MEaning of WB YEats Brown penny

The Tain bo Cuilaigne ("Chain voh Coolney"--or, Cooley's Cattle Raid) is the great seminal legend of Irish mythic history. The central characters include Fergus and Cu Chulainn ("Coo Cullen"). Cu Chulainn is the great tragic hero of the tale.

How Cu Chulainn Got His Name

Culann the blacksmith had a guard dog which was as fierce and as bad tempered as it was big. It took three chains to hold it and three men on each chain. All feared the beast less it got angry and injured them and naturally Culann felt quite safe with the animal around. It happened the same night that Culann was entertaining the King and was getting prepared. The King set out from Emain on his chariot with fifty more chariot's full of warriors for the feast and, as was his usual habit, called by the school to greet the all young warriors. He stopped and watched for a while as the young Setanta easily defeated all comers in whatever games they were playing. The King called Setanta over and invited him too to the banquet at Culann's. Setanta said he was not yet finished playing with the boys and would come over presently. When Conor arrived at Culann's the blacksmith asked him if this was all of his party and forgetting about his invitation to Setanta he answered yes. Culann let loose the dog. Setanta approached the house of Culann playing his game of throwing the hurly-ball in the air and hitting it with his hurly-stick and then throwing the javelin and catching them both before they hit the ground when all in Culann's saw the hound set out for him. Although he must have seen the hound his game never faltered. All the warriors in the blacksmith's house cried in anguish as Culann's fierce guardian came closer and closer to the young Setanta. The hound sprang and Setanta at the last moment dropped the stick and ball and the spear and tackled the hound with his two bare hands. He grabbed it's throat in one hand and it's back by the other and hurled it against a pillar with such force it was hard to see it had been a hound by it's remains. All in Culann's house cried with joy and carried Setanta back to Conor. Only Culann was sad. "Whilst I am pleased you are alive and survived an attack from my hound I am saddened by it's loss. It was a faithful servant and protector and guarded my life as well as my possessions. I know not what I will do now it's dead!" Immediately Setanta agreed to raise a pup from the same litter as the hound and until it was ready to he would assume it's duties and protect the life and possessions of the blacksmith. Cu Chulainn shall be your name, the hound of Culann said the crowd. "I like that name." he said. He was not yet seven years old.

(Some claim Setanta simply means "little one," others that it is a corruption of the name of an ancient Erse god now forgotten--the most common meaning, however, is Pathfinder.)

I'm half (Williamson). But back to the topic.

hey
does the painting shows a Druid playing a instrument which is unusual, dint know how to relate the 2.
Well about the Cucoolain ...nice read..
no wonder why u have named urselves as Setanta


Sarasangi

The Druid painting is actually rather good--although not something i'd care to describe as completely historically accurate, the elements are not bad. The harp does no violence to archaeology, the tatoos are in line with the historical record (the christians recorded with disgust that the Druids were tatooed), even though not necessarily consonant with the designs common in Gaelic art of the prehistoric period. The trews, however, are not very realistic. The ancient Gael wore loosely woven trews (think, trousers) made of wool, and usually with a brightly colored pattern, a check most likely. Leather trews would not be impossible, just unlikely. So, altogether, it is not a bad depiction of a Bardic Druid. Please note that the landscape is rather fanciful, though.

A Few Loosely Connected Thoughts
Reading poetry, really, reading anything is not as simple as pronouncing the words on the page or screen. Literature is not made to work along the same lines as a television in which all you have to do is watch and it tells you everything. Setanta has done an excellent job informing those seeking a way into the poem, yet there is still evidence that everyone is not on the same page. Anyone can read this poem or any other poem and not get it or get everything there is to get on the first read. But this poem isn't very complicated. Just read it and think about, shshhhh. Sometimes a poem must be read 100 times before it becomes very clear. As a college student about to graduate in creative writing, I do a lot of searching on the internet for both assigned and unassigned poems. Usually, I just look for the text and read it, but sometimes I find things like this forum in which someone is looking for answers that aren't hard to find for themselves. I don't mean to suggest people shouldn't ask questions, but I do think it would help if they tried to figure it out on their own first. Always getting yer answers from someone nice enough on the internet isn't a very good approach. And I have a sneaking suspicion that often people ask such questions as "What does this poem mean?" because they have a class assignment they are trying to weasel out of. Using someone else's reading is a terrible thing. The online forum can be a great tool to hash out real ideas, but can also be used by very lazy people who don't want to do the minimal work of online research and thought.

Tennyson? Not very Yeats like, or, at least in my opinion, considerably less engaging. "In Memoriam," is perhaps his strongest work, but incredibly lyrical without much concrete imagery. The thing goes on for over 100 pages. Yeats is by far a much more interesting figure, both in productivity and in biography. But the period, as Setanta suggested, saw many other literary figures hit their stride - Hardy, the Rossettis, Swinburne, Meynell, Thompson, the Brownings, - the list goes on and on.

Brown Penny
If the history behind Yeats' love life is taken into consideration then the poem makes more sense. Yeats was in love with a woman called Maud Gonne, this love was unrequited and many of his poems reflect this. Hence, 'o love is the crooked thing', and 'i am looped in the loops of her hair', he is completely involved in her almost tangled in her, he cannot escape. At the time of writing this poem he was just coming to terms with this realisation, which also is reflected in other poems such as 'No second Troy'.
It is also written in a children's rhyme format, it does sound like a child's love rhyme, however it does convey a change from innocence to experience, a young boy discovering love.
There is also the portrayal of his spirituality in this poem, 'and shadows eaten the moon' the masterful imagery of the end of time the solar system devouring its self. This is reflective of Yeats' belief in gyres, when one one world begins it expands and expands until it ends and another world begins. The image of him thinking of love until the world ends is typical of Yeats.

Your first reply was outstanding.Seek no further.

I think you're right - it's meant to be taken literally.
Love, as Shakespeare said, is a many splendoured thing and it comes in so many guises apart from romantic and/or sexual love. There's a lovely book on the subject - Think Love by Jenny Hare

I've really enjoyed reading this thread, Thanks.

In response to the question about another similar poem possibly by Tennyson, you should read "Lady of Shalott."

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

"Looped in the loops of her hair" shows that they are young. She has long hair that his hands are looped in in passion. Younger women tend to have long hair.
The second stanza - That love has run its course and he is aging and thinking back to a time when he thought that he knew everything and wished that he really had, so he could have kept that young love.
"the shadows have eaten the moon" - remembering that feeling fades as he ages, but when he was young, he flew through love without considering the consequences that as an older man; he now understands.