A Brief Excursion into Yeats and Irish Mythology

I remember being pretty indifferent to the poetry that we read in our pre-modern sampler (namely Yeats and Hardy) a few weeks back, but when the references to Irish mythology appeared in the Yeats section, man, I got excited. Mythology is one of those things for me, an automatic way to get me interested. We read two Yeats poems with obvious ties to Irish mythology: “The Hosting of the Sidhe” and “Cuchulain Comforted.”

On first reading, I liked “The Hosting of the Sidhe” more, probably because what Niamh said immediately made me think of Tír na nÓg. The imagery also struck me much more vividly, which I suspect is an important factor in influencing how I react to a poem. I liked “Cuchulain Comforted” a little less because I found it slightly confusing the first time through—meaning, I wasn’t entirely sure what was supposed to be going on. That’s probably because it didn’t seem to be referencing the Cuchulain stories I remember the best, which are ones like his slaying of Culann’s hound, his affair with Fand, and some of the Cattle Raid of Cooley (that curse on the men of Ulster? Best curse ever). Before I could form a final opinion on either of the poems, though, my logical next step was research.

Said research was conducted mostly by means of the textbook from my mythology class last summer (The Friendly Guide to Mythology) and the ever-handy Wikipedia. I also flipped through my “new” copy of Bulfinch’s Mythology (courtesy of my mother’s sudden urge to clean out her closet), and discovered that it only contains one short Cuchulain story—Bricriu's Feast, the one that bears the most resemblance to Gawain and the Green Knight, which figures.

Imagine my glee when I discovered that the goddess Niamh is actually a queen of Tír na nÓg, so my original gut response was spot-on. I was also excited to learn that Caoilte is apparently a nephew of Fionn MacCumhail, and that Niamh had a relationship with Oisín, who was Fionn’s son. Also, Knocknarea is a huge limestone hill, and the Sidhe (more accurately the aes sidhe) are the “people of the mound.” I love finding out all these connections. Official verdict: “The Hosting of the Sidhe” is pretty darn cool.

Next up, Cuchulain. After doing my research, I’m now fairly convinced that “Cuchulain Comforted” is about Cuchulain’s death. According to my mythology textbook, during the Cattle Raid of Cooley, Cuchulain killed a man called Cailidín, who was one of Medb’s soldiers. Cailidín’s widow later gave birth to six children, three boys and three girls, whom Medb sent to study sorcery. After many years, they returned with the goal of killing Cuchulain. I’m seeing a connection between the six children and the “six mortal wounds” mentioned in Yeats’ poem, because nowhere can I find that Cuchulain was actually wounded more than once (this death-blow coming in the form of a magical spear thrown by Lugaid, whose father Cuchulain had also killed). The shroud connection to his death seems pretty straightforward, because the word shroud is most commonly used to refer to a burial covering. Then there’s the bird connection as well; a raven/crow, depending on the source, lands on Cuchulain’s body as a sign that he has died. That’s why I see the use of “bird-like” at the beginning of the poem and “the throats of birds” at the end as an indication that Cuchulain is about to die.

So I definitely like “Cuchulain Comforted” a lot more after having done my research and figured out some of the connections in the poem. I’d be really curious to read other Yeats poems based on Irish mythology (although maybe not other Yeats poems in general, as I don’t think I was terribly impressed by him on a whole).

Oh, and one more thing: My textbook tells me that Niamh was a lover of Cuchulain. Bam! I’ve just connected the two poems. I knew it would be a good idea to keep that book.

Orpheus and Eurydice

Update! I now have two stacks of poetry books on my bedroom floor. I wanted to check out some of the poets that we read in class that I enjoyed, so yesterday I went to the public library to pick up some books I’d requested and to check out the poetry section on the third floor. I left with a huge pile of books balanced precariously in my arms.

Before the library, though, I went with one of my friends to see our Intro to Literary Studies professor from last semester. We sat around for about an hour talking with him. My friend told him that we liked everything we read in that class except Melville, and he told us that this semester they had cut out Melville and the students had read poetry about Orpheus and Eurydice instead. When my friend’s face displayed blatant envy (she loves poetry), he offered to print us copies of the readings. So when we finally left his office, it was with several pages of poetry that had been influenced by Greek mythology.

I was curious because one of them was “Eurydice” by H.D., and we talked about her in class a couple weeks ago when we talked about Pound and imagism. But I’ll be honest, when I read the poem it left me pretty confused. I feel like her use of language is slightly baffling. There’s all this repetition, and all this stuff about colors and flowers and whatnot, and I had a difficult time figuring out what H.D. was trying to get across. I’m familiar with the myth, so I read the poem with that in mind, and I still had difficulty.

