Yeats made these recordings for the wireless in 1932, 1934 and the last on 28 October 1937 when he was 72. He died on January 28 1939. The photograph shows him sitting before the microphone in 1937.
Yes, really amazing to hear the great man's voice! As he reads, so he composed, and before that, thought. Wonderful to hear the cadence of his words, to see how these thoughts were turning over in his mind, and given outlet in his verse.
Yeats is a singer, his poems are songs. Russian poets have this same chanting style of reading. I love it. We have made poetry more and more of the intellect, sharing our thoughts, but surly we should let it return to music. It finds its home there.
I disagree. I love Yeats' work. I love lyrical work. However, I think there is room for many types of poetry in the world of poetry. For example, my poetry is a mix of intellectual and lyrical styles. Additionally, the distinctions drawn by poetry critics are often artificial. Now, maybe the more prosaic or intellectual style of poetry doesn't suit your aesthetic tastes. However, that does not mean that poetry should only be musical. Poetry is art. Furthermore, poetry derives its meaning and name from the Greek word poiesis, which is defined as "the activity in which a person brings something into being that did not exist before." (Wikipedia). To put it simply, poetry is the most elementary and rudimentary form of art. It is pure expression.
I agree with most of what your saying and often find if I sing my own poetry I refine, simplify and invariably make it better. I have an original arrangement of The Lake Isle of Innisfree set to music if you fancy a listen here: ru-vid.com/video/%D0%B2%D0%B8%D0%B4%D0%B5%D0%BE-aGrpIo24x80.html Peace, Renny
Vara Sue Tamminga I was surprised by his song-like delivery. And it reminded me of Josif Brodskj's delivery. No surprise, therefore, that the latter was a huge W.H.AUDEN admirer.
I have not listened to this in several years. I had an old copy of his "Selected poems & Plays". It was a strange looking book. Red cover. Red was odd. In a good way. I carried that old book forever. Read it a hundred times. I grew up adoring it and Yeats' writing. In my later years- about late 20s I decided to give that one special old book to a dear friend of mine. That friend is gone now. About 7 years. Hard to think about that but that magical old red book . It was shared with one of the truest human beings you can image. or maybe you cant. But my dearest friend- my comrade- my wee bit of laughter that I needed so much - Paul- County Laois Ireland. I gave the words to you and we miss you and we still cherish you. Your breath & spirit are still with us. But you....♥ we miss you dear-heart.
+stacyblue1980 Lovely tribute. I too had that same red covered edition. I lost it many years ago and wish I hadn't. There was something charming about it. Not just the cover, but the type as well.
Pontoon Bubblestick ah yes the type! Aww I miss it dearly. I could get lost with that book. I would walk my little dog , Polly, a Cairn Terrier She was the best friend a kid could have. Id sit in the grass and read that book until dusk. I will never forget those days. Me & Polly. Very special little moments from youth. Thank you for your comment. Maybe we can find another copy of that wonderful , magical red book. Sorry if im being too sentimental.. Im beat after work. Mind is going back some place ...
thank you, than you for the sound of Yeats' voice and his words.. when in the miserable present moment and in grey city concerns, Yeats reminds me that there is a deep heart's core.
I hope that people listening to this take Yeats' endorsement of William Morris as a great poet seriously and look into that sadly neglected poet. Most people are familiar with his wallpaper designs more than his poems. See for example: A Garden by the Sea I know a little garden-close, Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy morn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering. And though within it no birds sing, And though no pillared house is there, And though the apple-boughs are bare Of fruit and blossom, would to God Her feet upon the green grass trod, And I beheld them as before. There comes a murmur from the shore, And in the close two fair-streams are, Drawn from the purple hills afar, Drawn down unto the restless sea: Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee, Dark shore no ship has ever seen, Tormented by the billows green Whose murmur comes unceasingly Unto the place for which I cry. For which I cry both day and night, For which I let slip all delight, Whereby I grow both deaf and blind, Careless to win, unskilled to find, And quick to lose what all men seek. Yet tottering as I am and weak, Still have I left a little breath To seek within the jaws of death An entrance to that happy place, To seek the unforgotten face, Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me Anigh the murmuring of the sea.
wonder filled indeed, present with wonder, waving. I surely don't know what to say, so I'm just addressing this with a homage intentioned rant, it was wonderful to read out loud, exploring its enactment possibilities
Glad to hear this with the full intro which was not included on the Now and in Times to Come CD, love hearing his voice; the 2nd one i never heard, thank you ~ Aloha ~
I did not know of these recordings before - what a wonderful historical record to hear such a poet reading his own work. Thank you very much for posting this =)
What a privilege to hear Mr William Butler Yeats read his own work, on this day, the 150th anniversary of his birth on 13th June 1865. Thank you for sharing these wonderful recordings. :)
Finally, at 72, last year, i got to arise and go. Before it was too late. It was amazing: there was one other person there, overlooking Innisfree. I learned the story of how, when Yeats was young, he walked all the way there from Sligo. On a small building, near the overlook, someone had stenciled a picture of his face, and the slogan, “Poetry saved my life.” May it save us all. May we once again be able to sit in cafès and have those quintessential Yeatsian moments: “While on the shop and street I gazed My body of a sudden blazed; And twenty minutes more or less It seemed, so great my happiness, That I was blessed and could bless”
I RISE in the dawn, and I kneel and blow Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow; And then I must scrub and bake and sweep Till stars are beginning to blink and peep; And the young lie long and dream in their bed Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head, And their y goes over in idleness, And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress: While I must work because I am old, And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.
