"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." WB Yeats
Falling in love with Yeats again.
Never Give All the Heart
by W.B. Yeats
Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.
Just to put this out in the ether,
Still obsessed over what the fuck Mollymauk had in his possession; I can't remember whether or not Taliesin ever said on a stream anywhere, but when we got to talk briefly one time he mentioned to me being so disappointed that the party didn't properly loot Molly's body when he died.
Just thinking about this and when he tells Nott something like, 'don't go through my stuff; I know everything I have.' What DID you have my guy??????
I’m at peace with the fact I might forever remain single due to my parasocial relationships with poets and writers who have died hundreds of years ago..
the young in one another’s arms
"The Statues" by William Butler Yeats (read by Rupert Graves)
Pythagoras planned it. Why did the people stare?
His numbers, though they moved or seemed to move
In marble or in bronze, lacked character.
But boys and girls, pale from the imagined love
Of solitary beds, knew what they were,
That passion could bring character enough,
And pressed at midnight in some public place
Live lips upon a plummet-measured face.
No! Greater than Pythagoras, for the men
That with a mallet or a chisel" modelled these
Calculations that look but casual flesh, put down
All Asiatic vague immensities,
And not the banks of oars that swam upon
The many-headed foam at Salamis.
Europe put off that foam when Phidias
Gave women dreams and dreams their looking-glass.
One image crossed the many-headed, sat
Under the tropic shade, grew round and slow,
No Hamlet thin from eating flies, a fat
Dreamer of the Middle Ages. Empty eyeballs knew
That knowledge increases unreality, that
Mirror on mirror mirrored is all the show.
When gong and conch declare the hour to bless
Grimalkin crawls to Buddha's emptiness.
When Pearse summoned Cuchulain to his side.
What stalked through the post Office? What intellect,
What calculation, number, measurement, replied?
We Irish, born into that ancient sect
But thrown upon this filthy modern tide
And by its formless spawning fury wrecked,
Climb to our proper dark, that we may trace
The lineaments of a plummet-measured face.
Source: The Poetry Hour
literary references in songwriting
the lakes, taylor swift & the prelude, william wordsworth / the only thing, sufjan stevens & oedipus rex, sophocles / nina cried power, hozier & allegory of the cave, plato / ivy, taylor swift & compassion, miller williams / the only thing, sufjan stevens & prayer journals, flannery o'connor / the shrine, fleet foxes & the lake isle of innisfree, william butler yeats
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
* * * *
Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart longs for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet.
[~ W.B. Yeats]
The Sorrows of Love
by W.B. Yeats
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves,
Had blotted out man's image and his cry.
A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;
Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation of the leaves,
Could but compose man's image and his cry.
The winds that awakened the stars
Are blowing through my blood.
𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚖 𝙱𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜, "𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝"
Went to back to the library as a treat! Not gonna lie, I felt so self-conscious with my arms full of books. And then I walked briskly back to the art section to grab this gigantic Caravaggio beast. I half-wondered if anyone was going to stop me at the checkout cause I am silly like that. I still have one book to finish and a Japanese history book that I just renewed. Oh and two more books on hold. I exercised some self-control, honestly. I would have gotten another one two three eight. 🤣🤣🤣 I felt so thirsty. They have a really cool poetry section and there was this one Yeats creature I do not have and some Rilke and alkfjlajflja;; I passed under a sign on the way out that described the library as a place for knowledge and exploration. Yep, that’s me. 📚
I’m crying, their art section is so huge and so beautiful. I saw about a zillion things that I want to check out. I feel like I have been starving...but was unaware.
Read the first few lines of 凍りのくじら (Ice Whale) and just had to pick it up. The title of the first part was, more or less, “the door to everywhere”. That and I was struck by the first line in the prologue...something about ‘why is it that you paint light so beautifully’ which..captivated me. The Crusades because I have been obsessed lately and then I chanced upon a manga about musicians. And well, WELL...
...how could i say ‘no’ to that?
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Loves a circle go,
The flaming cirlcle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the winged sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile,
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
For all things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
W. B. Yeats, “Two Trees”
“If what I say resonates with you, it's merely because we're branches of the same tree.”
~William Butler Yeats