“For Yeats magic was not so much a kind of poetry as poetry a kind of magic, and the object of both alike was evocation of energies and knowledge from beyond normal consciousness.” The salient word there is “evocation,” casting the poet as a magus conjuring verbal spirits, not from his imagination but from a higher, or a deeper, place.From Lapham's Quarterly, via Arts and Letters Daily
Full fathom five thy father lies, Of his bones are coral made, Those are pearls that were his eyes, Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change, into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell, Ding Dong. Hark! now I hear them, ding-dong bell.
Monday, July 30, 2012
W.B.Yeats, Magus
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