The Sidhe with Y.B.

Yeats

The World of the Sdhe The Natural World

imagination reality
immaterial material
timeless time-bound
eternal ephemeral
immortal mortal
perfect imperfect
supernatural human
spirit reason
indifference emotion
id ego
night day
moon sun
silver gold
air & water earth

The Stolen Child The Song of the Wandering Aengus

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, I went out to the hazel wood,
There lies a leafy island Because a fire was in my head,
Where flappy herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
There weve hid our faery vats, And hooked a berry to a thread;
Full of berries And when white moths were on the wing,
And of reddest stolen cherries.
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
Come away, O human child! I dropped the berry in a stream
To the waters and the wild And caught a little silver trout.
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the worlds more full of weeping than you can understand.
When I had laid it on the floor
Where the wave of moonlight glosses I went to blow the fire aflame,
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses But something rustled on the floor,
We foot it all the night, And some one called me by my name:
Weaving olden dances, It had become a glimmering girl
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight; With apple blossom in her hair
To and fro we leap Who called me by my name and ran
And chase the frothy bubbles, And faded through the brightening air.
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Though I am old with wandering
[. . .] Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
Away with us hes going,
The solemn-eyed: I will find out where she has gone,
Hell hear no more the lowing And kiss her lips and take her hands;
Of the calves on the warm hillside And walk among long dappled grass,
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast, And pluck till time and times are done
Or see the brown mice bob The silver apples of the moon,
Round and round the oatmeal-chest. The golden apples of the sun.
 Feminist Revisions of the Sidhe

Male Female
Self Other
Mind Body
Culture Nature
Activity Passivity
Sun Moon
Day Night
Public Domestic
Centre Margin
Order Chaos
Presence Absence
Positive Negative

Eavan Boland, The Woman Turns Herself into a Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill, Swept Away
Fish

its done: ruddering The fairy woman When my husband came

I turn, and muscling marched home for his tea,
right into my poem. he didnt notice she
I flab upward in the sunless tons
She didnt close the door. wasnt me.
She didnt ask.
blub-lipped, of new freedoms But Im in the fairy field
I was too polite
hipless still to throw her out in everlasting dark.
and I am I feel so I decided I/m freezing, with only
to act all nice: the mist to cover me.
Stay, if youre in a hurry, And if he wants me back
sexless a chill pull,
and of course you are. heres what he must do:
shed a brightening, get a fine big ploughshare
Sit up to the fire;
of ecstasy, a light, a light and butter it well,
eat; have a drink.
Mind you, if I were in your then make it red-hot in the
a pale and how house fire.
swimmer in my loomy cold, the way youre in mine
sequin-skinned, my greens Id go home right away, Then go to the bed
but never mind: stay. where that bitch is lying
and let her have it!
pealing eggs still Push it into her face,
So she did. She got up and
screamlessly she moons started burn her and scorch her,
in seaweed. in me. doing housework. She and all the time shes
made the beds, going,
Its what washed the dishes. Put the Ill be coming.
dirty clothes All the time shes going,
I set my heart
in the machine. Ill be coming.
on.
Yet
Ioana Mohor-Ivan, Irish Literature Course Handout