The Prince And The King

A few months ago, my friend, Anna, reminded me that I should write something on Brother Yeats. William Butler Yeats (1865-1939, pictured bottom left), who remains even now, seventy years after his passing, the undisputed King of 20th century poetry. This Irish gentleman has influenced countless artists and no one can imagine Irish literature without him. Robert Frost once wrote of him in a letter, describing his poems, saying "they make the sense of beauty ache." One could devote an entire blog to his life and his works, both are so full and interesting. His was a life obsessed with anticipation and discovery: omens, mysticism, love, fairies, folklore, beginnings, more love, and endings. After my friend's suggestion, I began reading and re-reading his works and could not find a stopping point, but with his birthday being yesterday, June 13, it should be an appropriate time to conjure his spirit a little.

What I must do first of all, is clarify some little known interesting information brought to the forefront by Anna's interest in what is probably Yeats' most well known and beautiful early poem, When You are Old. Several years ago, when discussing this poem in a crowded room with an English teaching friend with a mouth full of pancakes, I thought he said "I bet you didn't know that poem was really written for a man," and I relayed this information from the literary Sphinx's mouth to Anna. I didn't question this information or find it odd because I knew little about Yeats' personal life at the time. Well, after learning more about Yeats, this just didn't seem to fit, so more research was needed. Well it turns out that Yeats' poem is actually an 1893 "translation" of the famous French poet, Pierre de Ronsard's, Quand Vous Serez Bien Vieille (When You Are Very Old) poem from his 1587 Sonnets pour Helene. The well respected Pierre de Ronsard (1524-1585, pictured top right) was given the title, "Prince of Poets" by his French generation. Yeats translation is not an exact one and his version takes a more ethereal, spiritual tone, but there is no doubt that Ronsard's poem was Yeats' base. After discovering this information, it suddenly came to me what my literature teaching friend must have actually said..."I bet you didn't know that poem was really written by another man." Mystery solved, game of gossip over, and one area of Yeats' fascinating life becomes a little less complicated. Yeats' translation is beautiful and the poem definitely fits right into his life events, so his version does indeed belong to him. I can't help but also wonder, after discovering this tidbit, how Yeats would feel knowing this very early poem/translation would be the one most Americans identify with him.

I will hopefully write more on Yeats later. As I said, today is a good day to mention him and his art since yesterday was his birthday, and by the way, today just happens to be Anna's 19 year old son's birthday...a Warrior Poet whom I suspect could also "make the sense of beauty ache."

And thanks for the inspiration, Prince Ronsard. You may not be king, but you do have an asteroid named for you...10139 Ronsard, 1993.