Poezija mi nekad zatreba zbog onog "lepog", a Jejts je zaista lep. Ne zalazim preterano iza neke simbolike koju koristi, ne tumačim nešto posebno, već mu samo dozvolim da me odvede (kada nije naročito nacionalno raspoložen, zato je i četvorka) nekuda gde svet nije oštar, gde nije ružan.

4+

Breathless, familiar whisperings....I could feel them warm on my cheek.

I got into Yeats by the inertia given me by an earlier love for the romantics, as well as a vague interest in his occult charm. Having spent a good amount of time reading him, about him, and the secondary literature which was spawned from his thought, I think I can say he is not a good poet in the moral sense.

Naturally, the formalism of his meter is sublime. I believe that few poets so devoted themselves to the acquaintance with and expression of the profound and absolute as Yeats. But this is precisely the issue. Yeats’ poetry runs by a darkly passionate engine. His worship of beauty runs in precise parallel to the desire to fuck. His tragedic neo-romantic style yearns for all things fascistic; Yeats brews in people a terrible humanity, conceived in extremities. His power is so absolute that it is non-existent. Those who live by Yeats’ words do terrible things.

I will never forget the words in the forest I have spoken with Yeats. But my life, and I suspect more of our lives, need something gentler. Put him in his historical place, and leave him there: he has witnessed and received his apocalypse.

I'm reading a book right now that has lines from Yeats at the beginning of each chapter so I thought I would give some of his actual poetry a try.

Truth: I both loved it and was confused by it. These poems are lyrical and beautiful, sometimes so much so that it would literally stop my brain in its tracks as I read and I would go over a line three, four, five times. I also needed help when reading because there were a lot of references to places and people that are just unfamiliar to me - having that context really helped Yeats' poetry come alive for me. I liked that there were political ideas, ideas about growing old and maturing, I loved his magical views of the wildlife and world around him.

I'm glad I made the effort - so many lines were familiar to me, some of them lyrics of songs that I know that I had no idea were just poems by Yeats set to music.

Two of my favorite parts:

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild - The Stolen Child

and

Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;

He made the world to be a grassy road

Before her wandering feet - The Rose of the World

okay, one more

When such as I cast our remorse

So great a sweetness flows into the breast

We must laugh and we must sing,

We are blest by everything

Everything we look upon is blest. - A Dialogue of Self and Soul

In contemporary poetry, another author of English expression appears, in the case of Irish origin, which always translated when he began writing in the late nineteenth century. Nothing is taboo; all pros and cons to the taste of pen philosophy in poetry may be the memory of the Druids, the Celts' ancestors of all Western Europeans.
The herring fishing that continues to be made in Northern Europe as it always was, maybe the prior John of socks and collar broke, the memory of classical antiquity, the middle ages, the love of freedom, roaming without an individual course. Again, the countryside, the forest, the passion, the birds, the woman with the Platonic ideal, the friendship, the memory of the Middle East cradle of universal history, which I also learned in the school of my sweet land, of Western civilization.