black and white dreaming Iceland Kirkjubæjarklaustur landscape mystery nature photography wanderings
(The better shot… )
Hanne is back! WONDERFUL: this is not a photo of a cascad, this is a picture of TIME and ETERNITY 🙂
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Slowly but surely, at least I hope so 🙂 Thank you so much for such a warm welcome Frédéric!!!
And your words, time and eternity, wonderful paradox!
Thanks again, and for the re-tweet too!
Breathtaking and magical. Thank you for such a lovely piece of wonder today. ❤
Thank you much Holly. The photo ‘haunted’ my dreams last night and I woke up and thought, alright then, if you insist! 😉
Beautiful! I’d love to see it in color too, or even some video of the landscapes you come across in Ireland!
Ah I spoke too soon, I scrolled down and saw another shot in color lol
Cyan, thank you so much for both your comments 🙂 I think there might even be a third on its way, in colors….. if I can find words to accompany it…
Btw, this is Iceland, I went there this summer. But I live in Ireland and both countries has similar magic to them. Two green, untamed and wild islands in the Atlantic. 🙂
Your welcome! And by the way, we’ve spoken before, my screen-name was fergusandthedruid until recently!
“His eyelids droop, his head falls low,
His old eyes cloud with dreams;
The sun upon all things that grow
Falls in sleepy streams.”
― William Butler Yeats, excerpt of “The Ballad of the Foxhunter”
Blythe me, my apologies! There was something familiar and l literally thought of fergusandthedruid. Love the Emerson quote on your site btw. Maybe I’ve said it before 🙂
Yeats, interesting you should bring him up, just started reading his work. Fascinating!
He’s my favorite deceased male poet! I recommend reading his wikipedia page, or at least understanding him a little from what I’ll explain…
He was very broken man, who was judged very critically in his old age for his lifestyle, that I confess, before I knew his background, was myself not very understanding of his methods for inspiration.
His pains with Maud Gonne, the love of his life since his early 20’s (he lived to be 73), who was his inspiration and muse for many of his poems and plays, started with her rejecting his marriage proposal and her then marrying someone else, then her leaving her husband, and Yeats finally consummating his relationship with her, just for her to then choose a cruel kind of love that abstains from copulation, speaking of it like it’s some glorious mystic way to inspire creativity with unfulfilled intense desire, and then towards the end of Yeats life, him proposing to her one last time with conditions that he knew she would not agree to, because he had ceased to respect her but still felt obligated to offer his heart to her, just to be rejected one last time…
In his old age, having become so jaded with the concept of true love, he became the Hugh Hefner of his day, and wrote this poem in response to public persecution of his philandering…
by William Butler Yeats
You think it horrible that lust and rage
Should dance attention upon my old age;
They were not such a plague when I was young;
What else have I to spur me into song?
It was easy to read that, before knowing his story, and think of him as a perverted old man, but understanding what lead to his finding temporary creative inspiration in his flings with women a third of his age, I know he was filling a painful void and trying to recapture in some sense what he was led to believe he would have solely with Maud Gonne as a very young man, just to be rejected because of differing political beliefs, and to then be treated with such emotional neglect and cruelty, I wouldn’t be surprised if he developed Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which I think I actually got in a similar way, being in empty long distant relationships with my muses, giving so much of myself in my writing to them, led on with compliments and such about my words for them, just for things to never transition to the logical conclusion of what you would think would result in a more serious relationship when a man spends months of his life and energy serenading a lady who seems to appreciate it and be flattered, encouraging it to continue, just for her to have no serious intentions.
When I learned these things about Yeats, I had new found respect for the man for not giving up creative writing out of depression and disillusion from the emotional abuse he suffered or what could be easily seen as fruitless energy he expended on her, drawing inspiration from her as his muse. It’s inspiring to me, to not totally give up on my dream of being a writer, though I am taking a break from it to some extent at the moment.
Yeats was such a complicated, gifted man, I really think you will become a fan if you don’t consider yourself one already!
Cyan, thank you for this in depth review of Yeats.
I can’t help but pondering, it appears we hear only his side of the ‘relationship’ with the woman Maud. We don’t hear what her motivation was or how she felt. Another thing I wonder about along the same lines are, isn’t there always two to tango? I mean, maybe it looks like she treated him cruel, maybe she did treat him cruel, however, he was the one chosing to stay around for it. He also did his part of the tango. Maybe he didn’t want to loose his muse out of fear of loosing the capacity to write (this is purely guessing of course!!) Nevertheless, there can only be a tango as long as both parts dance…
3 of the greatest thinkers and writers that possibly has inspired and definitely has had and still have up till this day a strong influence with their writing, not only in Denmark, never, according to their diaries never had sex. Yet, they were deeply in love with a woman they couldn’t be with for one reason or the other. Perhaps they too focused that powerful, energy into their writing, perhaps that gave them the deep insight into human psyke of loss and angst which has given them worldwide recognition?
All I am pointing towards is, there are motives on both sides.
Does something becomes too painful, there is always the opportunity to walk away, if one stays, even so, it might serve the purpose of profound writing and it can be looked at as a blessing in disguise without putting blame on the other part. These are not answers to any questions, merely reflections 🙂
I like your reflections, and remember that widely recognized Emily Dickinson is sometimes called the Virgin Recluse, and that didn’t ruin her gift.
Also, I forget the proverb “The one who states his case first seems right, until the other comes and examines him.”
