The WB

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

He was an Irish poet, dramatist, and prose writer. Among some of his topics, Yeats wrote about old age, the process of ageing, love, nature, war and art.

The following is a lyrical poem by W.B. Yeats:

The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner

Although I shelter from the rain
Under a broken tree,
My chair was nearest to the fireIn every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured me.

Though lads are making pikes again
For some conspiracy,
And crazy rascals rage their fill
At human tyranny,
My contemplations are of Time
That has transfigured me.

There's not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree,
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memory;
I spit into the face of Time
That has transfigured me.

"Although" and "Under" occur in the opening lines and help to slow the poem- long vowel sounds convey the mood and the element of Time passed.

In the first stanza, there is a feeling of desperation, pride, and misfortune. It sounds as though he is trying to express that the condition he appears to be in, is not a result of his doing- it is a result of his misfortune- he seems to be blaming the world for his circumstances.

An old man is taking shelter from the rain under a "broken" tree- he is describing his pitiful situation, he appears as though he is looking for compassion and for someone to feel sorry for him. He continues to suggest the reason for his misery and misfortune in the following few sentences, implying his chair was nearest to the fire (nearest to trouble) in every company (at every point in his life) - meaning- he always got screwed around- and eventually Time took its toll.

"Ere Time transfigured me." He repeats this at the end of each stanza- placing blame.

Placing blame as a result of anger or ego? Does he wants us to know it was Time which made him how he appears in order to disguise...something else? A result of his own doing? Is it easier to blame Time then to take ownership of your past decisions and mistakes?

He blames Time. And he REALLY wants us to know

(It was TIME, I swear, It was Nothing I did!) ...?

He talks about conspiracy, human tyranny, rejection, and the beauty he remembers from his 'good days' - he's given-up. He's not hiding the fact that he's down and out, he's miserable. He is so miserable, it's as though his misery has given him a new purpose. He is consumed by contemplations of 'what was and what could have been' - he is "spitting" on time, blaming time for "transfiguring" him. His bitterness seems to empower him. Judging from what we know of his history, things haven't gone so well...and this "power" is the only thing he is in control of- his anger, his frustration, his contempt.

This poem reaches me in a few ways...

At face value, I thought it was a pretty poem- filled with sarrow and turmoil, sure- but a poem that articulated "life" through the eyes of someone who had "been around the block".

Maybe he is so incredibly consumed by his situation- he's become passionate about his life again- he's fired-up- he's so full of hate, he's actually enjoying himself for once. "And yet the beauties that I loved, Are in my memory"- he living in his memory.

He may not be a homeless man, the title confirms this- he sounds like an old retiree, sitting on his front lawn, watching the young saunter by, cursing "bad luck" and circumstance.

Were things really all that bad? Could he not have made a change for himself?

"And the beauties that I loved..."

This leads me to think he perhaps loved, but didn't acquire the same love in return? Did loneliness turn him sour?

His anger must have started before...

In the first stanza he talks of politics, in the second he alludes to hegemony, and in the third he speaks of love being only a memory.

The one thing that is clear- as poetry is not often simple to decipher- is the focus on himself.

He ends each stanza with "me". He wants the last memory you have, to be of him.

At least he can have that.