(photo of poetry book shelf taken at Kettle's Yard)
Today is National Poetry Day in the UK. With this in mind, I actually sat down last night and tried to write a poem. It's been a long time since I attempted such a thing... and I can't say the results were very successful. There are some words on a page, filed away for now, perhaps they have a beautiful future, perhaps not.
So I won't post that here. Instead, I want to share something by that most passionate of poets, one of my favourites, W. B. Yeats. Musical, mystical, speaking to the inner murmurings of the soul: you can read his poems endlessly.
|A CRAZED GIRL|
By William Butler Yeats
That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.
No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'