William Butler Yeats and the Landscapes of Galway and Sligo
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1 William Butler Yeats and the Landscapes of Galway and Sligo Christine Cozzens Charles A. Dana Professor of English Agnes Scott College As part of the description for our trip, I promised we would read poetry and other literary excerpts “on location.” Something quite special happens when you do this—the literature comes alive in a new way, no matter how well you know the excerpt. The poetry of William Butler Yeats works especially well when read on site; on the student trips to Ireland, there are often two or three students vying for the right to read a Yeats poem on site, to read “Under Ben Bulben “Under Ben Bulben the mountain, or to read “The Wild Swans at Colle” at Coole Park (Yeats’s friend Lady Augusta Gregory’s estate) by the lake with “nine and fifty swans” in the background. “Yeats Country” includes both County Sligo and County Galway. Here is a collection of poems by Yeats that are connected with the landscapes we will visit in both locations. I’ve also included a few poems by other people who were part of Yeats’s and Lady Augusta Gregory’s circle or who wrote about these places in another era. Some of you have expressed fear or even dislike of poetry, but are eager to try again. Read these poems the first time for pleasure: enjoy the words and sounds, rhythms, and repetitions. Try reading them aloud to yourself. You may not get much in the way of meaning at first, but enjoy a phrase or image that speaks to you. If you want to go further, look up some of the people and place names. Note where sentences begin and end. Look for repetitions or other means of emphasizing a word or an image. I loved “The Wild Swans at Coole” for decades before I ever learned anything about its origins or possible interpretations. Poetry should work that way—it should speak to you, even if only in a phrase or image at first. Galway In the 1890s, Yeats met Lady Augusta Gregory who would become his friend, patron, and business partner in the founding of the Abbey Theatre, the world’s first national theatre. Lady Gregory was also a fine writer and translator of Gaelic. Her Galway estate, Coole Park, was a gathering place for the writers and thinkers of the day, including Yeats, George Bernard Shaw, Sean O’Casey, George Moore, J. M. Synge, and others, many of whom inscribed their names on the famous “Autograph Tree.” The house is no longer standing, but the estate is now a beautiful park, where we will make sure to see “The Wild Swans at Coole” and the “Seven Woods” that Yeats made famous in poetry. Yeats eventually bought and restored a Norman tower, “Thoor Ballylee,” a couple of miles away where he lived with his family and wrote some of his most famous poems. We will read works by Yeats and Gregory that were inspired by this landscape and visit Coole Park and Thoor Ballylee, along with other places in nearby County 2 Clare such as the Cliffs of Moher and The Burren that make this area one of the most stunning in Ireland. Sligo Some of Yeats’s most memorable poems explore the mythology and landscape of County Sligo, where he spent many happy months as a child and young man and where he was buried at his request in Drumcliff Churchyard “Under bare Ben Bulben’s head” in the shadow of the great mountain. We’ll read these poems and visit some of the places that inspired them: the “Lake Isle of Innsifree,” Dooney Rock where “The Fiddler of Dooney” dances “like a wave of the sea,” Glencar Waterfall and Sleuth Woods that are part of the magical landscape of “The Stolen Child,” and the elegant Lissadell House, “that old Georgian mansion,” where Yeats met the Gore-Booth sisters Constance and Eva, one a future revolutionary, the other a future poet and suffragist. Yeats in Galway at Coole Park and Thoor Ballylee Coole Park was the name of Lady Augusta Gregory’s home near Gort in County Galway. Her husband died in 1881, leaving her to manage the considerable estate on behalf of their only child, Robert Gregory. Lady Gregory (1852-1932) was Yeats’ friend and patron and collaborated with him on man writing projects. She learned Irish from the locals and became a scholar and advocate for the language. She wrote plays and poetry in English and with Yeats and others founded the Irish National Theatre, The Abbey, the first national theatre in the world. From the 1890s until the 1920s, Coole was a gathering place for writers and artists, including George Bernard, Shaw, Sean O’Casey, J. M. Synge, and many others whose names can still be seen carved in the bark of the “Autograph Tree” in the walled garden. The “Seven Woods” were areas of the parkland ad are marked as such today. The house is no longer standing, but the beautiful and extensive grounds are now a park, and wild swans still gather on Coole Lake. Yeats wrote “The Wild Swans at Coole” in 1916 right after finishing “Easter, 1916” while staying at Coole with Lady Gregory. Besides being a beautiful and moving poem about swans, it is thought to be a “turning point” poem, a poem that marks a transition in his style, imagery, subject matter, thinking, love life, and politics. 3 In the Seven Woods I have heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away The unavailing outcries and the old bitterness That empty the heart. I have forgot awhile Tara uprooted, and new commonness Upon the throne and crying about the streets And hanging its paper flowers from post to post, Because it is alone of all things happy. I am contented, for I know that Quiet Wanders laughing and eating her wild heart Among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer, Who but awaits His hour to shoot, still hangs A cloudy quiver over Pairc-na-lee. 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. I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, And now my heart is sore. All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight, The first time on this shore, The bell-beat of their wings above my head, Trod with a lighter tread. Unwearied still, lover by lover, They paddle in the cold, Companionable streams or climb the air; 4 Their hearts have not grown old; Passion or conquest, wander where they will, Attend upon them still. But now they drift on the still water Mysterious, beautiful; Among what rushes will they build, By what lake’s edge or pool Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day To find they have flown away? In 1917 Yeats purchased a dilapidated Norman tower a few miles from Coole and set about restoring it as he was getting ready to marry Georgie Hyde-Lees. He called it Thoor Ballylee. Over the coming years, he would write many important poems here, some of them reflecting the landscape and architecture of his home. Consequently, the poet Seamus Heaney has called Thoor Ballylee “'the most important public building in Ireland.” In Yeats time and our own, the low- lying land here, heavy rains, and the river that runs by the castle have caused extensive flooding. The tower was lovingly restored for the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary or Yeats’s birth in 2015, but in the winter of 2016, more flooding occurred. I hope we will be able to visit this historic and beautiful place, the home Yeats lived in more than any other. Yeats wrote the following poem “to be carved on a stone at Thoor Ballylee.” I, THE poet William Yeats, 5 With old mill boards and sea-green slates, And smithy work from the Gort forge, Restored this tower for my wife George; And may these characters remain When all is ruin once again. Coole Park and Ballylee, 1931 Under my window-ledge the waters race, Otters below and moor-hens on the top, Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven's face Then darkening through 'dark' Raftery's 'cellar' drop, Run underground, rise in a rocky place In Coole demesne, and there to finish up Spread to a lake and drop into a hole. What's water but the generated soul? Upon the border of that lake's a wood Now all dry sticks under a wintry sun, And in a copse of beeches there I stood, For Nature's pulled her tragic buskin on And all the rant's a mirror of my mood: At sudden thunder of the mounting swan I turned about and looked where branches break The glittering reaches of the flooded lake. Another emblem there! That stormy white But seems a concentration of the sky; And, like the soul, it sails into the sight And in the morning's gone, no man knows why; And is so lovely that it sets to right What knowledge or its lack had set awry, So atrogantly pure, a child might think It can be murdered with a spot of ink.