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the name of the poem

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bbk







PostPosted: September 22, 2004 1:22 PM 

I was watching "The Deal" and was wondering what the name of the poem by Yeats is. Kramer gave Elaine a birthday card and on that card was a part of that poem.
Thanks!

J. Chiles


Posts: 5139

Reply: 1



PostPosted: September 22, 2004 1:31 PM 

"The Municipal Gallery Revisited"

Kramer's card contains the last two lines.

I

Around me the images of thirty years:
An ambush; pilgrims at the water-side;
Casement upon trial, half hidden by the bars,
Guarded; Griffith staring in hysterical pride;
Kevin O'Higgins' countenance that wears
A gentle questioning look that cannot hide
A soul incapable of remorse or rest;
A revolutionary soldier kneeling to be blessed;

II

An Abbot or Archbishop with an upraised hand
Blessing the Tricolour. 'This is not,' I say, 'The dead Ireland of my youth, but an Ireland
The poets have imagined, terrible and gay.'
Before a woman's portrait suddenly I stand,
Beautiful and gentle in her Venetian way.
I met her all but fifty years ago
For twenty minutes in some studio.

III

Heart-smitten with emotion I Sink down,
My heart recovering with covered eyes;
Wherever I had looked I had looked upon
My permanent or impermanent images:
Augusta Gregory's son; her sister's son,
Hugh Lane, 'onlie begetter' of all these;
Hazel Lavery living and dying, that tale
As though some ballad-singer had sung it all;

IV

Mancini's portrait of Augusta Gregory,
'Greatest since Rembrandt,' according to John Synge;
A great ebullient portrait certainly;
But where is the brush that could show anything
Of all that pride and that humility?
And I am in despair that time may bring
Approved patterns of women or of men
But not that selfsame excellence again.

V

My mediaeval knees lack health until they bend,
But in that woman, in that household where
Honour had lived so long, all lacking found.
Childless I thought, 'My children may find here
Deep-rooted things,' but never foresaw its end,
And now that end has come I have not wept;
No fox can foul the lair the badger swept -

VI

(An image out of Spenser and the common tongue).
John Synge, I and Augusta Gregory, thought
All that we did, all that we said or sang
Must come from contact with the soil, from that
Contact everything Antaeus-like grew strong.
We three alone in modern times had brought
Everything down to that sole test again,
Dream of the noble and the beggar-man.

VII

And here's John Synge himself, that rooted man,
'Forgetting human words,' a grave deep face.
You that would judge me, do not judge alone
This book or that, come to this hallowed place
Where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon;
Ireland's history in their lineaments trace;
Think where man's glory most begins and ends,
And say my glory was I had such friends.

Maestro
Cockeyed Optimist

Posts: 537

Reply: 2



PostPosted: September 22, 2004 3:41 PM 

beautiful man, just beautifull

bbk
Bob Sakamano

Posts: no

Reply: 3



PostPosted: September 23, 2004 8:27 AM 

Thank you J.Chiles! That poem is beautiful. Yeats was an incredible poet.

Denim Vest
Cockeyed Optimist

Posts: 551

Reply: 4



PostPosted: September 23, 2004 9:37 AM 

I've got one of my own I'd like to share:

There once was a man from Nantucket...

Oh, sorry.

J. Chiles


Posts: 5139

Reply: 5



PostPosted: September 23, 2004 11:32 AM 

You're welcome, bbk! Yes, the poem, much like pine, is good. Except, of course, for the drivel parts.

DV, your first line reminds me that -

There once was a young man from Kent

Whose......



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