Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Upon a Dying Lady - W.B. Yeats

I am on vacation and I promised myself I would get reacquainted with poetry and W.B. Yeats in particular. I'd like to share an explication of his collection of poems entitled "Upon a Dying Lady."

UPON A DYING LADY

I

HER COURTESY

WITH the old kindness, the old distinguished grace
She lies, her lovely piteous head amid dull red hair
Propped upon pillows, rouge on the pallor of her face.
She would not have us sad because she is lying there,
And when she meets our gaze her eyes are laughter-lit,
Her speech a wicked tale that we may vie with her
Matching our broken-hearted wit against her wit,
Thinking of saints and of Petronius Arbiter.

II

CERTAIN ARTISTS BRING HER DOLLS AND DRAWINGS

Bring where our Beauty lies
A new modelled doll, or drawing, 
With a friend's or an enemy's
Features, or maybe showing
Her features when a tress
Of dull red hair was flowing
Over some silken dress
Cut in the Turkish fashion,
Or it may be like a boy's.
We have given the world our passion,
We have naught for death but toys.

III

SHE TURNS THE DOLLS' FACES TO THE WALL

Because to-day is some religious festival
They had a priest say Mass, and even the Japanese,
Heel up and weight on toe, must face the wall
--Pedant in passion, learned in old courtesies,
Vehement and witty she had seemed--; the Venetian lady
Who had seemed to glide to some intrigue in her red shoes,
Her domino, her panniered skirt copied from Longhi;
The meditative critic; all are on their toes,
Even our Beauty with her Turkish trousers on.
Because the priest must have like every dog his day
Or keep us all awake with baying at the moon,
We and our dolls being but the world were best away.

IV

THE END OF DAY

She is playing like a child
And penance is the play,
Fantastical and wild
Because the end of day
Shows her that some one soon
Will come from the house, and say--
Though play is but half-done--
"Come in and leave the play."

V

HER RACE

She has not grown uncivil
As narrow natures would
And called the pleasures evil
Happier days thought good;
She knows herself a woman
No red and white of a face,
Or rank, raised from a common
Unreckonable race;
And how should her heart fail her
Or sickness break her will
With her dead brother's valour
For an example still.

VI

HER COURAGE

When her soul flies to the predestined dancing-place
(I have no speech but symbol, the pagan speech I made
Amid the dreams of youth) let her come face to face,
Amid that first astonishment, with Grania's shade
All but the terrors of the woodland flight forgot
That made her Dermuid dear, and some old cardinal
Pacing with half-closed eyelids in a sunny spot
Who had murmured of Giorgione at his latest breath--
Aye and Achilles, Timor, Babar, Barhaim all
Who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.

VII

HER FRIENDS BRING HER A CHRISTMAS TREE

Pardon great enemy,
Without an angry thought
We've carried in our tree,
And here and there have bought
Till all the boughs are gay,
And she may look from the bed
On pretty things that may
Please a fantastic head.
Give her a little grace,
What if a laughing eye
Have looked into your face--
It is about to die.


Originally published in Yeats’s 1917 collection “The Wild Swans at Coole,” The collection of poems “Upon a Dying Lady” visits the larger collection’s theme of life, love, and death – an elegy to a young woman whose life dramatizes the tension between passion, play, and responsibility (mainly vis a vis religion).  An adoring, admiration-filled acquaintance is the speaker of this poem who is visiting a dying, unnamed woman.  We know from Yeats’s letters that the woman in question is Mabel Beardsley, a young actress and friend whose long, brave battle with cancer gave Yeats a muse through which to examine bravery and mortality.  (Unterecker, pp. 145-146). 

In the first poem, “Her Courtesy,” the poet describes her kindness, her grace and her “lovely, piteous head.”   The poet’s admiration of the woman’s strength comes from her strength in the face of her mortality.  Her “laughter-lit” eyes, her “wicked” tale, contrast with the poet’s “broken-hearted wit.”  This character brings about the last line, echoing both the saints and the mischief of Petronius Arbiter, a compatriot of the Roman emperor Nero, purported to write “The Satyricon” and a teller of ribald tales. (Johanides)

The second poem, “Certain Artists Bring Her Dolls and Drawings,” relates how the young lady receives gifts of dolls and drawings, and the last lines “We have given the world our passion / We have naught for death but toys” conjures a darkly humorous moral of spending all of our passion in life so that we only have our insignificant trinkets to offer when Death appears.

