0
   

JB learn to appreciate English poems

 
 
dlowan
 
  1  
Reply Sat 19 Aug, 2006 10:39 am
It means the vanity belonging to the day...as opposed to the remorse felt at night.


Note Vanity has multiple meanings:

van·i·ty (văn'ĭ-tē)
n., pl. -ties.
The quality or condition of being vain.
Excessive pride in one's appearance or accomplishments; conceit. See synonyms at conceit.
Lack of usefulness, worth, or effect; worthlessness.

Something that is vain, futile, or worthless.
Something about which one is vain or conceited.
A vanity case.
See dressing table.
A bathroom cabinet that encloses a basin and its water lines and drain, usually furnished with shelves and drawers underneath for storage of toiletries.
[Middle English vanite, from Old French, from Latin vānitās, from vānus, empty.]





Thesaurus vanity

noun

A regarding of oneself with undue favor: amour-propre, conceit, ego, egoism, egotism, narcissism, pride, vainglory, vainness. Slang ego trip. See self-love/modesty.
The condition or quality of being useless or ineffective: bootlessness, fruitlessness, futility, unavailingness, unprofitableness, uselessness, vainness. See thrive/fail/exist, used/unused.
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Sat 19 Aug, 2006 07:53 pm
Yes, multiple meanings of vanity, that could be the next question I would raise Smile
0 Replies
 
dlowan
 
  1  
Reply Sat 19 Aug, 2006 08:56 pm
J-B wrote:
Yes, multiple meanings of vanity, that could be the next question I would raise Smile


A relevant meaning of vanity is one that I am struggling to express, but is relevant especially to religion...or at least some of them, including christianity....and it is vanity in the sense of things that distract one from practising one's faith, and therefore have a flavour of evil...see 'the bonfire of the vanities' in Savonarola's Florence....where a ruthless and very ascetic priest briefly took control of the city, and where books, works of art and science that were not religiously correct and orthodox, or too lovely and glorying of the human body and the beauties of the world, as well as rich clothing and other luxuries, were burned.

Bonfire of the Vanities
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
This article is about the historical event; for the novel see The Bonfire of the Vanities, for the film see The Bonfire of the Vanities (film).

The most famous Bonfire of the Vanities (Italian: Falò delle vanità) took place on 7 February 1497 when followers of the priest Girolamo Savonarola collected and publicly burned thousands of objects in Florence, Italy, on the Shrove Tuesday festival.

The focus of this destruction was on objects considered sinful, including vanity items such as mirrors, cosmetics, fine dresses, and even musical instruments. Other targets included immoral books, manuscripts of secular songs, and pictures. Among the objects destroyed in this campaign were several original paintings on classical mythological subjects by Sandro Botticelli, who placed them in the bonfire himself.

Such bonfires were not invented by Savonarola, however, and they were a common accompaniment to the outdoor sermons of San Bernardino da Siena in the first half of the century.

Tom Wolfe's novel The Bonfire of the Vanities, published in 1987, makes reference to the original event, but is not a retelling of the story.

The event plays a part in Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason's The Rule of Four. It is the motivation for the writing of a Hypnerotomachia Poliphili in the novel.

It also finds itself in Timothy Findley's novel, entitled Pilgrim (1999).



from Wikipedia





So...you see "the day's vanities" is a complex and weighted phrase!


There was a famous novel, called "Bonfire of the vanities", which satirised "the day's vanities" of 80's America, and certainly ended in a dark night indeed.
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Tue 22 Aug, 2006 05:29 am
Quote:
An Irish Airman Forsees His Death


I KNOW that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My county is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

William Butler Yeats



I cannot deny the most significant part of this poem is its last four lines. Is it kind of somewhat pessimistic or sorrowful saying that "my" life is no more than "a waste of breath now", which it alone make some difference between "this life" and "this death"?
If not, could rephrase these lines?

