A way of happening

W.B. Yeats died on January 28, 1939, and W.H. Auden---who had already written, for example, Funeral Blues (Stop all the clocks ...)---wrote the three-part elegy In Memory of W.B. Yeats.  I hardly ever like poems about poetry, but this poem is an exception.  I'm reading the short and stunning second part:

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
The parish of rich women, physical decay,
Yourself.  Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth.

Notice the humanizing silly like us.

The word gift, when you first read it in the opening line, would probably be understood in the sense of talent, and it is only later that you figure out that its primary meaning is the deceased poet's body of work (which was his gift to the world, etc.), but---because you've already thought of it---the other reading still remains in your mind as a secondary meaning.

And then you come to survived, the key word, which reappears (it survives) in the middle and the end to mark the poem's remarkable statement about poetry:  That poetry makes nothing happen, but that it remains A way of happening.

And, in between, poetry is a river that starts In the valley of its making (writing a poem is a valley) and flows on south (why south?)/From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,/Raw towns that we believe and die in (note the effortless plurivalent grammar here---the busy griefs are Raw towns that:  a. we believe and we die in, and b. we believe in and we die in ...  and, in contrast to us that die in the Raw towns of the busy griefs, the river of poetry flows on and survives) to---a place powerful enough to end both a river and a poem---a mouth.

Here, without commentary, is the elegy's third (and final) part, which has more about poetry:

Earth, receive an honoured guest:
William Yeats is laid to rest.
Let the Irish vessel lie
Emptied of its poetry.

Time that is intolerant
Of the brave and innocent,
And indifferent in a week
To a beautiful physique,

Worships language and forgives
Everyone by whom it lives;
Pardons cowardice, conceit,
Lays its honours at their feet.

Time that with this strange excuse
Pardoned Kipling and his views,
And will pardon Paul Claudel,
Pardons him for writing well.

In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;

Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.

Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice;

With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress;

In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.

Auden later edited out the harsh stanzas 2 through 4 of this part (from Time that is intolerant to Pardons him for writing well).

Sound advice in a silent post

Okay, change of language, but not quite a sea change:  I’m reading some Old Norse poetry today.  And the “… in a silent post” in today’s title means:  Since I don’t speak Old Norse, I can’t tell which (if any) of the videos I found are any good, so there aren’t any YouTube links in this post.

            The following are excerpts from Hávamál, which is part of the Elder (verse) Edda.  Here is the first (of 164) stanzas:

Gáttir allar,

áðr gangi fram,

um skoðask skyli,

um skyggnast skyli,

því at óvíst er at vita,

hvar óvinir

sitja á fleti fyrir.

here are stanzas 42 and 43:

Vin sínum

skal maðr vinr vera

ok gjalda gjöf við gjöf;

hlátr við hlátri

skyli hölðar taka

en lausung við lygi.

Vin sínum

skal maðr vinr vera,

þeim ok þess vin;

en óvinar síns

skyli engi maðr

vinar vinr vera.

and here are stanzas 76 and 77:

Deyr fé,

deyja frændr,

deyr sjalfr it sama,

en orðstírr

deyr aldregi,

hveim er sér góðan getr.

Deyr fé,

deyja frændr,

deyr sjalfr it sama,

ek veit einn,

at aldrei deyr:

dómr um dauðan hvern.

            So why am I reading this, even though I don’t speak Old Norse?  The same reason I’m blogging, even though I can’t write:  It’s homework.  Stanzas 1, 43, and 77 are homework for Thursday in my German class, and I’m doing stanzas 42 and 76 extra (and hoping to get extra credit). 

            Google Translate doesn’t do Old Norse, and a funny thing happened when I tried to translate the first stanza pretending it was Norwegian (go ahead and try it yourself, I won’t spoil your fun), but luckily I found an English translation, done jointly by W.H. Auden (one of my favorite English-language poets J) and someone called P.B. Taylor.  According to them, Hávamál means The Sayings of Hár; they translate the first stanza as:

The man who stands at a strange threshold,

Should be cautious before he cross it,

Glance this way and that:

Who knows beforehand what foes may sit

Awaiting him in the hall?

stanzas 42 and 43 as:

A man should be loyal through life to friends,

And return gift for gift,

Laugh when they laugh,

but with lies repay

A false foe who lies.

