| Title | : | The Celtic Twilight: Faerie and Folklore |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 0486436578 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780486436579 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 128 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1893 |
The Celtic Twilight: Faerie and Folklore Reviews
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In his youth Yeats was a member of the Golden Dawn, an occult society; he wrote this book during that time, and it's widely seen as a manifesto about his belief in faeries and magic and such. And it is that - but it's not what you think. When he says
"Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart long for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet." (p. 4)
he's saying that he believes in magic, yes, but his definition of "belief" is subtler than people give him credit for. He's talking about the power of myth in building culture and identity, and his book, broadly a collection of Irish folklore gathered from bars and washerwomen, will be about the impact of myth on the Irish character."You - you will make no terms with the spirits of fire and earth and air and water. You have made the Darkness your enemy. We - we exchange civilities with the world beyond." (p. 93)
And that difference - that the Irish consider themselves allied with the faeries and imps that inhabit their land - does say something important about the Irish. Compare that statement to the array of superstitions cataloged in Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, where anything and everything is a bad omen. And remember how Americans have historically felt about witches. We have a different, more fearful attitude toward the unknown. The quote above isn't about faeries; it's about the Irish.
A warning note: as he got older, Yeats grew out of his Golden Dawn days. By the time he reprinted Celtic Twilight (and two other short works) in Mythologies, he was embarrassed by some of his more imaginative points, and he ended up editing all the fun out of it. Mythologies will still do as a collection of Irish folklore, but it's not as weird and beautiful as it originally was. Here's
my review of Mythologies, which doesn't really say anything you didn't just read. -
The Celtic Twilight (1902) is a book of encounters. The encounters Yeats writes of are the meetings between the Irish people and the faeries, but equally interesting are those other encounters: the meetings between the young Protestant poet and the Catholic Irish who tell him their ancient stories so that he can write them down in this book.
Although Yeats’ poetry—even the early, overly precious stuff—is always filled with beauties to admire, his prose can sometimes be pedantic and rather dry. In Celtic Twilight, though, Yeats' every utterance is informed by the richness of Irish speech, and the result is a balanced, lively prose, filled with vivid images and revealing asides.
Two things struck me during my reading of this book. The first was how much I love the Irish conception of the faeries, for they are neither minor demons like the Scots variety nor good little souls like the treacly British type. No, Irish faeries are neither malevolent nor particularly merciful. Instead, they are mischievous to the core, with unquenchable appetites for confusion. But they may just as easily do you a good turn as a bad one. It all depends on the nature of the performance.
Secondly, I was struck with the emotional intensity in some of the tales of beautiful women in the book. Yeats met Maude Gonne in 1889—thirteen years before the publication of Celtic Twilight. It was then, as Yeats has said, that “the troubling of my life began,” and you can see the signs of the continual troubling here:
There is the old square castle, Ballylee, inhabited by a farmer and his wife, and a cottage where their daughter and their son-in-law live, and a little mill with an old miller, and old ash-trees throwing green shadows upon a little river and great stepping-stones. I went there two or three times last year to talk to the miller . . . . I have been there this summer, and I shall be there again before it is autumn, because Mary Hynes, a beautiful woman whose name is still a wonder by turf fires, died there sixty years ago; for our feet would linger where beauty has lived its life of sorrow to make us understand that it is not of the world.
An old man brought me a little way from the mill and the castle, and down a long, narrow boreen that was nearly lost in brambles and sloe bushes, and he said, ‘. . . . They say she was the handsomest girl in Ireland, her skin was like dribbled snow’ - he meant driven snow, perhaps, - ‘and she had blushes in her cheeks.” . . . .
An old weaver, whose son is supposed to go away among the Sidhe (the faeries) at night, says, ‘Mary Hynes was the most beautiful thing ever made. My mother used to tell me about her, for she’d be at every hurling, and wherever she was she was dressed in white. As many as eleven men asked her in marriage in one day, but she wouldn’ t have any of them. There was a lot of men up beyond Kilbecanty one night, sitting together drinking, and talking of her, and one of them got up and set out to go to Ballylee and see her; but Cloon Bog was open then, and when he came to it he fell into the water, and they found him dead there in the morning. She died of the fever that was before the famine.’ . . . .
