Thursday, October 05, 2006

Today is National Po

Today is National Poetry Day;-
The Lake of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
W.B. Yeats

The photograph is P as a ‘pretend bride’ ie a modelling photo.  The real thing will be in Monday’s Post.  On Friday I have to go to the big town for shopping and maintenance and stuff.


Guyana-Gyal said...

The photo is sheer poetry.

Was it Yeats who wrote the poem that was read in 3 weddings and a funeral? The one about stopping the clock, and the best friend dying? I love that poem.

Have you ever read Rabindranath Tagore?

PI said...

GG: I think it was WH Auden. No I have never read Rabindranath Tagore. What is it?

Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

Beautiful shot, Pat. Beautiful poem too although I did wonder what we were getting when I read the title: "Today Is National Po"!

PI said...

Sam: thanks for my bed-time laugh!

R. Sherman said...

Final two lines from my favorite German poem "An Sich" by Paul Fleming around 1630ish:

Wer sein selbst Meister ist, und sich beherrschen kann,

Dem ist die weite Welt und alles untertan.

"To him, who is master of himself, is the whole world subject."


PI said...

Randall: I'm deeply grateful you translated that.

Dr Maroon said...

But come with old Maroon, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot!
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hátim Tai cry Supper--heed them not

With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,
And pity Sultán Máhmúd on his Throne

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Kir, a Book of Verse--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

PI said...

Doc: OK - told Hakim Tai he can whistle for his supper. The flask of Kir convinced me. My singing isn't what it was - alas, alack, but we shall make merry with a hey nonny nonny no, ere the rivers of Cassis run dry.

apprentice said...

That's a really lovely picture. you were/are a stotter.

I love that poem too.

PI said...

apprentice: I don't know what it means and MTL can't remember - but thanks. I look forward to being able to buy yout book.