Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face, And even old men’s eyes grew dim, this hand alone, Some last courtier at a gypsy camping place, Babbling of fallen majesty, records what’s gone.
The lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet, These, these remain, but I record what’s gone. A crowd will gather, and not know it walks the very street Whereon a thing once walked that seemed a burning cloud.
Speaking to a somewhat animated girl in a pub recently, when I told her I was a freelance writer, she asked immediately, “Are you influenced by W.B. Yeats?”. Before I could explain that perhaps I’d given the wrong impression about the projects I work on, and that it’d be very difficult to justify my work being ‘influenced’ by old William Butler, she started reciting the above poem. Upon finishing, she said, ‘Does that inspire you in your work?’
The article I’d been copy-editing that afternoon was titled, ‘Guide for Our Corporate Entertaining in 2011’. Not sure how much celtic twilight I could have thrown into it, without putting any future commissions at risk. Perhaps I should have tried harder. When I have more time (and more intelligence) I’ll write some corporate briefing memos, as they would be written by the great poets.