There is an old woman who remembers her, at Derrybrien among the Echtge hills, a vast desolate place . . . . She says, ‘The sun and the moon never shone on anybody so handsome, and her skin was so white that it looked blue, and she had two little blushes on her cheeks.’ . . . .
But a man by the shore at Kinvara, who is too young to remember Mary Hynes, says, ‘Everybody says there is no one at all to be seen now so handsome; it is said she had beautiful hair, the colour of gold. She was poor, but her clothes every day were the same as Sunday, she had such neatness. And if she went to any kind of a meeting, they would all be killing one another for a sight of her, and there was a great many in love with her, but she died young. It is said that no one that has a song made about them will ever live long.’ She died young because the gods loved her . . . .
These poor countrymen and countrywomen in their beliefs, and in their emotions, are many years nearer to that old Greek world, that set beauty beside the fountain of things, than are our men of learning. She ‘had seen too much of the world’ ; but these old men and women, when they tell of her, blame another and not her, and though they can be hard, they grow gentle as the old men of Troy grew gentle when Helen passed by on the walls.
If that “old square castle, Ballylee” sounds familiar, it should. Yeats bought it fourteen years after Celtic Twilight was published, and lived their during the summer. (They call it “Yeat’s Tower” now.)
Even if Yeat couldn’t be close to the beautiful Maud Gonne, he could be close to the ghost of Mary Hynes instead. -
William Butler Yeats.
When I read this name I think of lyric Irish poetry, a Nobel prize ... and Guinness.
Yeats was also a discerning student of Irish fantasy. The emerald isle is, to many, synonymous with legends of faeries and folk tales of the unseen world. In 1893 Yeats published Celtic Twilight, a collection of essays, sketches, and anecdotes all with imagery and language reminiscent of Ireland’s connections to a mystical past.
“Folk art is, indeed, the oldest of the aristocracies of thought, and because it refuses what is passing and trivial, the merely clever and pretty, as certainly as the vulgar and insincere, and because it has gathered into itself the simplest and most unforgettable thoughts of the generations, it is the soil where all great art is rooted.”
Yeats leads the reader on a tour of his homeland; we are introduced to a part of his life and he takes the style of a guide, escorting us in his charming and poetic way on a tour of his island home. We hear the language of his people and see through his countrymen’s perspective.
Finally, he ends our visit with a poem: Into the Twilight.
Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the gray twilight;
Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.
Thy mother Eire is always young,
Dew ever shining and twilight gray,
Though hope fall from thee or love decay
Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.
Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill,
For there the mystical brotherhood
Of hollow wood and the hilly wood
And the changing moon work out their will.
And God stands winding his lonely horn;
And Time and World are ever in flight,
And love is less kind than the gray twilight,
And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.
-
I feel as if I've been reading and connecting with a lot of Welsh and Irish writing lately.
Machen, Graves, (soon to be reading again) Beckett, (also soon to be reading again)
Joyce, and now, Yeats. It's probably genetic, to be honest. My dad's biological parents were likely of Irish stock (their last name was Bigley - I got "Aguirre,"
which is Basque, by the way, not Spanish, at least not in my case - from my adoptive grandparents). My mom was of mixed German (my grandmother was oh-so-German) and Welsh stock. So, yeah, I have some Celtic blood flowing through me. Maybe that's why I gravitate towards these works?
While this book is chock full of wonderful tales of Sidhe and ghosts, each documented by Yeats through conversations and anecdotes he recorded from people that he met, that's not the most attractive thing to me about the book. I am more intrigued by the poesis of Yeats' commentary. Right from the beginning, Yeats comments:
How do we not know but that our own unreason may be better than another's truth?