A man should be loyal through life to friends,

To them and to friends of theirs,

But never shall a man make offer

Of friendship to his foes.

and stanzas 76 and 77 as:

Cattle die, kindred die,

Every man is mortal:

But the good name never dies

Of one who has done well

Cattle die, kindred die,

Every man is mortal:

But I know one thing that never dies,

The glory of the great dead

—all of which is, of course, great advice. 

            Jim said (not this summer, but) last summer at the Workshop that Old English poetry had four-stress lines with alliteration.  The Elder Edda is, of course, not Old English but Old Norse, and—even though I don’t speak the language—I suspect these lines are shorter that four stresses, but it looks as though it, too, has alliteration.  And anaphora, which is even preserved by Auden and Taylor’s translation. 

            That’s all I’ve got for today.  If I don’t finish my German homework tonight, I’ll post some Old High German poetry tomorrow.

            If I do finish my German homework tonight, I’ll post some of Auden’s original work tomorrow  J

The journalism student's lament

I wanted to read some more Burns today (and briefly---very briefly---discuss it afterwards):

The Highland Widow's Lament

By Robert Burns

Oh, I am come to the low Countrie,
Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie!
Without a penny in my purse,
To buy a meal to me.

It was na sae in the Highland hills,
Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie!
Nae woman in the Country wide
Sae happy was as me.

For then I had a score o' kye,
Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie!
Feeding on yon hill sae high,
And giving milk to me.

And there I had three score o' yowes,
Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie!
Skipping on yon bonie knowes,
And casting woo' to me.

I was the happiest of a' the Clan,
Sair, sair may I repine;
For Donald was the brawest man,
And Donald he was mine.

Till Charlie Stewart cam at last,
Sae far to set us free;
My Donald's arm was wanted then
For Scotland and for me.

Their waefu' fate what need I tell,
Right to the wrang did yield;
My Donald and his Country fell,
Upon Culloden field.

Ochon, Ochon, O, Donald, Oh!
Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie!
Nae woman in the warld wide,
Sae wretched now as me.

I didn't find a recording online that has the whole poem, so let's listen to this in two parts.  The first video has something completely different for the 6th and 7th stanzas (but deviates from the text only for a total of 5 words in the other 6 stanzas); the second video skips most of the poem (and also deviates from the text in the parts it does have), but it does touch on those 6th and 7th stanzas (plus it contains a bit of background on the Battle of Culloden, which means I'm saved the trouble of writing about history.  Yay!).

Okay, so that's what it sounds like.  Now about the text.  The simple structure of narrating in a single flashback serves three purposes:  It introduces the tragic tone right at the beginning and maintains the same tone throughout the poem, which would have been impossible if the narration started either before or during the battle; it makes sure the poem starts and ends at the same place, which is often desirable (at least in poetry); it is a non-linear narrative structure, which is also often desirable (and not only in poetry).

It can be read as a persona poem---the speaker of the poem can be understood perfectly well as an actual widow---but it can also be interpreted differently.  The speaker could be a personification of Scotland---this is underlined (to help a careless reader) in the last line of the 6th stanza:  For Scotland and for me suggests that Scotland and me are one and the same.  In this reading, the speaker's arrival in the low Countrie would mean the British initiative, after the Battle of Culloden, to integrate the Scottish Highlands into the rest of Britain.

Or the dead husband could be a personification of Scotland---this is suggested by the 3rd line of the 7th stanza (My Donald and his Country fell) ... but for some reason I find that reading less interesting.

So what has all this to do with a journalism student?  Nothing.  The title of today's post is about the following lame (but true) original effort (with a priamelic ending):

The Journalism Student's Lament

The professor said
the average grade
for this class is going to be

not an A,
not even a B,
but---weep oh weep---a C!

Please refrain from counting how many anapestic substitutions I needed inside of 6 lines. 

That happy night

Let's look at a poem by Burns today, and yes, I'm not just posting the text, I'm also blabbering about it afterwards  :)

The Rigs O' Barley 

By Robert Burns

It was upon a Lammas night,

When corn rigs are bonie,

Beneath the moon's unclouded light,

I held awa to Annie;

The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,

Till, 'tween the late and early,

Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed

To see me thro' the barley.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,

Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,

The moon was shining clearly;

I set her down, wi' right good will,

Amang the rigs o' barley:

I ken't her heart was a' my ain;

I lov'd her most sincerely;

I kiss'd her owre and owre again,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,

Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;

Her heart was beating rarely:

My blessings on that happy place,

Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and stars so bright,

That shone that hour so clearly!