JB
0 Replies
 
dlowan
 
  1  
Reply Tue 22 Aug, 2006 06:13 am
J-B wrote:
Quote:
An Irish Airman Forsees His Death


I KNOW that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My county is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

William Butler Yeats



I cannot deny the most significant part of this poem is its last four lines. Is it kind of somewhat pessimistic or sorrowful saying that "my" life is no more than "a waste of breath now", which it alone make some difference between "this life" and "this death"?
If not, could rephrase these lines?

JB


I do not think so...I think he is saying that his delight in "this life" (being a fighter pilot) and "this death" (dying doing this thing he loves) are more important than all his life before, and the life he imagines himself living if he chose not to die this way.
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Tue 22 Aug, 2006 06:41 am
Yes yes Dlowan, that's exactly what I "feel"!...Just expressed in the other way around. I think it was mostly because I was not that sure about the last two lines.

Quote:
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.


"behind"? What's behind what? "a waste of breath" behind "the years"?
"In balance with"? "A waste of breath" in balance with "this life, this death"?

Btw, sometimes I feel guilty at vivisecting a heavenly work in this way...But I have to...I still have not enough to fully understand the poetic language....

JB
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Tue 22 Aug, 2006 06:47 am
I think "...in balance with..." should mean something like:
Consider "A waste of breath" with "this life, this death"
0 Replies
 
dlowan
 
  1  
Reply Tue 22 Aug, 2006 06:49 am
J-B wrote:
Yes yes Dlowan, that's exactly what I "feel"!...Just expressed in the other way around. I think it was mostly because I was not that sure about the last two lines.

Quote:
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.


"behind"? What's behind what? "a waste of breath" behind "the years"?
"In balance with"? "A waste of breath" in balance with "this life, this death"?

Btw, sometimes I feel guilty at vivisecting a heavenly work in this way...But I have to...I still have not enough to fully understand the poetic language....

JB


The years behind are the years he has lived so far....

He is weighing the worth of a brief, ecstatic, time loving "this tumult in the clouds" in a balance (a scale where the item to be weighed is put on one side, and known weights are put in the other...so he is assessing the worth of a whole life versus this brief ecstatic experience).


He decides that all the life he has lived to date and the life he WOULD live is worth less than the life in the clouds.


A waste of breath means worthless, not worth living through....

Is that clear?


I do not think you are vivisecting...once you understand, you are free to enjoy the ecstasy of the words again more fully.
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Tue 22 Aug, 2006 07:35 am
Clear clear very clear! Very Happy

Seems all the confusion is on the word "behind". And suddenly it is disentangled!
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Sun 27 Aug, 2006 03:55 am
Quote:
The Fiddler Of Dooney


WHEN I play on my fiddle in Dooney.
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With "Here is the fiddler of Dooney!"
And dance like a wave of the sea.

William Butler Yeats



For reason I cannot figure out, this poem touched me as one of Tolkien's Middle-Earth poems, especially that of the elves.
hehe, but anyway, there is still a little problem.

What does "save by an evil chance" mean?
0 Replies
 
dlowan
 
  1  
Reply Sun 27 Aug, 2006 04:07 am
J-B wrote:
Quote:
The Fiddler Of Dooney


WHEN I play on my fiddle in Dooney.
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With "Here is the fiddler of Dooney!"
And dance like a wave of the sea.

William Butler Yeats



For reason I cannot figure out, this poem touched me as one of Tolkien's Middle-Earth poems, especially that of the elves.
hehe, but anyway, there is still a little problem.

What does "save by an evil chance" mean?



Except if there is bad luck.....



He is saying that St Peter is good, so he must be merry, and the merry love the fiddle and dancing, so, unless the author has rotten luck, he will be chosen above his relatives (who study to be good) to enter heaven first.
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Sun 3 Sep, 2006 04:43 am
Quote:
In Memory Of Major Robert Gregory


I
Now that we're almost settled in our house
I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us
Beside a fire of turf in th' ancient tower,
And having talked to some late hour
Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed:
Discoverers of forgotten truth
Or mere companions of my youth,
All, all are in my thoughts to-night being dead.