He spends some amount of time and effort helping the reader to understand the Irish (and the differently-directed Scottish) attitude toward the fey world. The world just beyond ours is inhabited by capricious beings with whom one might enter intercourse (of the verbal kind) that are not necessarily evil or scary, but winsome, even incomprehensible in their motivations. One must just accept them as fact and deal with them, not try to abjure (nor invoke) them. They are as natural as the landscape around us and one must treat them like a wild, but not necessarily inimical, animal, though an animal of extremely high intelligence and with some knowledge beyond that of mortal men.
But again, I was not so much focused on them as I was on Yeats' published assumptions, his "givens" about them and our interaction with them:
Indeed there are times when the worlds are so near together that it seems as if our earthly chattels were no more than the shadows of things beyond.
This is where the "meat" of the book comes in, it is in the sublimation of one's mind to the attitude of those interviewed and quoted therein. In order to see the fantastical, one must think fantastically and it must be as natural as breathing for him or her.
In a society that has cast out imaginative tradition, only a few people - three or four thousand out of millions - favoured by their own characters and by happy circumstance, and only then after much labour, have understanding of imaginative things and yet 'the imagination is the man himself.'
Some of that labour must come in the form of study. I would strongly recommend reading Robert Graves'
The White Goddess in conjunction with this book.
Yeats shares an anecdote about the blind poet Raftery talking to a bush, for instance, the Bush answering in Irish, and "gave him the knowledge of all the things of the world," then withered up. This sounds like something straight out of Graves' amazing book. I wonder if he read this anecdote from Yeats' work. In any case, the connection seems certain, or at least uncanny. Are the Sidhe saying something here?
I would also point you to Gary Lachman's
Lost Knowledge of the Imagination for an excellent primer on how to tap into that fantastical head-space I mentioned earlier.
Reading all three at once would be a powerful experience, indeed. One that might leave you . . . changed. For the better. But changed, nonetheless. -
As a child I was fascinated by words. The etymology of words. The tones. How some words look similar. How some words sound similar. How words...spell. Faerie and Pharoe.
I have also over many years had an interest in different cultures and their similarities. Particularly the Celtic and Egyptian cultures. I have been to Egypt and as a resident of the UK have visited many Celtic sites. Over many years I have wondered about the similarities between these two cultures. Chariots. Pyramids. Mysticism. I wonder if Imoteph was actually a Druid. The magicians of Egypt practiced black magic. Kabbala, numerology, gnosticism. They were very enlightened and had great knowledge of the sciences just like the Druids. When one spells the word Judaism it sounds familiar to Druidism. Also Jew sounds like Dru. Was Merlin and Imoteph of the same ilk? Elizabeth 1 right hand, Sir John Dee, was himself into the druidic and kabbalistic practices. Signed his works with...007. Interesting. Was a Druids Wand made from Holly Wood? Hmmm! What was William Blake referring to when he wrote Jerusalem? England, the New Juresalem? That green and pleasant land. Was that before or after the Roman Empire swallowed England?🐯👍
BY WILLIAM BLAKE
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!
And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!
I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In Englands green & pleasant Land. -
mitolojiden aldığı ilhamla insana kuzeyi yaşatan minik öyküler derlemesi
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For those of you who have read Yeats’ ‘Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry’, this book is more of the same. For those of you who haven’t, and those of you with a particularly masochistic bent, here’s the link to my review of said book:
Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry
The main difference between this book and that is that Yeats puts more of himself into this one, in a way that’s difficult to define.
Stories of particular note were a very early version of ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ and an almost unrecognisable early version of ‘Cinderella’. Both were very interesting, compared to the more recent versions we’re more familiar with today.
My next book:
The Wind Among the Reeds -
I’ve been interested in folklore since I can remember. Irish folklore in particular, while carrying much of the same figures and stories than folklore from adjacent lands, it also quite unique. Yet, as presented here by Yeats, it turns unbelievably magic.