Such an honor to be able to listen to the man known as the greatest poet in Ireland; thanks for uploading this. His Castle of Heroes lives on in memory, in thought and emotion.
Thank you. I did. I can't think of anything more to add without being patronizing. His genius is known; I wouldn't expect more. With that being said; his words move me, even me! An uncultured auto mechanic. When I recite The Song of Wandering Aengus to myself, it moves me. I don't know why.
Dorothy Katherine Hawley Ackenhusen passed away peacefully at home in Ann Arbor, Mich., on June 24, 2015, at age 90. She was a true intellectual with a kind and loving heart. She was also a real fighter for life, persisting under hospice care for well over one year despite her ailments. She is survived by her husband, John Goodyear Ackenhusen; and four children, Delmer Harold Reed Jr., Jon Anthony Reed, Carlton Kent Reed, and Katherine Michele Reed. Kay was born October 17, 1924 in St. Albans, W.Va., to Katherine Melissa Wells Hawley and William Harold Hawley. She spent the last 43 years of her life married to her loving husband, John G. Ackenhusen. She was formerly married to Delmer Harold Reed. Kay earned a bachelor's degree in English and religion (summa cum laude) from The University of Charleston (W.Va.). While teaching full time, she earned a master's degree in English literature (minor in philosophy) from Marshall University (W.Va.) specializing in Irish literature with emphasis on the writings of William Butler Yeats. She attended the Yeats Summer School, Sligo, Ireland, for six summers. She was a gifted and brilliant teacher who inspired her students to challenge themselves and to see a world beyond themselves. During her career, she taught English Language and Literature at Fairleigh Dickinson University (Madison, N.J.), Eastern Michigan University (Ypsilanti, Mich.), and University of Charleston (W.Va.). She also taught English and speech at South Charleston High School (W.Va.), where she was the only female advisor in the United States of the Hi-Y young men's club. She transmitted her enthusiasm for all things Irish to her husband and her 2,000 plus students. She was regarded by many of her students as one of their best teachers. She was active in the Presbyterian Church, teaching Sunday school and developing curriculum. Since moving to Ann Arbor, she participated in the Faculty Women's Club, Ann Arbor Women's City Club, the Ann Arbor Thrift Shop, and the choir of the First Presbyterian Church of Ann Arbor. Since the passing of her beloved dog over 25 years ago, she brought four dogs and two cats into her pet family over a period of two years, all of whom provided her comfort in her last years by snuggling with her constantly. A memorial service is scheduled for 2 p.m. Sunday July 19, at First Presbyterian Church, 1432 Washtenaw Avenue, Ann Arbor, followed by a memorial reception at Conor O'Neill's Irish Pub, 318 S. Main, Ann Arbor (additional parking available at the funeral home within walking distance). Visitation will occur the day before, Saturday, July 18, 2015, at Muehlig Funeral Chapel, 403 S. Fourth Avenue, Ann Arbor, from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. Information will be accumulated and posted under Kay's name at: www.muehligannarbor.com. Won't you please post your memories for us? Contributions in memory of Dorothy Katherine Ackenhusen may be made to The First Presbyterian Church of Ann Arbor, 1432 Washtenaw Avenue, Ann Arbor, MI 48104. *** Tough, inspiring teacher; loyal, good always. *** - See more at: www.wvgazette.com/gz/Obituaries#sthash.FtSkfavn.dpuf
@brychar66 -- I have spent a little time this evening following your line of thought. I have noticed your posts hitherto. I like the Klavier renditition of the Liebestod on your first site. I remember the the first performance I saw live at the Zurich Opera House in the early 1960's. It is so well situated. My sincere compliments on your Cavafy translations. understated, yes. from a fellow goat, all food fortune .... raven
Musician Loreena McKennitt has set some of Yeats and Tennyson's poetry to music. "She Moved Thru the Fair", "Bonny Swans", "Lady of Shallott." Her voice is beautiful. Classified as World/Celtic mostly. If you like her listen to "Dante's Prayer". Written after seeing dispair of Russia and reading "Dante's Inferno" in 1995 train trip. There is no one quite like her. Find these on youtube.
Fiachra McKeever I just love that sentiment. Bards are so incredibly important. They bring forth the collective through memory. We will begin to remember what is truly important. Ireland is the soul of this earth, it all starts there.
If you look at the Lissadell web site, you will see evidence of this connection. I was there and, when I saw their Leonard Cohen memorial garden, I wept