II
Always we'd have the new friend meet the old
And we are hurt if either friend seem cold,
And there is salt to lengthen out the smart
In the affections of our heart,
And quarrels are blown up upon that head;
But not a friend that I would bring
This night can set us quarrelling,
For all that come into my mind are dead.

III
Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind,
That loved his learning better than mankind,
Though courteous to the worst; much falling he
Brooded upon sanctity
Till all his Greek and Latin learning seemed
A long blast upon the horn that brought
A little nearer to his thought
A measureless consummation that he dreamed.

IV
And that enquiring man John Synge comes next,
That dying chose the living world for text
And never could have rested in the tomb
But that, long travelling, he had come
Towards nightfall upon certain set apart
In a most desolate stony place,
Towards nightfall upon a race
Passionate and simple like his heart.

V
And then I think of old George Pollexfen,
In muscular youth well known to Mayo men
For horsemanship at meets or at racecourses,
That could have shown how pure-bred horses
And solid men, for all their passion, live
But as the outrageous stars incline
By opposition, square and trine;
Having grown sluggish and contemplative.

VI
They were my close companions many a year,
A portion of my mind and life, as it were,
And now their breathless faces seem to look
Out of some old picture-book;
I am accustomed to their lack of breath,
But not that my dear friend's dear son,
Our Sidney and our perfect man,
Could share in that discourtesy of death.

VII
For all things the delighted eye now sees
Were loved by him; the old storm-broken trees
That cast their shadows upon road and bridge;
The tower set on the stream's edge;
The ford where drinking cattle make a stir
Nightly, and startled by that sound
The water-hen must change her ground;
He might have been your heartiest welcomer.

VIII
When with the Galway foxhounds he would ride
From Castle Taylor to the Roxborough side
Or Esserkelly plain, few kept his pace;
At Mooneen he had leaped a place
So perilous that half the astonished meet
Had shut their eyes; and where was it
He rode a race without a bit?
And yet his mind outran the horses' feet.

IX
We dreamed that a great painter had been born
To cold Clare rock and Galway rock and thorn,
To that stern colour and that delicate line
That are our secret discipline
Wherein the gazing heart doubles her might.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And yet he had the intensity
To have published all to be a world's delight.

X
What other could so well have counselled us
In all lovely intricacies of a house
As he that practised or that understood
All work in metal or in wood,
In moulded plaster or in carven stone?
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And all he did done perfectly
As though he had but that one trade alone.

XI
Some burn damp faggots, others may consume
The entire combustible world in one small room
As though dried straw, and if we turn about
The bare chimney is gone black out
Because the work had finished in that flare.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
As 'twere all life's epitome.
What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?

XII
I had thought, seeing how bitter is that wind
That shakes the shutter, to have brought to mind
All those that manhood tried, or childhood loved
Or boyish intellect approved,
With some appropriate commentary on each;
Until imagination brought
A fitter welcome; but a thought
Of that late death took all my heart for speech.




I read this poem intensively today. I have also found a site solely for this poem, with abundant resources. It seems to me as another quest into the meaning of life and the menace of death by W.B. Yeats.
Still I have some uncertainties in details, let's deal with them now.

1. in stanza II, "lengthen out the smart"?
2, in stanza IV, "certain set apart"?
3. stanza V, " live
But as the outrageous stars incline
By opposition, square and trine;"
It's something about astrology, which I don't know much right?
What are "the outrageous stars"?
What do they suggest by "inclining by opposition, square and trine"?
4. same stanza, "having grown sluggish and comtemplative", is that refered to the poet?

JB
0 Replies
 
dlowan
 
  1  
Reply Sun 3 Sep, 2006 05:03 am
J-B wrote:
Quote:
In Memory Of Major Robert Gregory


I
Now that we're almost settled in our house
I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us
Beside a fire of turf in th' ancient tower,
And having talked to some late hour
Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed:
Discoverers of forgotten truth
Or mere companions of my youth,
All, all are in my thoughts to-night being dead.

II
Always we'd have the new friend meet the old
And we are hurt if either friend seem cold,
And there is salt to lengthen out the smart
In the affections of our heart,
And quarrels are blown up upon that head;
But not a friend that I would bring
This night can set us quarrelling,
For all that come into my mind are dead.