It seems to me like Eurydice is angry that Orpheus looked back (well, no kidding, I’d be pretty peeved too in her shoes), and it seems as if she’s mostly lamenting the loss of living plants, what with comparing all the colors of the flowers to the lack of color in the underworld. I also got the impression that she recognizes how bad Orpheus must feel, because even though she calls him arrogant and ruthless, she says stuff like, “my hell is no worse than yours.” That makes me think that she sees that he’s suffering too, because he’s got to live with the knowledge that he screwed everything up for himself and for her. Either that, or maybe Eurydice is just trying to make herself feel better by pretending that her situation isn’t all that bad and his is awful. I’m really not sure.

The ending perplexes me as well. What I make of it is that Eurydice is reassuring herself with the eternal existence of her soul in the underworld; even though she was lost to the land of the living, she will never be lost to the land of the dead. I feel like I kind of get it, but not really at all. It’s kind of aggravating, because after talking about imagism, I was expecting H.D. to be easier to understand. I guess focusing on one image doesn’t necessarily equate with clarity of language or meaning.

I liked “I Dream I’m the Death of Orpheus,” by Adrienne Rich, a lot better. And it’s strange, I couldn’t really tell you exactly why. I have no idea what this one means either. But I really like the flow of it. I like how it makes me feel when I’m reading it, and I like the images it makes me see. It almost seems to me like a reclaiming of the myth. I mean, in the original story, Eurydice has no power whatsoever and she’s pretty much just an object for Orpheus to rescue or not, but here Rich gives the narrator of the poem power. And then Orpheus, who seems to have more potential power in the story, even if he wastes it—here I interpret him as the “dead poet,” powerless. It’s like, the tables are turned. The narrator of the poem is like Eurydice, but she’s guiding the dead poet Orpheus, instead of him guiding her.

Upon reflection, I think it might be word choice that made me like one poem where I disliked the other, even when I didn’t feel that I entirely understood either of them. I think I just liked the words—and the images I associated with them—better in Adrienne Rich’s poem than I did in H. D.’s.

"One Train May Hide Another"

I’ve been meaning to post something about this poem since our last poetry class on Tuesday. The girl who sits on my left (Lauren?) talked about responding positively to certain words in a given poem, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what the poem means. It made me realize that I feel that way about Kenneth Koch’s “One Train May Hide Another,” except that rather than specific words, I was responding to sentences. I’m not sure I completely understand this poem, but I find myself loving it anyway.

Like I said, there were certain lines that just sealed it for me. For example, “One bath / may hide another bath / As when, after bathing, one walks out into the rain.” I just love that. The image is so vivid to me, and I like the contrast of the similar but different; a bath and a rainstorm are certainly not the same thing, but the parallel is there, and I can relate to it. I also like this one: “One dog may conceal another  / On a lawn, so if you escape the first one you're not necessarily safe.” A good life lesson if ever I heard one. And then there’s this too: “So one hitchhiker / May deliberately hide another and one cup of coffee / Another, too, until one is over-excited.” There’s something really subtle about the humor here that I really enjoy. It’s not flamboyant and in-your-face, but if you’re paying attention, it’s definitely funny. The whole poem feels slightly cynical, maybe a bit tongue-in-cheek, but also somewhat serious as well. I also really like this phrase to describe memory: “The eternal reverse succession of contemplated entities.” Something about the word choice there just really works for me, and I’m not really sure that I can explain it.

Also, also, this whole section:

In a family one sister may conceal another,

So, when you are courting, it's best to have them all in view

Otherwise in coming to find one you may love another.

One father or one brother may hide the man,

If you are a woman, whom you have been waiting to love.

So always standing in front of something the other

As words stand in front of objects, feelings, and ideas.

One wish may hide another. And one person's reputation may hide

The reputation of another.

For some reason, everything in it totally makes me think of Jane Austen. (I’ve been reading Pride and Prejudice out to my sister, so her language is especially fresh in my mind.) I can just imagine that first sentence as words of wisdom that Mr. Bennet shares with, say, Mr. Collins as a joke. The reputation bit also reminds me of Darcy and Wickham. That subtle humor I mentioned before seems very Austen-like to me.

Additionally, on a not-related-to-Austen note, I like the line “As words stand in front of objects, feelings, and ideas.” That’s really interesting. It makes me think of linguistics, and words as symbols, and how we’re constantly coming up with new words to try to explain our experiences (at least, some of us are).

When I read this poem as a whole, I kind of feel like it is genuinely advocating caution, but in a subtly humorous way, so as to win you over by making you smile. That’s how it strikes me personally, anyway.

Right. Now back to studying.