Yates Poem, When You Are Old

I am by no means a literary scholar, but I bought a William Butler Yeats collection of Irish Fairy and Folk Tails.  Yates collected these and must have thought that they represented a good selection of work on the Irish imagination. I read a chapter every so often.

Yeats of course, did a "little" writing himself.  And it is the same Irish imagination that Yeats himself used to expand upon when he wrote about the simple facts of life and described longing and love.  What one person might describe as the sad emptiness that an older person may feel towards lost friends and lovers, Yeats could describe it in such a way that makes it ethereal.  

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.

                          —William Butler Yeats

I  like this poem very much because it not only speaks about the lost love, but also says much about the person feeling the loss.  I asked my son who is a graphic artists to take the poem and create a small poster that helps further convey the sense of the poem:












I printed some of these up and make them available.

 http://sportingchancepress.com/spc_posters.html

Bit of Inspiration from Yeats

I came across a poem by William Butler Yeats that I thought was especially powerful and  I decided to make it into a poster.  I thought it turned out very nice.  Within a few weeks I'll have it up on my web site at sportingchancepress.com and people will be able to buy it along with other posters and the books that I have published as part of my business, Sporting Chance Press. But if you like this poster and would like to order a copy, two, three or more right away, just send me an email at lmj.norris@gmail.com with your shipping information and number of copies--I'll send the poster(s) with a bill.  The poster is 14" X 12" digitally printed on thick stock and suitable for framing.  The cost of the poster is $12, plus tax if applicable.  I will pay the shipping charges.  I roll them up and send them in a thick tube--either first class or priority mail.

Irish Poem for the Ages

I took the Lit classes that are part and parcel of most English major programs here in the United States. Several classes that focused on poetry were taught by a certain professor who showed little interest in what the two or three men in class had to say . In his class, poems were something young girls could speak about and interpret in great detail.  Men were clueless (and maybe we were).

I left school without much interested in poetry although writing poems myself on an old half plastic-half metal Sears mini portable typewriter was one of my greatest pleasures in high school and college.  When my folks bought me the typewriter and I no longer had to rely on my mom's Underwood with the sticky keys, I was in creative heaven--not that I wrote anything that was good, but I was expressive.

Here's something that struck me recently. I love this one.

                             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.

                                                 

                                                                           —William Butler Yeats