Friday, January 30, 2015

For Whom Shall I Live?

Although I can see him still—
The freckled man who goes
To a gray place on a hill
In gray Connemara clothes
At dawn to cast his flies—
It's long since I began
To call up to the eyes
This wise and simple man.
All day I'd looked in the face
What I had hoped it would be
To write for my own race
And the reality:
The living men that I hate,
The dead man that I loved,
The craven man in his seat,
The insolent unreproved—
And no knave brought to book
Who has won a drunken cheer—
The witty man and his joke
Aimed at the commonest ear,
The clever man who cries
The catch cries of the clown,
The beating down of the wise
And great Art beaten down.

Maybe a twelve-month since
Suddenly I began,
In scorn of this audience,
Imagining a man,
And his sun-freckled face
And gray Connemara cloth,
Climbing up to a place
Where stone is dark with froth,
And the down turn of his wrist
When the flies drop in the stream—
A man who does not exist,
A man who is but a dream;
And cried, “Before I am old
I shall have written him one
Poem maybe as cold
And passionate as the dawn.”
- William Butler Yeats, "The Fisherman"

1 comment:

  1. Song Lyrics:

    There's so much in the world
    For what to live, for what to love
    People/some so young, others so old
    Noah and the Whale, Harold and Maude

    In just a second you'd be mine
    For twenty years I've been alone
    Another "journey" will be create
    Under the chords of a new song

    All got so fast
    All got so lost
    Out of my hope/hands

    A hundred places on papier
    A thousand stars upon your car
    A piano without black and white
    It's all that I can play with you so far

    And every night the night will come
    Where will we be? The great beyond
    "Father and son", and "if you want"
    Vergissmeinnicht vergist uns doch