Particularly enchanting is to notice how much of Yeats vision of the world seeps into the pages to color every legend and tale.
Beautifully written, evocative and interesting. For those who like to read about folklore, the lore of the people, this would be a entertaining read. For those with no interest in legends of old, perhaps not the best read. -
Una maravilla de libro lleno de relatos y cuenticos típicamente irlandeses contados por gente que vivió las historias o que llegaron de alguna manera a ellos. Anécdotas simpáticas, inquietantes y terroríficas sobre hadas, bosques y reinas de lo más profundo de Irlanda.
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Part dream journal, part field notes of primary research by an amateur folklorist. Riddled with beautifully poetic phrases and insights on early-twentieth-century Irish rural culture. An interesting read, and available free from The Gutenberg Project.
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This has such an evocative title, I've wanted to read it for decades. I'd expected it to be a lyrical celebration of the folkloric traditions of Ireland, and those parts of it that were that, I found the best. For the rest, it was a collection of brief outlines of fairly typical folkloric tales, interspersed with some slightly longer stories, some of which were interesting. A slightly disappointing read, but still worthwhile. 3.5/5🌟
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"Suyun da, denizlerin ve göllerin, sisin ve yağmurun suyunun, her şeyden çok bir İrlandalı simgesi yarattığına eminim."
Yeats'in memleket öykülerini (Faerie and Folklore) anlatma arzusu ile çıkmış, aslında masal, mit, efsane öyküler. Kendisi "duyduğum ve gördüğüm birçok şeyi, bazen yorum katmak dışında, doğruluk ve açık yüreklilikle yazdım" diyor; çok yorum yapmıyor ama çoğu bölüm başında bağlayıcı bir giriş yapıyor kendince. Yer yer de son paragraflarda görüyoruz benzerini. Bu kısımlar biraz kıssadan hisseyi andırıyor.
Her bölüm ayrı bir tema gibi düşünebilirsiniz ama istisnalar da var; işte mesela perili orman, büyülü orman, hayalet kadın vs gibi. Ayrıca metinlerin kendi içlerindeki detaylarda da 'var bişiler' göz kırpan.
Anlatma değil de böyle özetle bahsetme gibi. İfade ettiğinin aksi bir durum. Bazı hikayede neyi nasıl anlattığını anlamadım. Şimdi böyle deyince 'lan ne bekliyosun' diyebilirsiniz ama hakikaten anlamadım; çünkü bahsini ettiğim o metinler ya üstün körü anlatılmış ya kısacık ya da sadece bahsetmiş bir cümleyle. Elbette bu kitabın bir kaynak görevi görsün, somut olmayan mirasmışcasına yol göstersin demiyorum tabii ki, büyük çaba olur o. Yahut 'romanlaştırılmış' bir anlatım da değil. Ama işte bilemiyorum ya; zayıf metinler olmuş. Topladığı, duyduğu, deneyimlediğini aktardığı için oldu belki bu, bilemiyorum.
Efsaneleri güçlü bir millet, bilmeyen yok. O yüzden muhakkak makul ölçüde anlatabilirdi her birini. Demek istediğim burada 'salt uzunluk-doluluk' değil. Elbette ben sadece okuduğum romanceslardan ve meraklanıp 'ordan burdan' okuduğum kadarıyla biliyorum kelt mitini (lol). Farz oldu şimdi taşaklı bi kitap okumak (okumadı).
Ayrıca aşkolarım dedalus, bu metin redaksiyon görmedi mi? daha önce aynı çevirmenle dost kitabevi basmış, siz de alıp direk baskıya yollamışsınız gibi. Bir iki olsa neyse, çok fazla vardı.
Gelelim çeviriye, "beYenmediM". Bir kere zaman kipleri birbirini tutmuyor bazen. Birbirini takip eden cümlede biri -miş iken diğeri -di. Bunu geçtim olabilir, ama yavan çeviri.
