Synge and the Ireland of his Time: VI
By William Butler Yeats
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VI
I attack things that are as dear to many as some holy image carried
hither and thither by some broken clan, and can but say that I have felt
in my body the affections I disturb, and believed that if I could raise
them into contemplation I would make possible a literature, that finding
its subject-matter all ready in men's minds would be, not as ours is, an
interest for scholars, but the possession of a people. I have founded
societies with this aim, and was indeed founding one in Paris when I
first met with J.M. Synge, and I have known what it is to be changed by
that I would have changed, till I became argumentative and unmannerly,
hating men even in daily life for their opinions. And though I was never
convinced that the anatomies of last year's leaves are a living forest,
or thought a continual apologetic could do other than make the soul a
vapour and the body a stone; or believed that literature can be made by
anything but by what is still blind and dumb within ourselves, I have had
to learn how hard in one who lives where forms of expression and habits
of thought have been born, not for the pleasure of begetting but for the
public good, is that purification from insincerity, vanity, malignity,
arrogance, which is the discovery of style. But it became possible to
live when I had learnt all I had not learnt in shaping words, in
defending Synge against his enemies, and knew that rich energies, fine,
turbulent or gracious thoughts, whether in life or letters, are but
love-children.
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