She aye shall bless that happy night

Amang the rigs o' barley.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,

Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;

I hae been merry drinking;

I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;

I hae been happy thinking:

But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,

That happy night was worth them a',

Amang the rigs o' barley.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,

Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

One word I had to look up was Lammas, and it turns out that it means August 1.  It's amazing how specific the poem is:  It gives you the exact date, it tells you the lady's name, it shows you exactly what grew on the fields.

That is, the poem gives you specific details where it wants to give you specific details.  At other places---such as about what Annie and the poem's speaker looked like---it gives you ... that's right, there it gives you nothing  :)  The result is that, when reading the poem, you're forced to fill in those missing details yourself, for example by visualizing two people (real or fictitious) acting out the scene.  You could either imagine any two people other than yourself (and read the poem as a viewer) or---and this is the point---actually imagine yourself as one of the two people.  Had the poem described its dramatis personae, you'd have been restricted to a viewer's role; by withholding certain details, it lets you choose one of two possible roles.  It's almost as though it's two different poems in one!

I love the exquisite 'tween the late and early in the first stanza. 

I noticed how, in the fifth stanza (the third stanza if you don't count the refrain),  the speaker's blessings are on that happy place, whereas Annie should bless that happy night---I wonder what that should mean?

But how does an awesome poem end?  The speaker of the poem has already said multiple times (in the refrain) that he will ne'er forget that happy night,/Amang the rigs wi' Annie, and this is obviously not the kind of poem that would turn around and contradict such a protestation, so it needs a more intense statement of how unforgettable the night was.  And---for whatever reason---the honest Math of three times doubl'd fairly is not nearly intense enough by itself  :)  Enter the list I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;/I hae been merry drinking;/I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;/I hae been happy thinking (he has been happy thinking?  Now that is a master's touch!).

A list, of course, can already be a great poem on its own.  Witness, for example, this gem by the contemporary Scottish poet Robert Crawford:

Honey

after a Gaelic lyric in the Book of the Dean of Lismore

Honey is the call of any bird;

Honey a human voice in the Land of Gold;

Honey a crane's song, and there is a heard

Honey Bun Da Threoir's waters hold.

Honey is the calling of the wind;

Honey the cuckoo's voice above Caise Con;

Honey in uncluttered, random sunlight,

Honey blackbirds' songs till sunset's gone.

Honey the eagle's cry at the Red Falls

Way above the Bay of Morna's Boy;

Honey the cuckoo's call beyond the thickets,

Honey is that pause in the crane's cry.

My father Finn MacCool had in his war-band

Seven squadrons ready to fight any

Man or beast; when we unleashed the deerhounds

They lept ahead, their baying pure wild honey.

Or you can enhance your list.  Burns is capping of his list with But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,/Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,/That happy night was worth them a',/Amang the rigs o' barley, turning the stanza into a priamel.

A priamel consists of a list of initial/secondary subjects that all serve as foils to a final/primary subject, which makes its appearance---as a counterpoint---right after the list.  The model example would be this old (at least as old as 1498) anonymous German poem:

Ich leb und waiß nit wie lang,

Ich stirb und waiß nit wann,

Ich far und waiß nit wahin:

Mich wundert, das ich frölich bin.

---or consider this English example from a popular movie song: 

Mavis and Sybil have ways that are winning,

And Prudence and Gwendolyn set your hearts spinning.

Phoebe's delightful; Maude is disarming;

Janice, Felicia, Lydia charming.

Cynthia's dashing; Vivian's sweet;

Stephanie's smashing; Priscilla a treat;

Veronica, Millicent, Agnes, and Jane

convivial company time and again.

Dorcas and Phyllis and Glynis are sorts

---I'll agree---are three jolly good sports.

But cream of the crop, tip of the top

Is Mary Poppins, and there we stop!

The effect should be obvious now  :)  And that is one way to end an awesome poem. 

Sigh (of relief)

Okay, I found out that I don't really have to post long entries every day.  This is going to be easier than I thought  :)

Of course, I'm still going to write more on some days, but it's actually enough to simply post something short, such as this poem:

A Drinking Song

By William Butler Yeats

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

Beyond meaning

Re-reading yesterday's post this afternoon, I was totally mortified when I realized I had severely shortchanged you last time.  I'm sorry  :(  and I'm trying to make it up to you now.