Orijinale bakınca görebilirsiniz yer yer aşırı düşük dozda şiirsel anlatımını Yeats'in yarattığı. Ama Yeats'in de süper bir şey çıkartmadığını tekrar ediyorum.
'Hissesiz Kıssalar' öyküsü pek bir garipti. Bir lezbiyenlik olayına parmak çalan (lezbiyenlik olayı ne demekse), sonra cindirellanın erkek versiyonunu anlatan ve sonu yanlışım varsa düzeltin poligamik bitiyormuş algısı veren bir öykü.Bi ara iskoçlara sataşıyor falan 'ikiniz de benim bebeklerimsiniz' diye bağırasım geldi.
"Kuramlar, en iyi halleriyle bile, yetersiz şeylerdir ve benim kuramlarımın en esaslısı uzun zaman önce çürüdü. Herhangi bir kuramdan ziyade Fildişi Kapı'nın menteşeleri üzerinde dönerken çıkardığı sesi daha fazla seviyorum..."
KONUMUZLA İLGİSİ YOK AMA KESİNLİKLE, O KADAR HAKLISIN Kİ AŞKIM! Hem yukarıda da ne demek istediğimi anlarsınız belki.
"Tanrı, şeytana, bütün insanların ruhuna karşılık ne almak istediğini sormuş. Şeytan, bir bakirenin oğlunun kanından başka hiçbir şeyin kendisini tatmin edemeyeceğini söylemiş. İstediğini aldığında, Cehennemin kapıları açılmış."
gel de siktir çekme. bundan var ya öyle bir kurgu çıkar ki ah işte!
bahsi geçen memleket Sligo'nun Benbulben'i:
unknown
Andrew Karter
Steven Magner
ağlicam :(yeats aşkım şiir yaz sen
xoxoxo
iko -
la saga di Twilight non ha solo usurpato i Muse a Poe, ma ha anche catturato una parola bellissima in inglese: twilight appunto, resa in italiano con il meno corrispondente, ma altrettanto bello, crepuscolo. aveva ragione manganelli a notare come la parola inglese non abbia tanto un'implicazione serale, quanto un'illusione alla mala luce, "la doppia fosforescenza intricata all'ombra duplice". il senso del termine "twilight" non sta tanto in quello splendido paesaggio temporale che è l'ora che volge al disio di dantesca memoria, ma allude a quello che in italiano si chiama "stato crepuscolare", uno stato in cui la tensione dell'io si allenta. la mente è qui aperta ai vagheggiamenti; non progetta, ma si esercita spiritualmente. parafrasando Montale potremmo dire che come s'uno schermo, si sfalderanno di gitto alberi, case, colli per il disinganno inconsueto. Ma il disinganno non durerà molto perché ci apparirà vasta e accogliente, soprattutto a un irlandese, la terra delle fate e dei prodigi. (tutti noi, gratta gratta, siamo dei visionari. ma in un irlandese il visionario viene fuori senza grattare, disse Yeats).
ps- mi ricordo, e mi fece somma impressione, forse perché ero molto giovane (ma non garantisco!), un uomo al Maurizio Costanzo Show che parlava di gnomi ed era l'unico invitato al loro mondo, credo che partecipò addirittura al matrimonio di una coppia di gnomi, che avevano 300 e passa anni. raccontava tutto con una vivacità esaltata e colorata. e con dovizia di dettagli. anni dopo studiai la parafrenia. -
This is Yeats's collection of stories and lore surrounding Celtic fairies, ghosts and spirits. It's available at Librivox.org (audio) and at
Sacred Texts.
Most of the chapters are pretty short. My favorites are "The Hosting of the Sidhe" (the poem that opens the book), "A Teller of Tales" (Yeats's description of Paddy Flynn, the storyteller who provided him with many of these tales), "The Untiring Ones" (concerning humans who were enchanted by the fairies) "The Man and His Boots" (a funny story about a man whose boots are haunted), and "A Remonstrance with Scotsmen for Having Soured the Disposition of Their Ghosts and Faeries."
