Poem 4 of the Irish Cycle
Dublin, 1916.
This poem, the fourth in a series*, alights in Dublin during the Easter holiday weekend of the year 1916. The armies of Europe have been engaged in killing each other since August 1914, and casualties on all sides have reached horrifying proportions. Ireland, still reluctantly part of the UK, has managed to avoid conscription although about 100,000 young men have already joined the British Army as volunteers. The war seems far away as the people of the city think about family picnics or a day at the races. Unbeknownst to them, other deeply-rooted forces are stirring. One young Dub comes off his night work at a factory and, by chance, runs into one of his pals on the streets ....
Joe McInerney
Who fears to speak
Of Easter Week?
There I was, just after
finishing the midnight shift
and breathing the air of the morning,
when who should rise up before me
but young Jimmy Docherty,
ablaze with unaccustomed
splendour: Jayzus, Jim,
says I, where in the name
of all that's holy, tell me,
where did ye come by
that ... that uniform?
All bought and paid for,
says Jimmy with a grin,
amn't I after payin
two shillins a week
to the Countess, like.
Ah, the Countess, says I,
would that be yer wan?
O, the very article.
Fierce woman, I'm told.
O, dreadful indeed.
No chance of a look-in?
Haha, laughs Jimmy,
put the thought behind you,
la di feckin da!
O God, yes, so I'm told,
but what is it has yourself
abroad, so resplendent,
on a fine Easter Monday?
Tis a parade, says Jimmy,
ourselves and the Volunteers,
a march from Liberty Hall
with a stop at the GPO.
One in the eye to the English,
says I, here in the midst
of their Great Big War?
God send they lose,
says he with a serious look.
Sure, let them all be kilt,
says I, more power to them,
the less o' them Prooshians,
and the less o' the Brits the better.
Is that what you believe,
says Jimmy, half smiling.
Well, and why wouldn't I?
You'll come along with me so?
Whither away? Not far down the road,
a short stroll down from Liberty Hall,
then a sharp right wheel to the GPO.
Ten minutes will do me no harm,
says I, then it's home to the flat,
to the rashers and sausages.
O Jayz, you're a fearful man
for the feed, says Jimmy.
Is that a real rifle, says I,
or just a bloody good imitation?
O, tis real enough, says he,
with real bullets inside it.
Down with the British Empire!
says I with a happy grin.
Upon which the sun never sets,
answers Jim with a laugh.
For God, we roar out together,
won't trust them in the dark!
Well, tis a fine day for it,
says I ; O, today, says Jim,
is a day that will live forever!
Are ye cracked or what, man,
today will run its course
much the same as any other:
the gentry will go out to the races,
and I’ll go home to me tea,
and we'll wake up tomorrow
under the same oul' Union Jack.
We might, says Jimmy,
and then again, we might not.
But will ye look over there!
Who in the name of Jayzus,
says I, is that precious article?
Tis Patrick Pearse, says he,
known to himself if none other
as “Padraig O Piarsach” in Irish .
Go ‘way! Aye, the very man,
says he, some half-caste English
sleveen, teaching the Irish nation
how to be Irish; ah, to be sure,
isn’t that the way of them, boyo?
Have a look at him now, have a gander,
shaking at the knees, suppressing
his Southside accent, reading out
the Proclamation of the Republic!
A sudden chill came over me,
a quick prickle of apprehension
clutched at my heart: Jim, says I,
is this an act, or is it the real McCoy?
Tis as real as ye like, Joe, says he,
I’ll be leaving ye now, so good luck,
go and get yourself home to your tea.
Hang on a sec, Jimmy ….!
I watched as he crossed the road:
the windows were being smashed in
and an armed company of soldiers,
Volunteers and Citizen Army,
came to a crashing halt, broke ranks,
and rushed into the building.
I hesitated, sorely puzzled,
then slowly and reluctantly
headed for the long walk home:
I had gone three steps
when I rushed in after them.
-------------------------------------------
'the Countess' - Countess Constance Markiewicz, doyenne of the Citizen Army
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Countess_Markievicz
the GPO - General Post Office, the main Dublin post office on O'Connell Street and HQ of the rebellion.