All you got yesterday was the semantic content of the poem, which is ridiculous (if Miir only cared about the semantic content, he would simply have written it in prose).  This point is even more crucial for a Ghazal than for most other poetry, because a Ghazal is really supposed to be recited or sung, as opposed to being read in silence.  Miir in particular is considered the great master of kaifii'at aafiriinii, which means "creating atmosphere", and of course sound is a central tool for breathing life into an atmosphere.  The way I wrote yesterday, Miir's Ghazal was dead on the page, and I was the murderer  :(

I will try to make amends in two steps, using two other Ghazals of Miir (one in each of the two steps).  Here's the first one (Dr. Pritchett discusses every single distich of this one, so just click on the distichs for the semantic content):

1.  ulTii ho ga'iiN sab tadbiireN kuchh na davaa ne kaam kiyaa
     dekhaa is biimaariy-e dil ne aaKhir kaam tamaam kiyaa

2.  'ahd-e javaanii ro ro kaaTaa piirii meN liiN aaNkheN muuNd
     ya'nii raat bahut the jaage sub'H huvii aaraam kiyaa

3.  Harf nahiiN jaaN baKhshi meN us kii Khvuubii apnii qismat kii
     ham se jo pahle kah bhejaa so marne kaa paiGhaam kiyaa

4.  naa Haqq ham majbuuroN par yih tuhmat hai muKhtaarii kii
     chaahte haiN so aap kare haiN ham ko 'abas bad naam kiyaa

5.  saare rind aubaash jahaaN ke tujh se sujuud meN rahte haiN
     baaNke TeRhe tirchhe tiikhe sab kaa tujh ko imaam kiyaa

6.  sar zadd ham se be adabii to vaHshat meN bhii kam hi huvii
     kosoN us kii or gaye par sajdah har har gaam kiyaa

7.  kis kaa ka'bah kaisaa qiblah kaun Haram hai kyaa iHraam
     kuuche ke us ke baashindoN ne sab ko yihiiN se salaam kiyaa

8.  shaiKh jo hai masjid meN naNgaa raat ko thaa mai Khaane meN
     jubbah Khirqah kurtaa Topii mastii meN in'aam kiyaa

9.  kaash ab burqah muNh se uThaa de var nah phir kyaa Haasil hai
     aaNkh muNde par un ne go diidaar ko apne 'aam kiyaa

10. yaaN ke saped o siyah meN ham ko daKhl jo hai so itnaa hai
      raat ko ro ro sub'H kiyaa yaa din ko juuN tuuN shaam kiyaa

11. sub'H chaman meN us ko kahiiN takliif-e havaa le aa'ii thii
      ruKh se gul ko mol liyaa qaamat se sarv Ghulaam kiyaa

12. saa'id-e siimiiN donoN us ke haath meN laa kar chhoR diye
      bhuule us ke qaul o qasam par haa'e Khiyaal-e Khaam kiyaa

13. kaam huve haiN saare zaa'i' har saa'at ki samaajat se
      istiGhnaa kii chauguni un ne juuN juuN maiN ibraam kiyaa

14. aise aahuv-e ram Khvurdah kii vaHshat khonii mushkil hai
      siHr kiyaa i'jaaz kiyaa jin logoN ne tujh ko raam kiyaa

15.:Miir: ke diin o maz'Hab ko ab puuchhte kyaa ho un ne to 
      qashqah kheNchaa dair meN baiThaa kab kaa tark islaam kiyaa

Now for the sound:  We'll listen to AKhtariibaa'ii Faizaabaadii singing the above Ghazal.  She sings only 4 of the 15 distichs (the first two, the tenth, and the last), which is perfectly normal because, in a Ghazal, the distichs are semantically independent of each other (so the above is really a sequence of 15 independent two-line poems, as opposed to one 30-line poem), so you might as well treat them individually in recitation or song.

I should add:  Although I personally find the music below beautiful, I am fully aware that (Hindustaanii) classical music can be an acquired taste, so ... just don't expect her to sound like One Direction, this is music from another direction.

Here's the rendition.

