on Ellman's essay

I was intrigued by the self-conscious choices Yeats made in his middle poetry, as well as in his earlier and later work, although I don't like to use the word self-conscious, as I object to the common connotation of vanity that some people associate with the word-- Self-consciousness is not at all vain, but is rather an asset which prohibits us from being defined solely by unfavorable or difficult experiences in our pasts. And this is apparent in Yeats. The seamless precision of his language implies a familiarity with the limits of the poor articulation and logic demonstrated by his father, whose constant, unquestioned, and often reductive commentary must have been deeply frustrating for the sensitive and thoughtful son. Firsthand, the poet learned the importance of choosing one's words carefully and of the subtle injuries that we inflict upon one another when we speak too crassly.

Ellman's article also mentions Yeats' unnatural love of learning, as well as its relation to his unfullfilled wish for an orthodox education. The poet's respect for the academic is noticeable in the mythological historical, and scientific classifications he makes throughout his oevre. This brings me to a question: This morning I read Schiller's definition of good art, in which he suggests that a work of art is good if it is popularly accepted by the elite. Could Yeats' technique be read as an example of this theory? And how does the plot of "Adam's Curse" relate to Yeats' philosophies?

     Escapism is a prevalent theme in Yeats' poems; many allude to the disaffection of a character at odds with the events that transpire around him and who imagines a fantastic world of beauty in their place. "The Lake Isle of Innisfree," "Who Goes with Fergus?", "To an Isle in the Water," and "The Man Who Dreamed of Faeryland" all address or allude to a desire to detach. "The Madness of King Gall" is about a king of Ulster who commands the respect of his subjects, wins many battles, and yet slips into private reverie in their company and alone-- his solitary ramble and hallucination are described in the last three stanzas of the poem.

     "The Ballad of Moll Magee" is the lament of an indigent woman who rolls onto her child while she sleeps. Her escapism is not self-imposed or in any way indulgent; her husband sends her away-- she mutters to herself as she walks. It is intriguing when read with some knowledge of Yeats' own troubled mother, who suffered from a depression so severe that she would spend days in bed. Perhaps Yeats' own relationship with his mother could have contributed to his provocation of sympathy for this character. Taking this supposition into account, could we read the poem as a meditation on tolerance? Is it possible that, by giving us the life experience of a woman who might otherwise be dismissed, Yeats might generate sympathy for her? In the final stanza, Moll addresses the reader, "So now, ye little childer,/ Ye won't fling stones at me;/ But gather with your shinin'  looks/ And pity Moll Magee" (Yeats, 24).

     And could it be read as a plea for tolerance of our parents' shortcomings?