Surely Maud knew Yeats in many ways that no one else did, or perhaps few did. It’s easy to worship our idols as faultless, and demonize their enemies. I see it’s an unfortunate slant I’ve fallen into with Yeats, that I suppose I am prone to slide to in regards to myself as well. It’s funny though, it’s paradoxical, I go back and forth in how I view Yeats and myself, and I suppose it’s silly to slide from extremes of black to white, and not see shades of the grey along the way in which my views should acclimate and remain.
You’re pretty wise Hanne, I enjoy our exchanges.
Perhaps Maud simply did not feel the same way about Yeats, and couldn’t help but be flattered by his affection, and got caught up in the drama of a lot of it. I believe that may be a possibility for what has happened with some of my own muses. I suppose in such a case, it’s complicated, and hard to place actual blame, and perhaps prideful to feel a need to place it at all. Poetic eloquence and linguistic beauty may contrive some romantic feelings, but such are fickle if the sole basis for entering a relationship. Without a deeper foundation, who would want to remain in such a superficial structure when the winds of arguments and quakes of important decisions test their durability? For a real relationship to be sustained, there has to be a lot more meaningful drama-free conversation going on with chemistry that is just there, that can’t be contrived with creatively affectionate language and grandiose dedications or spurious flattering declarations of drawing inspiration from a muse when much of the actual poetry that refers to a muse is made of their comparison to other beautiful persons, places and things with obvious infatuation in the beauty of language and the feeling of passion in it of itself.
If one is gifted with words, I suppose it’s easy to woo a muse, as it is easy for one (like myself) to woo themselves with the sound of their own words, but a gift with words does not a soul mate make, and no matter how magical and perfectly charming the words used to serenade a lady may be, if that’s one’s entire approach to believing they have some claim to expectation of reciprocation, it’s really little more than manipulation dressed up nicely in a way that is easy to admire and not recognize as something that right now, in retrospect, I recognize as a trait of narcissism and vain entitlement.
I’m partly satirizing myself as I write this, to show myself how easy it is to sound nice, and be a self-aggrandizing bastard. Or maybe I should, as I said, view myself as more a grey man with issues who wants to slay his demons, instead of being a black incarnate demoniac. It’s so hard to face the mirror sometimes, without wanting to close my eyes and see myself a paladin victimized by my enemies, when I have made myself an enemy to others myself, and am probably my own worst enemy, as my own decisions and in-decisions, reactions and attitudes are truly what makes or breaks my actual experiences. No matter what obstacles I face, I believe I get in my own way more than anything or anyone else, if I’m truly honest with myself.
And I’m still so proud of myself, I’m tempted to transfer this comment into a blog post, to put my humility on display in some backwards way, as if that will somehow change anything. All it would do is put my plight on a pedestal for vain admiration, like I’ve done with Yeats. So I will refrain, and not exploit my pain. I almost feel like not even leaving this comment, I am such a mess of inner conflictions and vanity, but all the same I will make it to show I appreciate the points you made and the thoughts you provoked.
I really think poets like Yeats and I are prone to idealism about black and white rights and wrongs and paradoxical over-simplifications of life in extraordinary detail and superfluous vocabulary, which are common symptoms of those with the personality trait of being romantic-minded. I think so much of our poetry is just nice eloquent exercises in futility and logical fallacies where we throw our voices all over the page to throw ourselves some kind of pity party to put off the inevitability of having to face the ugliness of our realities.
Thanks for defending Maud, I hadn’t put myself in her shoes, I oversimplified her individuality and her own story and side of things, wanting to vicariously relate as close as possible with a hero of mine, to feel a little bit heroic myself by playing the victim. I shouldn’t do that. All human heroes are still human.
Cyan, your self-insights and honesty in your comment is truly remarkable!! Thank you so much for sharing, even if you were tempted not to. It is quite courageous of you as when you so rightly said, it’s can be scary shit (my simple words lol) to look into the mirror, but there is also something profoundly liberating about it, because it might also reveal, you are not only the man in the mirror, there is also a still, infinite observer behind it that is also you. So, regardless of what you see, your honesty is remarkable and I want to add, don’t be too hard on yourself. What you see might be aspects of truths about yourself, perhaps just see them for what they are, opportunities to grow, to change, to transform beyond them, instead of staying with them and put the blame there either or judge them/those sides of yourself too hard. The main thing is you’ve seen them and recognized some of the workings behind the scene, from then on perhaps a more gentle approach to yourself will create ripples into writing that stems from an honest place of embracing all that you are… ?
Are there any artists who hasn’t met and dealt with existential pain and joy of aliveness, faced their so-called demons and angels, having a tremendous wide range of emotions running deep and far? And one way to live with this wild, untamed, inner worlds and realms, at times confusing, at times full of clarity, is to express it and art is born? So, I’d say, don’t restrain yourself from writing, even if you know your motives for writing doesn’t seem as ‘pure’ as you would want them to be, they are still what they are, an expression of you and writing appears to a way for you to walk in the world. All walks wobbles now and again. Nothing needs to be perfect, no one are, fortunately!! It keeps us all occupied lol!! It’s all ‘just’ life happening, isn’t it? In all it’s crazy variations and it remains forever a mystery. No matter what we think we know, we know nothing. Thankfully.
So, write on Cyan! 🙂
Thanks for the advice, I will take it as best I can. Having a conversation about this was helpful 🙂
Two to tango, thank you for the dance 🙂
p.s. only do what resonates for you, naturally.
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