Baby/Doll (With Reference to the Work of W. B. Yeats)

 

Admit it, we're so much nicer than 

   the real thing mewling and puking ...

If I were asked by some kind of investigative committee into poetic activity: Are you now or have you ever been a reader of W. B. Yeats? I would have to answer no. 

However, in the interests of full disclosure, I would also have to admit that I did once (unsuccessfully) attempt to read his esoteric study A Vision (1925) and that I am of course familiar with three of his most famous verses: 'The Second Coming' (1920), 'Leda and the Swan' (1924), and 'Sailing to Byzantium' (1928).

But I'm certainly not a Yeats scholar of any kind, nor even a fan of his writing; it's too traditional, too nostalgic, too mystical and too Romantic - in short, too Irish - for my tastes. When I don't find it boring in its lyricism, I find it politically pernicious in it's völkisch nationalism and myth-making.

Having said that, there is at least one other poem by Yeats that fascinates and horrifies in equal measure ...

'The Dolls' (1916) tells the tale of a doll-maker and his wife who has recently given birth following an unplanned pregnancy, for which she is shamefully apologetic in the face of hostility to the newborn child from her husband's handcrafted creations, one of whom "Looks at the cradle and bawls: / 'That is an insult to us.'"

But it is the oldest of all the dolls who kicks up the biggest fuss and screams with indignant rage: 

"'Although
There's not a man can report 
Evil of this place,
The man and woman bring
Hither to our disgrace,
A noisy and filthy thing.'" 

This is obviously upsetting to the couple, as one might imagine; and upsetting also to readers of the verse. Creepy, malevolent dolls are bad enough - but creepy, malevolent dolls that bad-mouth innocent living babies, are even worse. WTF is Yeats playing at here?

Well, let me reiterate: I'm no Yeats scholar - but I know a woman who is ...

According to Dr Maria Thanassa, here, as elsewhere in his verse, Yeats is affirming the superiority of art over nature and the fact that he subscribes to a material form of aesthetic idealism in which artificial objects, such as handcrafted dolls, are infinitely preferable in their porcelain perfection to biological entities, such as babies, who cry, vomit, and defecate all day long without restraint and are subject to disease, cot death, and all the other forms of sordid stupidity and defect that characterise mortal existence.      

For the doll-maker, his beautiful figures are the result of hard-work and exquisite design; the child, on the other hand, is the unfortunate consequence of a quick fuck and carelessness on the part of the woman. It takes talent, discipline and dedication to be an artist, whilst anyone can be a human breeder. Thus we should value things born of the mind over things born of the body.

Obviously, in as much as this analysis of Yeats's thinking is correct, I find it problematic to say the least - even as someone fascinated by objects and sympathetic to agalmatophilia, pygmalionism, and all forms of doll fetish.

Were I the doll maker's wife, I'd get my child and get out of there ...     

See: W. B. Yeats, 'The Dolls', in Responsibilities and Other Poems (Macmillan, 1916). Click here to read online at allpoetry.com 

Thanks to Maria Thanassa for her kind assistance with this post.

The Second Coming (Notes on the European Migrant Crisis)

Those politicians and commentators who insist that the European migrant crisis is a moral dilemma are naively mistaken, for there really is no right or wrong solution to this influx of people. And this is precisely why it's known philosophically as a wicked problem. That is to say, a problem which seems obvious to everyone, but for which there is no definitive formulation or answer.

A crisis such as the one unfolding in Europe today, involving millions of people, is, by its very nature, a fast-moving, wild and unpredictable situation, with numerous causes and constantly shifting parameters, thus making it resistant to resolution - no matter how hard Angela Merkel stamps her foot and demands that more must be done by her European partners to tackle the problem and share the burden.

Those who ask themselves when will it all end have also failed to grasp the true nature of what's happening; it won't end - wicked events have no internal stopping mechanism. Likewise, it's a laughable fantasy to believe there's a historical reset button. The fact is, Europe has irrevocably been changed this summer (demographically, socially, and culturally).       

It is - to use another technical term - a real mess. All problems interact with one another in an endless cycle and no one knows what's going on, or what's going to happen next. Those who are supposed to be in charge appear clueless and incapable of acting; or, if they do act, they invariably make things worse. 

And so it seems that Yeats was right and his poetic prophecy is finally coming true:

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; 

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world ... 

The best lack all conviction, while the worst 

Are full of passionate intensity.

Notes: 

Those interested in reading in full Yeats's magnificent verse, 'The Second Coming' (1920), should click here. 

Those interested in knowing more about wicked problems are advised to read Horst Rittel and Melvin Webber, 'Dilemmas in a General Theory of Planning', in Developments in Design Methodology, ed. N. Cross, (J. Wiley and Sons, 1984), pp. 135-44. 

This post is dedicated to Dr Maria Thanassa; my favourite Yeats scholar.