge me, do not judge alone This book or that, come to this hallowed place Where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon; Ireland's history in their lineaments trace; Think where man's glory most begins and ends, And say my glory was I had such friends.
Sailing to Byzantium The speaker, referring to the country that he has left, says that it is "no country for old men": it is full of youth and life, with the young lying in one another's arms, birds singing in the trees, and fish swimming in the waters. There, "all summer long" the world rings with the "sensual music" that makes the young neglect the old, whom the speaker describes as "Monuments of unageing intellect. He hopes the sages will appear in fire and take him away from his body into an existence outside time, where, like a great work of art, he could exist in "the artifice of eternity."
Sailing to Byzantium That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect. An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium.
Long-legged fly Strider moves along the flow of time, turning ordinary into extraordinary.
THAT civilisation may not sink, Its great battle lost, Quiet the dog, tether the pony To a distant post; Our master Caesar is in the tent Where the maps are spread, His eyes fixed upon nothing, A hand under his head. Like a long-legged fly upon the stream His mind moves upon silence. That the topless towers be burnt And men recall that face, Move most gently if move you must In this lonely place. She thinks, part woman, three parts a child, That nobody looks; her feet Practise a tinker shuffle Picked up on a street. Like a long-legged fly upon the stream Her mind moves upon silence. That girls at puberty may find The first Adam in their thought, Shut the door of the Pope's chapel, Keep those children out. There on that scaffolding reclines Michael Angelo. With no more sound than the mice make His hand moves to and fro. Like a long-legged fly upon the stream His mind moves upon silence. Strider moves along the flow of time, turning ordinary into extraordinary.
Easter 1916 Easter Rising of 1916, Irish republic was proclaimed and its force seized key sites in Dublin. New life for Ireland. Torn emotions, many involved were executed including Mauds ex husband.
That woman's days were spent In ignorant good-will, Her nights in argument Until her voice grew shrill. What voice more sweet than hers When, young and beautiful, She rode to harriers? This man had kept a school And rode our wingèd horse; This other his helper and friend Was coming into his force; He might have won fame in the end, So sensitive his nature seemed, So daring and sweet his thought. This other man I had dreamed A drunken, vainglorious lout. He had done most bitter wrong To some who are near my heart, Yet I number him in the song; He, too, has resigned his part In the casual comedy; He, too, has been changed in his turn, Transformed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.
The Man and the echo The Echo takes his words out of context, changing their meaning and representing the lack of control one has over their words one they have been spoken. Yeats [The Man] argues against the echo emulating his frustration at the misinterpretation, manipulation and misuse of his works by others. The discord between Yeats and his echo shows the conflict of thoughts within himself as the echo is only an extension of himself, his words and ideas repeated back to him.
The Man and the echo Man. In a cleft that's christened Alt Under broken stone I halt At the bottom of a pit That broad noon has never lit, And shout a secret to the stone. All that I have said and done, Now that I am old and ill, Turns into a question till I lie awake night after night And never get the answers right. Did that play of mine send out Certain men the English shot? Did words of mine put too great strain On that woman's reeling brain? Could my spoken words have checked That whereby a house lay wrecked? And all seems evil until I Sleepless would lie down and die. Echo. Lie down and die. Man. That were to shirk The spiritual intellect's great work, And shirk it in vain. There is no release In a bodkin or disease, Nor can there be work so great As that which cleans man's dirty slate. While man can still his body keep Wine or love drug him to sleep, Waking he thanks the Lord that he Has body and its stupidity, But body gone he sleeps no more, And till his intellect grows sure That all's arranged in one clear view, pursues the thoughts that I pursue, Then stands in judgment on his soul, And, all work done, dismisses all Out of intellect and sight And sinks at last into the night. Echo. Into the night. Man. O Rocky Voice, Shall we in that great night rejoice? What do we know but that we face One another in this place? But hush, for I have lost the theme, Its joy or night-seem but a dream; Up there some hawk or owl has struck, Dropping out of sky or rock, A stricken rabbit is crying out, And its cry distracts my thought.
The song of the wandering aengus Imagination; inconsistent with reality 's Aengus, our speaker, who's struck with love when the fish he catches in a stream turns into a beautiful girl. On another, it's a poem that showcases Celtic mythology. Impossibility of obtaining our desire
The song of the wandering aengus I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout.
The wild swans at coole bout 130 miles from Dublin is a place called Coole Park. It now belongs to the government (it's kind of like a national park), but it used to belong to a woman named Lady Gregory numbers are eternal. The swans never change. Be like swans, rejuvenate is the way to beat time
The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimming water among the stones Are nine-and-fifty swans. The nineteenth autumn has come upon me Since I first made my count; I saw, before I had well finished, All suddenly mount And scatter wheeling in great broken rings Upon their clamorous wings.
The song of the wandering aengus Imagination; inconsistent with reality 's Aengus, our speaker, who's struck with love when the fish he catches in a stream turns into a beautiful girl. On another, it's a poem that showcases Celtic mythology. Impossibility of obtaining our desire
Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
A prayer for my son This poem talks of Yeats's strong, deep anxiety that his son will be murdered. Since working closely with Ezra Pound in 1913, all of Yeats's poetic works are only concerned with the real world; this is not a dream. He names his son as Michael, born on 22nd August 1921. Yeats talks of knowing some people who want to murder his son because of something which will bring his son fame or riches in the future. "The bays" are ceremonial Roman or Greek head-wreaths of bay leaves worn by celebrated people. In the last verse Yeats compares his son's birth during the civil war in Dublin to the Biblical story of Mary and Joseph journeying to Nazareth: "... when through all the town there ran / The servants of Your enemy..." or soldiers. However in 1921, when the civil war in Ireland was in full flow, the Yeats family and Michael were living in peace in England. If they had actually been in Dublin, personally threatened by the violence and disorder of that place and time, this poem might have referred to Michael. But though Yeats no doubt followed news of events in Ireland's capital very closely, he and his family were not involved in the war at all. Avoidance of the unrest of the Irish civil war was one reason they lived in England instead of Ireland at that time.
Though You can fashion everything From nothing every day, and teach The morning stars to sing, You have lacked articulate speech To tell your simplest want, and known, Wailing upon a woman's knee, All of that worst ignominy Of flesh and bone; And when through all the town there ran The servants of your enemy, A woman and a man, Unless the Holy Writings lie, Hurried through the smooth and rough And through the fertile and waste, Protecting, till the danger past, With human love.
Easter 1916 aster Rising of 1916, Irish republic was proclaimed and its force seized key sites in Dublin. New life for Ireland. Torn emotions, many involved were executed including Mauds ex husband.
Too long a sacrifice Can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice? That is Heaven's part, our part To murmur name upon name, As a mother names her child When sleep at last has come On limbs that had run wild. What is it but nightfall? No, no, not night but death; Was it needless death after all? For England may keep faith For all that is done and said. We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead; And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died? I write it out in a verse— MacDonagh and MacBride And Connolly and Pearse Now and in time to be, Wherever green is worn, Are changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.
The song of the wandering aengus Imagination; inconsistent with reality 's Aengus, our speaker, who's struck with love when the fish he catches in a stream turns into a beautiful girl. On another, it's a poem that showcases Celtic mythology. Impossibility of obtaining our desire
When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame, But something rustled on the floor, And someone called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air.
When you are old Imitation of pierre ronsaad, 4 stressed syllables to slow down. Maud Gonne tribute. Recall her former glories. He loves her for who she is in the inside
When you are old When you are old and grey 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.