The Wild Swans at Coole W.B.Yeats
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All ‘s changed since I, hearing at twilgiht,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
This extremely exquisite poem by William Butler Yeats points to yet another similarity between poetry and painting– both of supreme mathematical relationships.They differ only in their different media of expression.
Let’s say we now re-write the poem in prose form, it would probably run like this:
I saw and counted to 59 swans one October evening when the trees are in their autumn beauty, the woodland paths dry and the water mirrors a still sky. The swans are on the brimming water among the stones.
It was my 19th Autumn here since I first came to this same spot and made my count of swans. Before I even finished counting, they suddenly mount on their clamorous wings, causing the water to scatter like wheels turning in great broken rings.
These brilliant creatures sadden my heart. It is not the same anymore!They are not as agile as they used to be–compared with when I first saw them…The bell-like beats of their flapping wings inform me that they trod,when they were at their prime, with a lighter tread!
However, the hearts of these faithful spousal birds have not grown old as they paddle in the streams or fly in mid-air; wherever they wander to they are still in possession of a lover’s passion as well as a conquest-prone heart!
But as they are drifting on still water, mysterous and beautiful; I wonder where–by which lake or pool they could have wandered to,and in what marsh they could have built their nests presently– and continue to delight people’s eyes, as I awake one day to find that they are gone.
Really, the prose form, even though it offers to interpret the poem, is quite plain and mundane, given that it is the unruly work of this rude, semi-literate chinaman hoping to help his daughter in her love for and studies of letters…(Izzy enjoys languages!)
Take another reading of the poem and one could easily feel the crystalization of language by W.B. Yeats–one of the greatest masters of ALL times in English poetry!
It is the rhymes and rhythms in the poem, resulting from the intricate measurements at Yeats’ creation of his metaphors,–formed of supreme mathematical relationship— it is precisely that which has caused this crisp awakening of our souls!
Two of my favorites paintings all these years are Knox Martin’s Reclining Nude and Paul Cezanne’s 2nd Still Life on the Table. Can you point out the “rhymes” and “rhythms” in the paintings?
2nd Still Life
Your enlightenment will be soon if you can!
Ben Taishing