III
Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind,
That loved his learning better than mankind,
Though courteous to the worst; much falling he
Brooded upon sanctity
Till all his Greek and Latin learning seemed
A long blast upon the horn that brought
A little nearer to his thought
A measureless consummation that he dreamed.

IV
And that enquiring man John Synge comes next,
That dying chose the living world for text
And never could have rested in the tomb
But that, long travelling, he had come
Towards nightfall upon certain set apart
In a most desolate stony place,
Towards nightfall upon a race
Passionate and simple like his heart.

V
And then I think of old George Pollexfen,
In muscular youth well known to Mayo men
For horsemanship at meets or at racecourses,
That could have shown how pure-bred horses
And solid men, for all their passion, live
But as the outrageous stars incline
By opposition, square and trine;
Having grown sluggish and contemplative.

VI
They were my close companions many a year,
A portion of my mind and life, as it were,
And now their breathless faces seem to look
Out of some old picture-book;
I am accustomed to their lack of breath,
But not that my dear friend's dear son,
Our Sidney and our perfect man,
Could share in that discourtesy of death.

VII
For all things the delighted eye now sees
Were loved by him; the old storm-broken trees
That cast their shadows upon road and bridge;
The tower set on the stream's edge;
The ford where drinking cattle make a stir
Nightly, and startled by that sound
The water-hen must change her ground;
He might have been your heartiest welcomer.

VIII
When with the Galway foxhounds he would ride
From Castle Taylor to the Roxborough side
Or Esserkelly plain, few kept his pace;
At Mooneen he had leaped a place
So perilous that half the astonished meet
Had shut their eyes; and where was it
He rode a race without a bit?
And yet his mind outran the horses' feet.

IX
We dreamed that a great painter had been born
To cold Clare rock and Galway rock and thorn,
To that stern colour and that delicate line
That are our secret discipline
Wherein the gazing heart doubles her might.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And yet he had the intensity
To have published all to be a world's delight.

X
What other could so well have counselled us
In all lovely intricacies of a house
As he that practised or that understood
All work in metal or in wood,
In moulded plaster or in carven stone?
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And all he did done perfectly
As though he had but that one trade alone.

XI
Some burn damp faggots, others may consume
The entire combustible world in one small room
As though dried straw, and if we turn about
The bare chimney is gone black out
Because the work had finished in that flare.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
As 'twere all life's epitome.
What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?

XII
I had thought, seeing how bitter is that wind
That shakes the shutter, to have brought to mind
All those that manhood tried, or childhood loved
Or boyish intellect approved,
With some appropriate commentary on each;
Until imagination brought
A fitter welcome; but a thought
Of that late death took all my heart for speech.




I read this poem intensively today. I have also found a site solely for this poem, with abundant resources. It seems to me as another quest into the meaning of life and the menace of death by W.B. Yeats.
Still I have some uncertainties in details, let's deal with them now.

1. in stanza II, "lengthen out the smart"?
2, in stanza IV, "certain set apart"?
3. stanza V, " live
But as the outrageous stars incline
By opposition, square and trine;"
It's something about astrology, which I don't know much right?
What are "the outrageous stars"?
What do they suggest by "inclining by opposition, square and trine"?
4. same stanza, "having grown sluggish and comtemplative", is that refered to the poet?

JB



1. Make the hurt last longer.

2. Are you sure you have quoted this stanza correctly? I suspect a certain set apart means either a group of people set apart from most, or Synge has found a way of setting himself apart.

3. Yes, I think these are astrological terms...I think he means that this swift, passionate man, as though by the force of contrary stars...(outrageous because the fate they held in store for this man seems so wrong to Yeats) had later become sluggish and contemplative.


4. No, it refers to the subject of the stanza, George Pollexfen.
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Sun 3 Sep, 2006 05:21 am
Quote:
2. Are you sure you have quoted this stanza correctly? I suspect a certain set apart means either a group of people set apart from most, or Synge has found a way of setting himself apart.