That last one is an essay about the Scottish attitude towards fairies and spirits, contrasted with the Irish attitude. Yeats writes:
"You have discovered the faeries to be pagan and wicked. You would like to have them all up before the magistrate. In Ireland warlike mortals have gone amongst them, and helped them in their battles, and they in turn have taught men great skill with herbs, and permitted some few to hear their tunes. Carolan slept upon a faery rath. Ever after their tunes ran in his head, and made him the great musician he was. In Scotland you have denounced them from the pulpit. In Ireland they have been permitted by the priests to consult them on the state of their souls. Unhappily the priests have decided that they have no souls, that they will dry up like so much bright vapour at the last day; but more in sadness than in anger they have said it. The Catholic religion likes to keep on good terms with its neighbours." -
A definite must-read for anyone interested in fairy tales, especially the Irish sort, as I've never found anything better. Yeats, of course, should be read for his own sake, anyway, and if you want more Yeats, go for MYTHOLOGIES, the version that includes both the Celtic Twilight and Yeats' own retellings, in prose, of Irish epic stories, as well as his own original tales. There's another Yeats collection of traditional tales--Irish Folk and Fairy Stories--that also includes the Celtic Twilight, but if you're not sure how much of this you want, and want to start with just the best, start with the Celtic Twilight. Yeats has a lovely Chekhovian trick of introducing a new thought, a new branching out of the story, just in the last few lines of many of the pieces, that makes this volume especially numinous and atmospheric. Conor McPherson's play, The Weir, is also a good read in this vein, though it has a contemporary setting--it has a very Yeatsian feel, in the way it brings the supernatural into the everyday, though it's humor is (in a welcome way) more sly.
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This was a slow start but this is the faery that I love! Here they are bit good or wholesome, Yeats writes them for the mischievous, ethereal, haunting, fearful, spiteful and vengeful beings that they are!
Being the first work of Yeats I've ever read, I was unsure as to what I was getting into but I might just read more of his work. Took a bit for me to wrap my head towards the writing style as I've been reading a lot of modern fiction thus the slow speed but I also think that it had to do with Yeats' writing style. -
You can have your cones and interpenetrating gyres; for me, the unguarded, soppy Romanticism of The Celtic Twilight, based on the diaries the young Yeats kept as he tromped through Irish village life, is the best guide to the obsessions and occult yearnings that animate his poetry, early & late. The anecdotes and rambling asides capture the poet in his native habitat, head in the clouds and feet in the bog of an Ireland that never quite was, but that he needed to shake off the bluff rationalism of his father's generation and put on that questioning, less self-assured thing called the Modern.
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Yeats believed in faeries. My hero! These are the tricksy meddlesome faeries of Irish myth and legend, and his book chronicles real life documentation of faery happenings and occurences from Irish locals. Yeats was fascinated by the power of myth and how it impacts on everyday life. We have here tales of ghosts, faery pigs in the forest, enchanted glades, changelings, the strange creatures of the hedgerows. What is fascinating is that these are both fabulous tales and a record of popular beliefs in Ireland at the beginning of the 20th century.
Yeats was heavily involved in mysticism, and was a member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn - magic and the otherwordly permeate his writings and poems, and he has a beautiful and evocative voice. I will definitely seek out a hard copy of this.
Available on LibriVox and Sacred Texts. -
Kitaptaki bazı mitolojik anlatıları okurken daha önce karşılaştığım bir çok edebiyat temasının, örneklemerin ve karakterlerin kaynağını buradan aldığını farkettim. Büyü, tarih, hayat ve İnanç sisteminin ayrılmaz kardeşler olduğunu bu coğrafyada da bir defa bu eserler görmüş olduk. Kitabı beğendim fakat eski bir edisyonunu okuyor olmamdan dolayı ve dil - kültüre olan uzaklığım yıldız sayısını 3 ile sınırlıyor.
