Записи с темой: e'ireann (список заголовков)
06:31 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.
33. Ego Dominus Tuus

Hic. On the grey sand beside the shallow stream
Under your old wind-beaten tower, where still
A lamp burns on beside the open book
That Michael Robartes left, you walk in the moon,
And, though you have passed the best of life, still trace,
Enthralled by the unconquerable delusion,
Magical shapes.
Ille. By the help of an image
I call to my own opposite, summon all
That I have handled least, least looked upon.
Hic. And I would find myself and not an image.
Ille. That is our modern hope, and by its light
We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind
And lost the old nonchalance of the hand;
Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush,
We are but critics, or but half create,
Timid, entangled, empty and abashed,
Lacking the countenance of our friends.
читать дальше
What portion in the world can the artist have
Who has awakened from the common dream
But dissipation and despair?
Hic. And yet
No one denies to Keats love of the world;
Remember his deliberate happiness.
Ille. His art is happy, but who knows his mind?
I see a schoolboy when I think of him,
With face and nose pressed to a sweet-shop window,
For certainly he sank into his grave
His senses and his heart unsatisfied,
And made -- being poor, ailing and ignorant,
Shut out from all the luxury of the world,
The coarse-bred son of a livery-stable keeper --
Luxuriant song.
Hic. Why should you leave the lamp
Burning alone beside an open book,
And trace these characters upon the sands?
A style is found by sedentary toil
And by the imitation of great masters.
Ille. Because I seek an image, not a book.
Those men that in their writings are most wise,
Own nothing but their blind, stupefied hearts.
I call to the mysterious one who yet
Shall walk the wet sands by the edge of the stream
And look most like me, being indeed my double,
And prove of all imaginable things
The most unlike, being my anti-self,
And, standing by these characters, disclose
All that I seek; and whisper it as though
He were afraid the birds, who cry aloud
Their momentary cries before it is dawn,
Would carry it away to blasphemous men.

@темы: e'ireann, english-british, 20, yeats, w. b., y

05:56 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.
31. In Memory of Alfred Pollexfen

Five-and-twenty years have gone
Since old William Pollexfen
Laid his strong bones down in death
By his wife Elizabeth
In the grey stone tomb he made.
And after twenty years they laid
In that tomb by him and her,
His son George, the astrologer;
And Masons drove from miles away
To scatter the Acacia spray
Upon a melancholy man
Who had ended where his breath began.
Many a son and daughter lies
Far from the customary skies,
The Mall and Eades’s grammar school,
In London or in Liverpool;
But where is laid the sailor John?
That so many lands had known:
Quiet lands or unquiet seas
Where the Indians trade or Japanese.
He never found his rest ashore,
Moping for one voyage more.
Where have they laid the sailor John?

читать дальше

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, 20

07:28 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.
18. The Fisherman

Although I can see him still,
The freckled man who goes
To a grey place on a hill
In grey Connemara clothes
At dawn to cast his flies,
It’s long since I began
To call up to the eyes
This wise and simple man.
All day I’d looked in the face
What I had hoped ’twould be
To write for my own race
And the reality;
The living men that I hate,
The dead man that I loved,
The craven man in his seat,
The insolent unreproved,
And no knave brought to book
Who has won a drunken cheer,
The witty man and his joke
Aimed at the commonest ear,
The clever man who cries
The catch-cries of the clown,
The beating down of the wise
And great Art beaten down.

читать дальше

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, 20

06:00 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.
1. 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.

читать дальше

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, 20

07:01 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
Responsibilities and Other Poems. 1916.
37. Reconciliation

Some may have blamed you that you took away
The verses that could move them on the day
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind
With lightning you went from me, and I could find
Nothing to make a song about but kings,
Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things
That were like memories of you—but now
We’ll out, for the world lives as long ago;
And while we’re in our laughing, weeping fit,
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit.
But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone,
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, 20

08:00 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
Responsibilities and Other Poems. 1916.
36. No Second Troy

Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?

@темы: 20, yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, antiquity

06:00 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
Responsibilities and Other Poems. 1916.
31. 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 eyes
As though they’d wrought it.
Song, let them take it
For there’s more enterprise
In walking naked.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, 20

06:14 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
Responsibilities and Other Poems. 1916.
21. The Mountain Tomb

Pour wine and dance if Manhood still have pride,
Bring roses if the rose be yet in bloom;
The cataract smokes upon the mountain side,
Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb.

Pull down the blinds, bring fiddle and clarionet
That there be no foot silent in the room
Nor mouth from kissing, nor from wine unwet;
Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb.

In vain, in vain; the cataract still cries
The everlasting taper lights the gloom;
All wisdom shut into his onyx eyes
Our Father Rosicross sleeps in his tomb.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, 20

06:00 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
Responsibilities and Other Poems. 1916.
7. Paudeen

Indignant at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite
Of our old Paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind
Among the stones and thorn trees, under morning light;
Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind
A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupon I thought
That on the lonely height where all are in God’s eye,
There cannot be, confusion of our sound forgot,
A single soul that lacks a sweet crystaline cry.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, 20

06:03 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
36. Aedh 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.

