A ‘Yeats’ poem on the Pandemic
A Brief Pageant of English Verse
I won’t arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
I’ll sanitize the doorknob and make a cup of tea.
I won’t go down to the sea again; I won’t go out at all,
I’ll wander lonely as a cloud from the kitchen to the hall.
There’s a green-eyed yellow monster to the north of Katmandu
But I shan’t be seeing him just yet and nor, I think, will you.
While the dawn comes up like thunder on the road to Mandalay
I’ll make my bit of supper and eat it off a tray.
I shall not speed my bonnie boat across the sea to Skye
Or take the rolling English road from Birmingham to Rye.
About the woodland, just right now, I am not free to go
To see the Keep Out posters or the cherry hung with snow,
And no, I won’t be travelling much, within the realms of gold,
Or get me to Milford Haven. All that’s been put on hold.
Give me your hands, I shan’t request, albeit we are friends
Nor come within a mile of you, until this trial ends.
Author as yet Unknown – do tell me if you track them down and I’ll amend
The “Lake Isle of Innisfree” has always been one of my favourites. This poem is funny but also immensely sad. I so long to see Britain and Ireland again.
A welcome lift on a grey day 😄
Thank you Philip, this made me smile but also a little sad.
“winter is icumin in
Loud sing goddam”
Elliot or Auden, I can’t remember which
Hi Gary! Ezra Pound says my search!:)
Brilliantly done but very poignant 🙁
Love this brilliant little verse on our present moment in time. Thank you Philip for this bright break in a dull day.
Thanks for helping us face this together, worldwide, with a wink and a smile <3
Innisfree is one of my most beloved poem. This was a good chuckle, but yes, a bit sad because the original Yeats was so inviting and mysterious and oh! bee-loud; this is a bit lonely without hope if having tea with a Druid.
I once visited Innisfree and still ‘I hear the lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore, While I stand on the roadway or on the pavement s grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core’
Is the author of this exquisite poem still unknown ???
It appeared in the St John the Baptist France Lynch parish magazine, May edition, published April 21st
but it’s still ‘anon’.
To quote the reply from the editor,,,
“This came to via a friend of a friend of a friend – we liked it enough to share with our readers but know nothing of its origin
Sorry we can’t help”