Posts Tagged ‘WB Yeats’

The Cloths of heaven


Had I the gumption I would pass for real

Scholar in mortar-board, you may well

Believe yonder yokel is Jackass

Of first rate mind, but given up, yes

His higher calling for hard labour :

But I being born with circumstance

I have no choice but walk the line, sir:

My learning is’nt what I intend practise.




Had I the heaven’s embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light;

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

WB Yeats


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Sir. Herbert Beerbohm- Tree (1853-1917)
Hesketh Pearson, the writer was waiting at His Majesty’s Theater for Herbert-Tree. There was also another gentleman waiting for him. Finally Beerbohm-Tree came and flung himself in a chair between them. ‘Consider yourself introduced,’ he said looking at the ceiling, ‘because I only remember one of your names and that wouldn’t be fair to the other.’
He once broke news to an author like this,’ My dear sir, I have read your play. Oh my dear sir!’
Charles Frohman (1860-1915)
The celebrated theatrical manager once cabled a European actress asking what salary she wanted to appear in a play in N.Y. She demanded $1000 a week.
‘Accept thousand with pleasure.’
‘Thousand for acting ,’ she promptly wired back, pleasure extra.’
W.B Yeats(1865-1939)
At Dublin’s Abbey Theater, poet-playwright Yeats was searching for a particular effects for a glorious sunset. He wanted realism and he coaxed the electricians to try harder with the colors and equipments at their disposal to come up with the effect he could approve. The technicians did all that they could and their experiments at one point elicited a cry of approval. ‘That’s it! Yeats cried stepping forward,’ Hold it, Hold it!’
‘We can’t hold it, sir’ came the stagehand’s apologetic voice,’ The theater is on fire.’
(Sir. Cedric Hardwicke-A Victorian in orbit/Methuen, London)
Edmond Rostand(1868-1918)
He visited an estate put up for sale and found it too big and expensive for his purse.’ One of my plays is going to be put on at the Porte Saint-Martin theatre’ he confided to the seller, ‘If it is a hit I’ll buy it.’
Cyrano de Bergerac was a great success. The seller wrote Rostand to congratulate him and reminded him of his plans.
Rostand wrote him back saying, ‘Property now too small for me.’

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What Then? by W.B Yeats

His chosen comrades thought at school
He must grow a famous man;
He thought the same and lived by rule,
All his twenties crammed with toil;
What then?’ sang Plato’s ghost. ‘What then?

Everything he wrote was read,
After certain years he won
Sufficient money for his need,
Friends that have been friends indeed;
What then?’ sang Plato’s ghost. ‘What then?

All his happier dreams came true_
A small old house, wife, daughter son,
Grounds where plum and cabbage grew,
Poets and wits about him drew;
What then?’ sang Plato’s ghost. ‘What then?’

‘The work is done,’ grown old he thought,
‘According to my boyish plan;
Let the fools rage, I swerved in naught,
Something to perfection brought;’
What then?’ sang Plato’s ghost. ‘What then?

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