The third poem, “She Turns The Dolls´ Faces To The Wall” conveys a satirical view of religion as even inanimate objects must show respect during mass and describes the priest as “baying at the moon,” contrasting this with the playful nature of Longhi, a Venetian artist who had a number of paintings depicting Venetians at play.[i]  Yeats echoes this vision of Venice throughout, especially costume and galas, the “domino”[ii] (the half-mask worn over the eyes), the “red shoes,” etc., the last line culminating in the wistful notion of taking refuge in play, leaving the world behind.

The fourth poem, “The End of the Day,” continues the play motif, but darkens when Death, the parent, calls the child in. 

The fifth poem “Her Race” further exemplifies the poet’s admiration of the young lady.  She does not decry the pleasures she’s experienced and uses her example of her brother to be strong in the face of Death.   In Yeats’s letters, he writes that Mabel describes her brother as being the one to introduce her to Heaven, although “they might not appreciate the introduction” and that he had a “passion for reality.”  (Unterecker,  p. 146).

The sixth poem “Her Courage” wishes that when young lady gets to her “pre-destined dancing place” she is visited by various persons of myth and history who exemplify her character.  These include Grania[iii], a passionate heroine from Irish mythology, and Diarmuid[iv] (Grania’s lover).  There is a priest who with “half-closed eyelids in a sunny spot” is murmuring about the Italian painter Giorgione[v], whose paintings were notably void of devotional themes.   This image contrasts with the earlier priest baying at the moon and the backs of dolls – rather, this is a man getting beyond his strict devotion to appreciate the tactile and the beauty of art unrestrained.  There is Achilles, the famous Greek warrior, Timor and Babar, fearless Mongolian leaders, and Bahram, a hunter in “The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám” These and others are “all who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.”[vi]  (Unterecker, p. 146), (Khayyám and Fitzgerald, p. 251)

The seventh and final poem, “Her Friends Bring Her a Christmas Tree” begins by asking Death a pardon so that the poet and his friends can bring in a Christmas tree to please her and then asks Death to give her a little grace as she looks him in the face with her laughing eyes.

Yeats contains multitudes.  He has a bright spirit, a kind heart, a sharp wit and a keen intellect.  I enjoyed reading this poem and learning its references and history immensely.


Bibliography

Johanides, Milton. "Poetry analysis: Upon a Dying Lady, by William Butler Yeats." Helium.com 13 January 2012. www. http://www.helium.com/items/2279739-upon-a-dying-lady-yeats-critique
Khayyám, Omar and Edward Fitzgerald. Edward FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám: A Critical Edition. Ed. Christopher Decker. University of Virginia Press, 1997. Google Books. http://books.google.com/books?id=nihvj8fPztEC&dq=bahrain+rubaiyat&source=gbs_navlinks_s
Unterecker, John Eugene. A Reader's Guide to William Butler Yeats. Syracuse University Press, 1996. Google Books. http://books.google.com/books/about/A_Reader_s_Guide_to_William_Butler_Yeats.html?id=D8Yl3rr5xZwC


Monday, September 16, 2013

Jonathan Franzen on Karl Kraus

Jonathan Franzen, unafraid to post his own unpopular opinions, wants to bring light to Karl Kraus - a "fin de siècle" thinker, who was also wrote challenging, abrasive opinions about culture and was read by many prominent thinkers at the time. Both writers reflect my own growing fear about modern culture, especially the dark side of the internet.

An excerpt from the article follows - find the entire article here.

In his (Kraus's) essay "Apocalypse", a few years earlier, he'd written: "Culture can't catch its breath, and in the end a dead humanity lies next to its works, whose invention cost us so much of our intellect that we had none left to put them to use. We were complicated enough to build machines and too primitive to make them serve us." To me the most impressive thing about Kraus as a thinker may be how early and clearly he recognised the divergence of technological progress from moral and spiritual progress. A succeeding century of the former, involving scientific advances that would have seemed miraculous not long ago, has resulted in high-resolution smartphone videos of dudes dropping Mentos into litre bottles of Diet Pepsi and shouting "Whoa!"

A book of Kraus's essays, "The Kraus Project," edited by Franzen, is due out October 1.