Now we're ready for the second and final step  :)  First the Ghazal:

1.  faqiiraana aa'e sadaa kar chale
     k myaaN Khvush raho ham du'aa kar chale

2.  jo tujh bin na jiine ko kahte the ham
     so us 'ahd ko ab vafaa kar chale

3.  shifaa apni taqdiir hii meN na thii
     k maqduur tak to davaa kar chale

4.  paRe aise asbaab paayaan-e kaar
     k naa chaar yuuN jii jalaa kar chale

5.  vuh kyaa chiiz hai aah jis ke liye
     har ik chiiz se dil uThaa kar chale

6.  ko'ii naa umiidaana karte nigaah
     so tum ham se muNh bhii chhupaa kar chale

7.  bahut aarzuu thii galii kii tirii
     so yaaN se lahuu meN nahaa kar chale

8.  dikhaa'ii diye yuuN k be Khvud kiyaa
     hameN aap se bhii judaa kar chale

9.  jabiiN sajda karte hi karte ga'ii
     Haq-e bandagii ham adaa kar chale

10. parastish ki yaaN tak k ai but tujhe
      nazar meN sabhoN kii Khudaa kar chale

11. jhaRe phuul jis raNg gul bun se yuuN
      chaman meN jahaaN ke ham aa kar chale

12. na dekhaa Gham-e dostaaN shukr hai
      hamiiN daaGh apnaa dikhaa kar chale

13. ga'ii 'umr dar band-e fikr-e Ghazal
      so us fann ko aisaa baRhaa kar chale

14. kaheN kyaa jo puuchhe ko'ii ham se :Miir:
      jahaaN meN tum aa'e the kyaa kar chale

Dr. Pritchett has not discussed anything from this one yet, and I'm not going to try to tell you the meanings either.  Instead, we'll watch a clip from the 1982 film Bazaar, where the eighth, ninth, tenth, and seventh distichs are sung (in that order).  Here's the clip.

And if the experiment worked right, you saw that poetry can create atmosphere without depending on what words actually mean  :)

Of course, understanding the language adds (a whole lot) to the atmosphere, but in a poem there is something beyond meaning.

From India with love poetry

Today I received some great ideas (for future blogging) from two sources:  First I got an e-mail from a friend, and she had 9 suggestions (but really 34 suggestions, because one of the 9 suggestions has 26 parts, one for each letter of the alphabet); then my workshop group pointed out (among other things) that, in each entry, I could simply talk about one poem I like.  I am pretty much set for the semester  :)

One of my friend's 9 suggestions was to write a whole entry in an Indian language  :)  I won't quite go that far, but here's an Urdu Ghazal in transliteration (so I'm really using both sets of suggestions today):

kyaa maiN bhi pareshaaniy-e Khaatir se qariiN thaa
aaNkheN to kahiiN thiiN dil-e Gham diida kahiiN thaa

kis raat nazar kii hai suv-e chashmak-e anjum
aaNkhoN ke tale apne to vuh maah jabiiN thaa

aayaa to sahii vuh ko'i dam ke liye lekin
hoNThoN pa mire jab nafas-e baaz pasiiN thaa

ab koft se hijraaN ki jahaaN tan pa rakhaa haath
jo dard o alam thaa so kahe tuu k vuhiiN thaa

jaanaa nahiiN kuchh juz Ghazal aa kar ke jahaaN meN
kul mere tasarruf meN yihii qat'a zamiiN thaa

naam aaj ko'ii yaaN nahiN letaa hai unhoN kaa
jin logoN ke kal mulk yih sab zer-e nagiiN thaa

masjid meN imaam aaj huvaa aa ke vuhaaN se
kal tak to yihii :Miir: Kharaabaat nishiiN thaa

Click on the highlighted distichs to see detailed explications, and here is some information about the poet Miir (yes, convention dictates that the poet should include his (pen-)name in the final distich).

Here are much less detailed (and very approximate) English glosses of the remaining distichs:

3.
ayaa to sahii vuh ko'i dam ke liye lekin
hoNThoN pa mire jab nafas-e baaz pasiiN thaa

At least he/she came for a moment, but
when the breath on my lips was departing

There is wordplay here:  "dam", which I have glossed as "moment", also means "breath".

6.
naam aaj ko'ii yaaN nahiN letaa hai unhoN kaa
jin logoN ke kal mulk yih sab zer-e nagiiN thaa

Today no one here utters the names of those
under whose signets this entire realm was yesterday

7.

masjid meN imaam aaj huvaa aa ke vuhaaN se
kal tak to yihii :Miir: Kharaabaat nishiiN thaa

He has come from there and become a priest in the mosque today
Up until yesterday, this very "Miir" was sitting in a wine tavern

It's almost midnight, so I'll have to post this entry now  :(  The next time I do a poem, I'm actually going to discuss it (as opposed to just posting its text).