“Never to have lived is best, ancient writers say;

Never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day;

The second best’s a gay goodnight and quickly turn away.”

-W.B. Yeats

The above lines are from poet W. B. Yeat’s “From ‘Oedipus at Colonus’.” Yeat’s poem is a chorus from his own translation of Oedipus at Colonus by the Greek playwright Sophocles, and is from a scene, I believe, involving Oedipus and his daughters, Antigone and Ismene.

I am unfamiliar with Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus, and perhaps my understanding of Yeat’s poem would deepen if I had greater knowledge of the play.  That being said, however, when I first read these lines in a book of Yeat’s poetry (The Tower for those interested), I was struck by the bleakness behind the lines, wowed by its woe.

Now, I know this blog is a sort of compendium of woe, but after reading these dark verses above, I felt compelled to comment.  For those who don’t know me well (or at all), I imagine one may read this blog of mine say, “Oh, Mike, you are so woeful.  God grant you peace in your life, spare you from further woe.”  Well, I actually can’t imagine anyone thinking those exact words (that would be strange), but they might think I am some kind of deeply pessimistic or dour person to maintain, if only sporadically, a blog that focuses on mostly sad or embarrassing stories.

O, reader, I don’t think that is the case at all!  While I admire Yeats’ poetry on the whole, I cannot subscribe to the bleak nature of the lines printed above.  To twist Shakespeare’s iambs, I come not to praise Yeats’ lines but to bury them.  Woe to the person who thinks and feels that “never to have lived is best.”  To never stare into the sun, to never breathe the breath of life!  That is something I cannot imagine.

Like the title of this post, I don’t know why I felt compelled after reading Yeats’ poem to write this entry.  But I hope you understand, faithful reader, as they say, where I am coming from.

First, I’d like to thank everyone who contributed in the comments to my definition of “ordeal.” Now, more fun with the Oxford English Dictionary!…

I won’t bore you will the complete definition of the word “woe,” but I will bore you with a partial definition and a few excerpts of English poetry that contain my personal favorite uses of the word “woe.” Consider this a particularly self-serving blog post. My apologies.

B. n. 1. a. A condition of misery, affliction, or distress; misfortune, trouble; grievous or sorrowful state. poet. or rhet. Freq. in phr. tale of woe, a narrative of (one’s) misfortunes. Now usu. joc.

Shakespeare, from Romeo and Juliet, Act V, Scene iii:

“A glooming peace this morning with it
brings,
The sun, for sorrow, will not show its head.
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished:
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

Coleridge, from Genevieve:

“Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve!
In Beauty’s light you glide along:
Your eye is like the star of eve,
And sweet your Voice, as Seraph’s song.
Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow:
Within your soul a Voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of Woe.”

Byron, from The Giaour:

“And thou wilt bless thee from the rage
Of passions fierce and uncontroll’d,
Such as thy penitents unfold,
Whose secret sins and sorrows rest
Within thy pure and pitying breast.
My days, though few, have pass’d below
In much of joy, but more of woe;”

Shelley, from Prometheus Unbound, Act I, Scene i:

“Ah woe!
Ah woe! Alas! pain, pain ever, for ever!
I close my tearless eyes, but see more clear
Thy works within my woe-illumèd mind,
Thou subtle tyrant! Peace is in the grave.
The grave hides all things beautiful and good:
I am a God and cannot find it there,
Nor would I seek it: for, though dread revenge,
This is defeat, fierce king, not victory.
The sights with which thou torturest gird my soul
With new endurance, till the hour arrives
When they shall be no types of things which are.”

OK, that’s enough of that. For my next post, I plan on returning to my own personal tales of woe; however, I am also toying with the idea of presenting a summarization of sorts of the ultimate tale of woe: The Book of Job (King James Version).

Good night.