Irish poetry and William Butler Yeats
The most magical things about poetry is its ability to survive through time, place and still be understood in the minds of posterity. And, it is this common understanding amongst humanity that connects us all on a deeper level. Ireland is known to have been a culture of storytelling, poetry, writing, songs and music that convey stories from the past in many different ways, not always through words but rather the feelings words sometimes tend to inspire.
During my formative years, I experienced first hand this tradition and later realised the significance thereof. Introduced to poets such as William Butler Yeats during primary school, the memory of their words stuck with me subconsciously and through times when the words I knew weren't enough to explain the feelings I had, I remembered and turned to theirs.
Poetry, I believe, allows us to understand ourselves and see, objectively, the effect certain situations tend to have on our minds, souls and hearts. For in many ways, poetry, is the language of souls.
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. 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. 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. - W. B. Yeats
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.
- W. B. Yeats
An Irish Airman Foresees his Death
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 men, 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.
- W.B. Yeats
Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989)
" Faeries, come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame."
― William Butler Yeats, The Land of Heart's Desire