In some stories, the chaos is resolved by the god accepting human form and limits in others, the human is elevated. The lack of punctuation in Kavanagh’s final stanza leaves two possible readings.
In many mythologies there are such stories of reckless gods or spirits who deign to love mortal men or women, bringing to crisis both natural and supernatural orders. And the Lord said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, for that he also is flesh: yet his days shall be an hundred and twenty years (Genesis 6:3-4, King James version).
He sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair and they took them wives of all which they chose. This reminds me of the fallen angels of Genesis, the immortal and spiritual sons of god who became mortal men on taking to wife corporeal women: Nevertheless, in loving a fallen creature that he had taken to be somewhat more elevated, the angelic poet becomes again the disappointed wooer. Perhaps, it was only in risking the ‘enchantment’ of love, that the ‘true gods’ of the arts could speak through him. The poet falls for a woman that he idealises as worthy of the gift of his art. The resolution of the poem in the last stanza might best be described as enlightened resignation. The poem is in four stanzas and with autumn in the first stanza, November in the second, and May in the third we are invited to think about the seasons and to expect that that the theme of the poem will achieve its apotheosis, its fruition in the summer of the final stanza. Luke Kelly sings ‘On Raglan Road’, Al O’Donnell (guitar), 1979, rte.ie When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day. That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking nowĪway from me so hurriedly my reason must allow With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stoneĪnd word and tint. I gave her gifts of the mind, I gave her the secret sign that’s known O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away. The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,Īnd I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day. That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
0 kommentar(er)
