The Reality of Life on the Lake Isle of Inisfree

February 1, 2014 § 2 Comments

Speaking of bees…

I was reminded of an artist & illustrator whose work I loved when I visited home in August: her name is Annie West and I adore her Yeats in Love series, and all of her work really.

I especially love this one titled ‘The Reality of Life on the Lake Isle of Inisfree’. I could only afford a small print but it makes me laugh every time I see it. If you’re familiar with Yeats’ poem about finding peace and tranquility in the bee-loud glade then you’ll see why.

Annie West

 

The Lake Isle of Inisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

by WB Yeats

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§ 2 Responses to The Reality of Life on the Lake Isle of Inisfree

  • Yes, sometimes some of our most resonant and beautiful poetry is unintentionally funny when viewed from the perspective of the pragmatic and practical reality. Thanks for showing the print.

  • Cochonfucius says:

    My French version :

    Irai-je en Innisfree ? J’y vais sans plus tarder,
    Pour m’y faire un abri de glaise et de planchettes,
    Neuf rangs de haricots, une ruche à garder,
    Ermitage qu’emplit la rumeur des avettes.

    J’y trouverai la paix dont les vagues surviennent
    Des voiles du matin chez le grillon chantant ;
    Scintillement nocturne et pourpre méridienne,
    Puis dans le soir s’ébat la linotte d’antan.

    J’y vais sans plus tarder. La nuit comme le jour
    Clapote l’eau du lac, à bas bruit, sur la grève ;
    Je me tiens sur le bord des voies que je parcours,
    C’est de cela que mon coeur rêve.

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