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Available to read legally and free on Project Gutenberg:
http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10459 -
This is a delightful collection of old Irish folklore, mostly deriving from the area around Ben Bulben and County Sligo. Speaking of the existence of faerie,
William Butler Yeats writes:I say to myself, when I am well out of that thicket of argument, that they are surely there, the divine people, for only we who have neither simplicity nor wisdom have denied them, and the simple of all times and the wise men of ancient times have seen them and even spoken to them. They live out their passionate lives not far off, as I think, and we shall be among them when we die if we but keep our natures simple and passionate.
The little stories, many less than a page in length, are beautifully told.
The Celtic Twilight: Faerie and Folklore is worth a read whether you are a believer -- or not. -
aspettavo una raccolta di racconti sul piccolo popolo, sulle fate e i folletti di Irlanda. Questo libretto, invece, è una raccolta di aneddoti che hanno più a che fare con la superstizione popolare che non con le fiabe e il mito. Yates e una sua amica sono andati in giro per paesini a raccogliere storie di case infestate, luoghi in cui compare il demonio, strade da evitare di notte perché vi compaiono fantasmi. Ci tiene a precisare che gli spiriti irlandesi sono per lo più giocosi e benevoli a differenza di quelli scozzesi, più malevoli. Un esempio? Per sloggiare un ospite da una casa stregata si limitano a prenderlo a calci... con i suoi stessi stivali 😝
E poi ci sono i bambini e le fanciulle rapiti dal piccolo popolo, ma anche lunghe notto di balli. Perché loro sono immortali e non smettono mai di divertirsi ballando. Molto carino. -
Delightful
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I'm a sucker for folklore, especially Irish (and Scottish) folklore, because 'tis were my roots lie.
I randomly came across this book while scanning through the Kindle classics store on Amazon. Seeing "Celtic" in the title, I immediately downloaded it, not even reading the description. Just the thought of combining classical literature with Celtic...I couldn't help myself.
For being a conglomeration of short tales, this little book was a delightfully light read. If you are looking for a palette cleanser between books or series, this could be your go-to. It is beautifully and poetically (obviously since Yeats was and is known best for his poetry) written. Not being familiar with Yeats' work before this, it has intrigued me to look into his other literature.
However mystifying this read was, there was a strong undertone throughout the book of Yeats communication to the reader that the world of magic shouldn't be set within such strict bounds. Maybe, tales of folklore have truth in them, or, were and possibly are true. Maybe there is more to this world than meets the eye, and maybe, we will be pleasantly surprised.
"If we could love and hate with as good heart as the faeries do, we might grow to be long-lived like them. But until that day their untiring joys and sorrows must ever be one-half of their fascination. Love with them never grows weary, nor can the circles of the stars tire out their dancing feet."
This review can also be viewed on my blog:
She's Going Book Crazy -
Nel corso dei lunghi soggiorni presso la dimora del nonno, nella contea di Sligo dell'Irlanda occidentale, il piccolo Yeats ascolta le storie misteriose, le ballate e le fiabe legate alle gesta degli abitanti del regno fatato e a noi le ripropone in questa raccolta giovanile edita 1893.
Non sono un'appassionata di micro racconti, poiché con fatica mi affeziono alle pagine, ma il lettore percepisce tra le parole le vibrazioni di quell'amore per il folklore irlandese che l'autore prova e lega ad una quotidianità intrisa di magia.
Il cantastorie cieco Moran, le vecchiette di Sligo fanno parte di una visione altamente eccentrica che Yeats condisce ed esalta al fine di inserirla in un contesto fatato che solo una mente aperta può provare a capire.
Non per niente "Questo libro è per chi sa distinguere la voce delle fate dal mormorio dei folletti e non teme i cimiteri di campagna e le notti stellate, la bruma e la luce del crepuscolo". -
this is mostly Yeats chatting with the folk from which he would later collect tales;
there's some 'once it was hazy and i saw—' but i'd argue this is non-fiction as it primarily details Yeats' travels
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there's definitely a classist overtone; WBY doesn't hide his belief in his cultural/economic superiority
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would rec to those interested in collection & preservation of cultures, amateur /professional anthropologists, sociologists, archivists, the generally-inquisitive, et al. -
Oha.
