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"Poetry must resemble prose, and both must accept the vocabulary of their time.”


William Butler Yeats


William Butler yeats

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The poems of William Butler Yeats
voz del Autor
Editado por Spoken Arts


William yeats

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Título
     Extracto de "Talk on Rhythm and his Poetry" con lecturas de;
"The Lake Isle of Innisfree " y de "The fiddler of Dooney" (Octubre 4, 1932)

The Fiddler of Dooney

                   When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
                   Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
                   My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
                   My brother in Moharabuiee.
                   
                   I passed my brother and cousin:
                   They read in their books of prayer;
                   I read in my book of songs
                   I bought at the Sligo fair.
                   
                   When we come at the end of time,
                   To Peter sitting in state,
                   He will smile on the three old spirits,
                   But call me first through the gate;
                   
                   For the good are always the merry,
                   Save by an evil chance,
                   And the merry love the fiddle
                   And the merry love to dance:
                   
                   And when the folk there spy me,
                   They will all come up to me,
                   With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
                   And dance like a wave of the sea.

     The song of the old mother - (marzo 17, 1934)

                   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;
                   But the young lie long and dream in their bed
                   Of the matching of ribbons, the blue and the red,
                   And their day goes over in idleness,
                   And they sigh if the wind but lift up a tress.
                   While I must work, because I am old
                   And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

     "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" y "Coole Park and Ballylee"
                   (octubre 28 1937)

The Lake Isle 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 grey,
                   I hear it in the deep heart’s core.                    


Coole Park and Ballylee (fragmento)

                   Another emblem there! That stormy white
                   But seems a concentration of the sky;
                   And, like the soul, it sails into the sight
                   And in the morning's gone, no man knows why;
                   And is so lovely that it sets to right
                   What knowledge or its lack had set awry,
                   So arrogantly pure, a child might think
                   It can be murdered with a spot of ink.
                   
                   Sound of a stick upon the floor, a sound
                   From somebody that toils from chair to chair;
                   Beloved books that famous hands have bound,
                   Old marble heads, old pictures everywhere;
                   Great rooms where travelled men and children found
                   Content or joy; a last inheritor
                   Where none has reigned that lacked a name and fame
                   Or out of folly into folly came.

     Modern poetry (octubre 11, 1936)
En voz de Siobhan Mckenna
     
                    - The mask
                    - A coat
                    - Her anxiety
                    - After long silence
En voz de Michael Macliammoir
     Under Ben Bulben
En voz de Michael Macliammoir
     
                    - To the rose upon the Rood of Time
                    - The rose of the world
                    - To Ireland in the coming times
                    - The song of wandering Aengus
                    - The lover mourns for tyhe loss of love
                    - The rose of the world
                    - He reprobes the Curley
                    - He wishes for the cloths of heaven
                    - He thinks of his past greatness
                    - The people
                    - A thought from Propertius
                    - Broken dreams
                    - I am of Irekand
                    - The statue


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