@темы: y, yeats, w. b., english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes, 19

06:02 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
35. Aedh wishes his Beloved were dead

Were you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast;
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away,
Though you have the will of the wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:
O would beloved that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground,
While lights were paling one by one.

@темы: y, english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes, yeats, w. b., 19

07:07 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
30. Hanrahan laments because of his Wanderings

O where is our Mother of Peace
Nodding her purple hood?
For the winds that awakened the stars
Are blowing through my blood.
I would that the death-pale deer
Had come through the mountain side,
And trampled the mountain away,
And drunk up the murmuring tide;
For the winds that awakened the stars
Are blowing through my blood,
And our Mother of Peace has forgot me
Under her purple hood.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes, 19

06:49 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
9. The Song of 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.

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.

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.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes, 19

06:14 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
6. Breasal* the Fisherman

Although you hide in the ebb and flow
Of the pale tide when the moon has set,
The people of coming days will know
About the casting out of my net,
And how you have leaped times out of mind
Over the little silver cords,
And think that you were hard and unkind,
And blame you with many bitter words.

* Breasal the Fisherman - Yeats seems to have employed the name "Breasal" as a generic term for the genus "fisherman". In the 1903 North American Review version of his play The Hour Glass, the Fool tells the wise man: "Bresal the Fisherman lets me sleep among the nets in his loft in the winter-time because he says I bring him luck... (VPI, 584). But his poem may be inspired by Echtra Bhresail or "Bresal's adventure" recorded in The Book of Leinster and referred to in O'Grady's Silva Gadelica. "On adventure bent, "Bresal "dived down into Loch Laoigh, under which he abode for fifty years."
Wherever Yeats found the name, Breasal is a man on a quest and the object of the quest is a mysterious fish. Grossman makes much of the fact that Yeats later shifted the emphasis of the poem from the persona to the object by retitling it "The Fish", thus calling attention to the fish as the alchemical symbol for "the prima materia, the lapis philosophorum, the ultimate identuty of the self..." Th fish is also a Celtic symbol of perpetuity or reincarnation as recorded in "The Wisdom of the King" (SR, 21; VSR, 31), a symbols for Christianity.
(c)

@темы: ...logy, 19, celtic themes, e'ireann, links, y, yeats, w. b.

06:14 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
5. The Host of the Air

O’driscoll drove with a song,
The wild duck and the drake,
From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.

And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night tide,
And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.

He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.

And he saw young men and young girls
Who danced on a level place
And Bridget his bride among them,
With a sad and a gay face.

The dancers crowded about him,
And many a sweet thing said,
And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.

читать дальше

@темы: 19, yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes

07:21 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
2. The Everlasting Voices

O sweet everlasting Voices be still;
Go to the guards of the heavenly fold
And bid them wander obeying your will
Flame under flame, till Time be no more;
Have you not heard that our hearts are old,
That you call in birds, in wind on the hill,
In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore?
O sweet everlasting Voices be still.

@темы: 19, celtic themes, e'ireann, english-british, y, yeats, w. b.

08:28 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Seamus Heaney
Scaffolding

Masons, when they start upon a building,
Are careful to test out the scaffolding;

Make sure that planks won’t slip at busy points,
Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.

And yet all this comes down when the job’s done
Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.

So if, my dear, there sometimes seem to be
Old bridges breaking between you and me

Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall
Confident that we have built our wall.

@темы: 20, e'ireann, english-british, h, heaney, seamus

07:08 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
W. B. Yeats
The Falling of the Leaves

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, 19

06:32 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Eavan Boland
In His Own Image

I was not myself, myself.
The celery feathers,
the bacon flitch,
the cups deep on the shelf
and my cheek
coppered and shone
in the kettle's paunch,
my mouth
blubbed in the tin of the pan­
they were all I had to go on.

How could I go on
With such meager proofs of myself?
I woke day after day.
Day after day I was gone.
From the self I was last night.

And then he came home tight.

Such a simple definition!
How did I miss it?
Now I see
that all I needed
was a hand
to mold my mouth
to scald my cheek,
was this concussion
by whose lights I find
my self-possession,
where I grow complete.

He splits my lip with his fist,
shadows my eye with a blow,
knuckles my neck to its proper angle.
What a perfectionist!

His are a sculptor's hands:
they summon
form from the void,
they bring
me to myself again.
I am a new woman.

@темы: 20, b, e'ireann, english-british

06:47 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Eavan Boland
In Her Own Image

It is her eyes:
the irises are gold
and round 'they go
like the ring on my wedding finger,
round and round

and I can't touch
their histories or tears.
To think they were once my satellites!
They shut me out now.
Such light-years!

She is not myself
anymore she is not
even in my sky
anymore and I
am not myself.

I will not disfigure
her pretty face.
Let her wear amethyst thumbprints,
a family heirloom,
a sort of burial necklace

and I know just the place:
Where the wall glooms,
where the lettuce seeds,
where the jasmine springs
no surprises

I will bed her.
She will bloom there,
second nature to me,
the one perfection
among compromises.

@темы: 20, b, e'ireann, english-british

Pure Poetry

главная