Earth, receive an honoured guest:
William Yeats is laid to rest.
Let the Irish vessel lie
Emptied of its poetry.
In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;
Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice;
With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress;
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.
The above is the third verse of W. H. Auden’s tribute to Yeats, at the event of his death. It struck me today on reading it how poetry is actually becoming lost. But the words are so poignant and relevant I was moved to share it on here in amongst the noise of modern film, TV and music.
For me, Yeats and his peers are as fresh as ever in their relevance. I only wonder who is left to read it and take it to heart. Some I hope. Shantih Kx
The Wasteland 