Ahh...I think it's the former. In the materials I have read, Yeats and Synge travelled to a remote island, "a most desolate stony place"
Quote:
John Synge was one of Yeats's greatest friends in Dublin until his early death at the age of thirty-eight from cancer. Synge was an Irish poet and playwright during the Irish literary Renaissance. Synge traveled with Yeats all over the Aran Islands, "a most desolate stony place," and based many of his poems on the bleak and tragic lifestyle of the Irish peasants. He was a very passionate writer and isolated himself to produce his most creative, yet critical works. As Yeats says in the second line, "That dying chose the living world for text," Synge knew he was dying, but he decided that his role in the world was to write, which is a statement of a true artist.

http://ireland.wlu.edu/images/ire00391.jpg

And, "set apart" may be referred to these two men.

Besides, is "sluggish and contemplative" another way of saying death? (Since all these people he mentioned had perished)
0 Replies
 
dlowan
 
  1  
Reply Sun 3 Sep, 2006 05:24 am
No, I don't think so...he just means sluggish:

sluggish [slug·gish || 'slʌgɪʃ]

adj. slow, inactive, lethargic, lazy, slothful; dull, lacking alertness (of the mind)


and contemplative, instead of always in action.
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Sun 3 Sep, 2006 06:11 am
But, then, how to understand this whole stanza?
And how to understand this stanza in the poem?
I have no idea now...

I originally understood this stanza as , although being such a swift and energetic man, Pollexfen still couldn't escape the "outrageous fate" of death. Confused
0 Replies
 
dlowan
 
  1  
Reply Sun 3 Sep, 2006 06:17 am
J-B wrote:
But, then, how to understand this whole stanza?
And how to understand this stanza in the poem?
I have no idea now...

I originally understood this stanza as , although being such a swift and energetic man, Pollexfen still couldn't escape the "outrageous fate" of death. Confused



He couldn't escape death, or becoming sluggish and unlike his former self.
0 Replies
 
J-B
 
  1  
Reply Sat 9 Sep, 2006 06:09 am
Quote:
HE REMEMBERS FORGOTTEN BEAUTY

WHEN my arms wrap you round I press
My heart upon the loveliness
That has long faded from the world;
The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled
In shadowy pools, when armies fled;
The love-tales wrought with silken thread
By dreaming ladies upon cloth
That has made fat the murderous moth;
The roses that of old time were
Woven by ladies in their hair,
The dew-cold lilies ladies bore
Through many a sacred corridor
Where such grey clouds of incense rose
That only God's eyes did not close:
For that pale breast and lingering hand
Come from a more dream-heavy land,
A more dream-heavy hour than this;
And when you sigh from kiss to kiss
I hear white Beauty sighing, too,
For hours when all must fade like dew.
But flame on flame, and deep on deep,
Throne over throne where in half sleep,
Their swords upon their iron knees,
Brood her high lonely mysteries.



"Their swords upon their iron knees"

Who are "they"?

Thanks
0 Replies
 
dlowan
 
  1  
Reply Sat 9 Sep, 2006 07:24 am
J-B wrote:
Quote:
HE REMEMBERS FORGOTTEN BEAUTY

WHEN my arms wrap you round I press
My heart upon the loveliness
That has long faded from the world;
The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled
In shadowy pools, when armies fled;
The love-tales wrought with silken thread
By dreaming ladies upon cloth
That has made fat the murderous moth;
The roses that of old time were
Woven by ladies in their hair,
The dew-cold lilies ladies bore
Through many a sacred corridor
Where such grey clouds of incense rose
That only God's eyes did not close:
For that pale breast and lingering hand
Come from a more dream-heavy land,
A more dream-heavy hour than this;
And when you sigh from kiss to kiss
I hear white Beauty sighing, too,
For hours when all must fade like dew.
But flame on flame, and deep on deep,
Throne over throne where in half sleep,
Their swords upon their iron knees,
Brood her high lonely mysteries.



"Their swords upon their iron knees"

Who are "they"?

Thanks


"Her high lonely mysteries"
0 Replies
 
 

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