Shakespearean fish swam the sea, far away from land;
  Romantic fish swam in nets coming to the hand;
  What are all those fish that lie gasping on the strand?

Note: ‘strand’ is a somewhat archaic word for ‘shore’; hence the current

verb ‘to strand’ (literally to leave ashore)

A somewhat uncharacteristic poem by Yeats, but a compelling one nonetheless. Whether because of its almost transparent simplicity, its length, its pleasing rhythms or some other, more intangible quality, this is one of those poems that has stuck in my mind.

One thing that especially intrigues me about it, though, is that I am unable to decide whether this is something that Yeats dashed off on the spur of an inspiration, or whether he painstakingly crafted every word. (Of course, one of the marks of genius is the ability to labour over something, polishing it until it looks like it has taken no effort whatsoever). Either way, a delightful poem, and one that by its very unusualness stands out and catches the reader’s mind.

— Martin

Links

Yeats was the first poet run on Minstrels, and he has been far from underrepresented since. Go to
The Wondering Minstrels to see a list of all the poems run, including a biography at poem #32.

Incidentally, while this is the first Yeats poem I’m running, he seems to be popular among the members of the list - of the eight poems already on Minstrels, three are guest poems.

(And speaking of guest poems - do keep sending them in!)