Showing posts with label W.B. Yeats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label W.B. Yeats. Show all posts

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Romantic Ireland's Dead and Gone

September 1913

By William Butler Yeats 

 
What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone;
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.

Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman’s rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.

Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.

Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You’d cry, ‘Some woman’s yellow hair
Has maddened every mother’s son’:
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they’re dead and gone,
They’re with O’Leary in the grave.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still


Leda and the Swan  


By William Butler Yeats
 
 
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
                                  Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
 
 
 
W. B. Yeats, “Leda and the Swan” from The Poems of W. B. Yeats: A New Edition, edited by Richard J. Finneran, 1933.

Monday, August 17, 2015

The Spirit is the Lightening in the Light of an Eye

The Goddess said: 'Spirit, through Spirit you attained your greatness. Praise the greatness of Spirit.' Then Light knew that the mysterious Person was none but Spirit.

That is how these gods--Fire, Wind, and Light--Attained supremacy; they came nearest to Spirit and were the first to call that Person Spirit.

Light stands above Fire and Wind, because closer than they, it was the first to call that Person Spirit.

This is the moral of the tale. In the lightening, in the light of an eye, the light belongs to Spirit.

The power of the mind when it remembers and desires, when it thinks again and again, belongs to Spirit. Therefore let Mind meditate on Spirit.

Spirit is the Good in all. It should be worshipped as the Good. He that knows it as the Good is esteemed by all.

You asked me about spiritual knowledge, I have explained it.

Austerity, self-control, meditation are the foundations of this knowledge; the Wedas are its house, truth its shrine.

He who knows this shall prevail against all evil, enjoy the Kingdom of Heaven, for ever enjoy the blessed Kingdom of Heaven.

From The Ten Principal Upanishads, translated by Shree Purohit Swami and W. B. Yeats.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

This is what I'm working on



Yeats’ Voice in the Text

Cormac McCarthy’s use of voice in No Country for Old Men and The Road must be read as an invocation of the Romantic Sublime through ventriloquizing Yeats’ poetics. Additionally, the use of Yeats provides these texts with an underlying sense of a tragic universe in which humans are ultimately responsible for their own fates; there is no divine intervention. Both McCarthy and Yeats privilege a kind of literary redemption that is only made possible through storytelling. In his Byzantium poems Yeats’ utilizes the tropes of Symbolism to imbue his poetry with a redemptive power that is explicitly bereft of divine intervention. While, his use of those tropes is what characterizes Yeats as a Symbolist rather than a Romantic—though his work retains, and makes use of, several Romantic idioms—the Symbolist movement is itself a reinterpretation of Romanticism with the Symbolist poets offering their own peculiar, and possibly even blasphemous, poetic displacement of the Sacred and Sublime.

According to Olivier Sécardin in his article “La Poésie Impie Ou Le Sacre Du Poète: Sur Quelques Modernes,” poets-like Baudelaire, Mallarmé, and Rimbaud had the beautifully blasphemous ambition to give birth to a new conception of the sacred—though Rimbaud later renounced this poetic ambition. Previously, the sacred had been confined to the Romantic experience of the Sublime—a Platonic transcendence whose inscrutable profundity language had to strive to reach. However, with the advent of poetic modernity, in a line that can be traced directly through these Symbolist poets, it is the immanence of poetic structure that contains and distills the sacral dimension. The poem is “sacred because it is secret, locked up on itself and from the inside. It is secret in the etymological meaning of the word secretus: it is the mystery” (213-14). For these poets, poetry is the dreaming language, the language of dream, the language of the unconscious “lost tongue,” and therefore a new “sacred text” which deposes the idea of Platonic transcendence within structure. Thus the experience of the Sublime ceases to exist out in Nature but rather exists solely within the realm of language. Within this metaphysical paradigm, redemption is deemed to be no longer possible from Nature and must instead become a human project of linguistic aesthetics. The aesthetic religion that Yeats envisages offers a different and altogether new approach to the problem of the art/metaphysics relationship. Within Yeats’s metaphysical project of literary redemption, the poem itself becomes a kind of redemptive ritual magic.

Yeats’ vision of poetry as word magic is further refined in the “Byzantium” poems. As such, it seems obvious that Cormac McCarthy further extends Yeats’ vision of the poet as vatic visionary with his multiple unambiguous references to Yeats. It is also important to notice that McCarthy most particularly references the early, and most explicitly metaphysical, “Byzantium” poems. Additionally, it is equally important to recognize that McCarthy explicitly engages with the entire metaphysical project that underlies those poems. Most reviewers generally agree that the ubiquitous “fire” referred to in The Road is hope, spiritual belief, or truth, but I think only Barbara Bennett, in her article “Celtic Influences on Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men and The Road” has recognized the metonymic use of “fire” as a symbol to refer to the tradition of storytelling. In my own analysis, it is understood that, for McCarthy, this “fire of storytelling” must also include poetics, language, and signification systems generally.

*I also drink cold fucking coffee and grade student essays.