Gird thy loins. The Irish Rep is poised to leap into a monthlong celebration of William Butler Yeats, kicking off on April 8, with readings and performances of all 26 plays. We sure hope this is okay with the same guy who wrote, “Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away,” but we’re sure that any beyond-the-grave anger will have dissipated in the 70 years since the poet-playwright’s death. Seventy years, you say? Why, that just happens to be the exact span in American copyright law after which all of a writer’s work plops into the public domain. As a service to you, dear reader, we did the legwork to find some other chaps who have just lost their ability to stifle any shows you might be planning (we’re looking at you, Beckett estate). Yes, the Irish Rep got the best of the batch, but what about others kicking the bucket in 1939: Havelock Ellis, Ford Madox Ford, Ernst Toller and Zane Grey? And I think we all want to see the Ontological-Hysteric Theatre throwing a Sigmund Freud festival. We’ve seen Richard Foreman’s dream notebooks. Now let’s hear it from the source.