On bir ayda bitirmişim kitabı.
11 ay.
Düşün bak, ben bu kitabı okumaya başladığımdan beri güneşin etrafında neredeyse bir kere döndü dünya. Ben bu kitabı okumaya başladığımda E. hâlâ hayatımdaydı, hayatım bir şeye benziyordu. Bir yaş daha gençtim la ben bunu okumaya başladığımda.
Sevmediysem demek ki.
Belki de çevirisindendir. Bilmiyorum. Umurumda da değil. -
Hediye gelmesi üzerine Dedalus Yayınlarınca hazırlanan çevirisini okumak zorunda kaldım, ne yazık ki çeviri Yeats'in şiirsel dilini yansıtmaktan fersah fersah uzaktaydı, özellikle Kelt mitolojisine ait terimlerin çevrilmesi, metin içerisinde kullanılması oldukça özensiz bir şekilde hazırlanmıştı. Kelt mitolojisine ve Yeats'e ilgi duyanların mümkünse özgün dilinde okuması tavsiye edilir.
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Accidentally an extremely timely read for me.
This short book is one I found on Project Gutenberg through Holly Black’s research bibliography, and was able to breeze through it whenever I had off time at work. It consists of W. B. Yeats’s notes from interviewing his neighbors and the residents of nearby towns about their faerie folklore, intercut with his own poetry and his recounting of any visions he had while compiling this research. Almost every time I told one of my colleagues about it, they’d start telling me their own best ghost story or family legend, which was a very charming element of this reading experience.
The stories here ranged from typical faerie lore like mushroom rings to some of the most spooky and spine-chilling stuff I’ve read in a while (not to give anything away, but the campfire story is going to stick with me until I DIE), along with a couple skeptics who made me laugh out loud (girl who got mistaken for the Virgin Mary and was therefore very disillusioned with paranormal sightings, to me you are perfect). Every so often Yeats would make a final call on a lore contradiction like ‘changelings switch the soul of a child with the soul of a demon’ vs ‘they take the child and leave an altogether different faery child behind’ by asking Queen Maeve in a vision, which I also found extremely charming. Just got off the phone with the queen of the faeries and she says they DO switch the bodies, so there!!!!
But underneath it all, this book is about missing your loved ones and reassuring yourself that they’re doing okay without you, even when you have a lingering suspicion that something horrible happened to them. I’ve been very melancholy lately with missing people, especially this week, since this week last year was when I had my trip to visit all my friends I hadn’t seen for two years. It’s been so hard to be like, this time last year I had just gotten to Rachel’s and we were eating the cookies I brought, now it’s when I was eating wings with Rachel and Skyler and watching Evil Dead the Musical, a year ago today Tierney and I were walking through a pop-up art gallery and I was telling her about the yōkai book I’d just read, a year ago today I was taking Anna to work and reading a different fairy book and waiting for her shift to end so we could make the dinner we were excited about. But this year today we’re so far apart. And these are people I talk to every day! I call them on the phone multiple times a week! And yet missing someone is miserable and overwhelming and it feels as huge for me as it did for these people who had to send letters across the ocean to hear from their loved ones. The boy who traveled to Glasgow to catch a magical glimpse of his mother playing cards with the faeries was something I felt so acutely, that need to know that the people who are apart from you are doing something and they’re okay and they’re in a place you can visualize when you think about them, and then it’s almost like you’re there with them when you do it.
I did not come away from this believing in faeries, but it did make me feel more intensely connected to the people I love and miss, and I am very grateful for that. Anna, Rachel, Skyler, Tierney, I have no idea if you read these or when you’ll get to it if you do but I looooove you, I miss you stupid lots