Liberty Hall - HQ of the main Dublin trade unions.
For general background on the Easter Rising, check the following links, in order of interest:
http://users.bigpond.net.au/kirwilli/1916/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easter_Rising
http://dublinerinjapan.blogspot.com/200 ... -1916.html
Finally, a commemorative poem by WB Yeats:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline ... eats1.html
--------------------------------------
Afterword -- for those who noticed the asterisk!
* What happened to the first three poems? Patience, please. One at least has been written. T'other two are in the foggy dew -- but taking shape. This is not ancient history, by the way. Just the other day Ian Paisley and Gerry Adams sat at the same table to devise a way of governing Norn Iron which had been partitioned away from the rest of the country as one of the results of the events casually recounted above. It's not just a political problem; it's an historical issue, and, as we all know, these things take on a life of their own and can go on forever if we allow them to. Like most people from the Republic I would like to see our country regain its ancient borders -- the ocean -- but it is definitely not going to be accomplished by violence or coercion. The same thing applies to forcing NI to remain part of the UK. I think we have all learned that much as a result of the 'Troubles' of 1969-98 and now we just have to settle for the slow incremental improvements that come about through political dialogue among the hard-nosed people -- on both sides! -- who live in the region. It will take several generations, probably, but there will be ABSOLUTELY no going back to the sociopolitical Israeli-Palestinian model cum analogy that seemed to make the whole thing impossible of any solution not so very long ago. A lengthy commentary, I know, but this is twenty years of condensed anger, grief, and hope, experienced pretty much at first hand. I never had so many guns pointed at my head as I had in my frequent visits to Belfast and Derry and points inbetween, not even in Texas!
Plus, Easter is looming on the horizon -- April 8.
The Irish Cycle : 4: Joe McInerney
Ded,
I really enjoyed what I was worried would turn into a pointless narrative. I was concerned that this would just deteroriate into a meta-desciption of rising from an omniscient writer. You didn't and I think the assumed dichotomy between violent nationalism and simple Irish pride is deftly blurred with the character's decision.
To be honest I was ready to criticise this for being a useless historical narrative even before I had read it (and it seems you were worried of this too!) but I don't think that happens. You manage to show the relevence of it today without descending into needless sociologcal rhetoric and because of that I am very impressed.
Only one change I can think of aesthetically:
as “Padraig O Piarsach” in Irish.
I don't think "in Irish" is necessary -
Three things I'd like to see you tackle in the future:
1) Pearse's seemingly ineffective speach outside of the post office
2) The fascinating characer of Wolfe Tone. A few things I think are especially interesting and relevant to us: his facing an opposition from both inside his own country and outside in England; his need for the french and other countries (the struggle isn't just specific to Irish people); and, of course, his excruciating suicide. Haha, in fact I'm writing it in my head as I write this: showing the parallel (in different stanzas) of the slow, bloody suicide to his futureless efforts for a United Ireland - one stanza him dying, the next him being political, contuining in this 'every other' style until he dies.
3) The tithe. In a world of high tax has there ever been a more suitable subject?
I look forward to the other three.
Cheers for the read,
Dave
I really enjoyed what I was worried would turn into a pointless narrative. I was concerned that this would just deteroriate into a meta-desciption of rising from an omniscient writer. You didn't and I think the assumed dichotomy between violent nationalism and simple Irish pride is deftly blurred with the character's decision.
To be honest I was ready to criticise this for being a useless historical narrative even before I had read it (and it seems you were worried of this too!) but I don't think that happens. You manage to show the relevence of it today without descending into needless sociologcal rhetoric and because of that I am very impressed.
Only one change I can think of aesthetically:
as “Padraig O Piarsach” in Irish.
I don't think "in Irish" is necessary -
Three things I'd like to see you tackle in the future:
1) Pearse's seemingly ineffective speach outside of the post office
2) The fascinating characer of Wolfe Tone. A few things I think are especially interesting and relevant to us: his facing an opposition from both inside his own country and outside in England; his need for the french and other countries (the struggle isn't just specific to Irish people); and, of course, his excruciating suicide. Haha, in fact I'm writing it in my head as I write this: showing the parallel (in different stanzas) of the slow, bloody suicide to his futureless efforts for a United Ireland - one stanza him dying, the next him being political, contuining in this 'every other' style until he dies.
