The Wind Among the Reeds
A Poetry, Cultural, Irish Literature book. But I, being poor, have only my dreams;I have spread my dreams under your feet;Tread softly because...
In a letter to his publisher, Yeats referred to The Wind Among the Reeds as "a book of short lyrics Irish & personal." It may also be described as a collection of love poems both intense and indirect. Now considered a watershed in Yeats's career, the book received mixed reviews when it was first published in April of 1899. More recently, Richard Ellmann has asserted that in The Wind Among the Reeds, "Yeats set the method for the modern movement." For the present volume, Carolyn Holdsworth has assembled and transcribed all holographic materials for each of the 37 poem in the book. She also supplies the complete typescripts and earlier printed versions corrected by Yeats, as well as providing a brief critical introduction. Photographic facsimiles supplement the transcriptions, and the apparatus criticus indicates variant readings. The manuscripts collected here range from drafts on scraps of paper through heavily worked-over typescripts, to neatly copied texts from later years and proof sheets revised by hand. The result is an exhaustive guide to Yeats's work on the poems up to the publication of the book and a full record of his post-publication revisions. Offering a close-up view of...
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- Filetype: PDF
- Pages: 124 pages
- ISBN: 9781854771629 / 1854771620
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More About The Wind Among the Reeds
I bring you with reverent handsThe books of my numberless dreams. W.B. Yeats, The Wind Among the Reeds // And her hair was a folded flowerAnd the quiet of love in her feet. W.B. Yeats, The Wind Among the Reeds // TO HIS HEART, BIIDING IT HAVE NO FEARBe you still, be you still, trembling heart;Remember the wisdom out of the old days:Him who trembles before the flame and the flood,And the winds that blow through the starry ways,Let the starry winds and the flame and the floodCover over and hide, for he has no partWith the lonely, majestical multitude.THE CAP AND THE BELLSThe jester walked in the garden:The garden had fallen still;He bade his soul rise upwardAnd stand on her window-sill.It rose in a straight blue garment,When owls began to call:It had grown wise-tongued...
Years continues to improvethe poems here are much more concise and determinedbut there is too much repetition for this collection to really be considered great. Very enjoyable, though, and miles ahead of the previous efforts. Lyrically beautiful and enchanting! Yeats runs around in the field because he know lighting will strike him. Reading the poems between the ones you will own is worth the time. Past despair will help a reader here.
