William Butler Yeats
The cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet.
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.
Hmm, never heard of him. Nice poem, though. Happy birthday, William Butler Yeats!
(1)Me neither. I do like the poem though. Happy birthday, William Butler Yeats!
I’ve heard of him, and knew who he was, but I had never seen any of his work. I think my poetry teacher mentioned him a few times. Happy Birthday! How does it feel to be 142, Bill?
142? Daht goiy ish oulde.
(1) Alice, fan of Ireland that you are, you should know your Yeats. Many of his poems and plays drew their inspiration from Irish legend. He was one of the guiding lights of the Irish Literary Revival as the 19th century turned to the 20th and was one of the founders of, as well as playwright for, the Abbey Theatre.
Yeats was both old-fashioned and ahead of his time; his style can be complex or simple, even to the point of silliness, but almost always musical. In fact, he often borrows from song forms, and it was through singing that I first became acquainted with his work.
Some of Yeats’s poems make one shiver with amazement; others make one cringe. Some poems accomplish both from one line to the next.
Here’s one you might like:
THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE
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.
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?
5- ♥. I love it.
5 – Not half bad.
He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Happy Birthday, Yeats!
by the way, contained in my previous post is one of my favorite Yeats poems, though I don’t actually know if I know that many others… hmm…
Politics
By William Butler Yeats
`In our time the destiny of man presents its meanings in
political terms’ – Thomas Mann
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 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!
I like this poem, too.
Do the Irish speak English?
11: No, they speak Swahili.
(11) Some people in Ireland do speak Swahili because they’ve studied it. And some speak Irish for the same reason. The Irish dialect of Gaelic — which the Irish simply call “Irish” — is required in school, but most people speak English (of an unusually lovely, lilting sort, with several different regional flavors) as their first language.
At least, the language is a required school subject in the Republic of Ireland. I’m not sure about Northern Ireland. You could check, or maybe Paul Baker can tell us. I do know that for a long time the English banned the study of Irish and required English-only classrooms, but I’m not sure of the dates. Again, it would make a good research project for an enterprising Muser.
12 – I detect sarcasm.
13 – Thank you for answering my question. I had thought they spoke Irish or something but then this Irish poet writes in English so I wasn’t sure.
I learned about twenty words in Irish during kindergarten in Galway, including “hello”, “my name is”, “car”, and “and”… I used to have a quaint accent, but now I do not. I just look Irish-ish.
I also know how to say seaweed, boot and cow. My father is almost fluent in the language.
I love hearing people talk in different accents. And my brother is sooo good at imitating accents, so I’m lucky.