3) The tithe. In a world of high tax has there ever been a more suitable subject?
I look forward to the other three.
Cheers for the read,
Dave
Thanks, Dave ...
I was skating on thin ice here and I knew it -- the one promise I made myself was not to try to cover my tracks with irony and/or inside jokes and asides. I was determined to play this thing straight in terms of the time when the events happened (the slang is dated) and, possibly, to encourage readers to reflect upon how these events still resonate today.
Of course, I pretty much spelled that out in the footnote but a lot of people will never get that far. Originally, the commentary was at the beginning of the poem but it took me about 5 minutes to realise that if you can't trust your readers you have no business writing either commentary or poem.
Nevertheless, the commentary does serve a purpose because it helps to explain the genuine ambiguity a lot of dyed-in-the-wool Irish people feel, as apart from the blazoning horns of the group-think roaring patriots, for whom few of us have much time and patience. Every nation has to put up with its own version of the National Front ... but I think it would be a mistake to put Sinn Fein in that same narrow category.
SF are a quite different phenomenon compared to other European nationalist parties. They have a much broader base, to begin with, and although outspokenly nationalist, they are not in the least xenophopic, nor right-wing. They support labour activists, immigrants with a grievance, the unemployed, gays and feminists; they are staunchly independent of the Catholic hierarchy (a dwindling power, anyway) who were always bitter enemies of Republicans in the past, and even dabble, rather touchingly, in the arts and poetry. They are a weird bunch and not easily described or contained. I was an outside member myself (you can't be a voting member of SF unless you live in Ireland) until the war died down and they transferred to local social issues. They have since got involved in a sporadic shooting war (ex-IRA guys, nothing to do with the party!!) against criminal gangs and particularly drug dealers in Dublin and other cities, and have been far more effective than the local police thanks to certain methods perfected from years of dealing with the SAS, the Regular Army, MI5, and the whole panoply of unpleasantness that the British government can bring to bear. They are committed, generally quite young, attractive to new voters, potentially ready and willing to overthrow the State, and quite capable of becoming a swing party in the Irish Parliament which neither major party can control without coalition partners. It's kind of amazing to look at them now and to look at them 10-20-30 years ago They are a lot like the Nazis in their enthusiasm, commitment, and phenomenal growth, not to mention their casual attitude towards political violence. They are totally unlike the Nazis in their social policies. Strange brew. They were defined by the war and as the war recedes their power and influence should recede with it. Strangely enough, it hasn't. Well, I don't want to write an essay about Irish politics (I have, almost) but I can tell you in advance that we'll have to be casting a wary eye on these people for years to come. The war was one thing but I don't want these people running the country because instead of respecting the Constitution they want to set it aside. Yez can fuck off, lads.
Sorry. Halfway through I started talking to myself (different if we were sitting across a couple of beers!) because I started to realise I had supported these people in the past and now I was having serious second thoughts. I don't follow any political party -- well, I do, if I think it's doing what needs to be done at the time -- at the end of the day, the only think that matters to me is that Ireland moves forward, moves on, becomes more influential, more independent, more free. It's never my country right or wrong, because there's no need to be wrong in the first place and certainly no need to persist in being wrong when you know you've fucked up (Messrs. Bush, Blair & Howard!!).
Ahh, shut up. (Take no offense: I'm talking to myself). I started off to write a short paragraph of appreciation and now look at what's come down on you. I'd apologise if I wasn't laughing; after all, there's a thread of sense running through it. Plus three glasses of wine and a clatter of new CDs from my cousin in Dublin to which I've been listening to throughout and punching the air from time to time. Brilliant music. Strange prose.
Anyway. This will teach you to think twice before writing a comment. Instead of smarmy thanks ("I was so pleased to read your kind remarks about my humble worthless poem ....") or fraught indignation ("What do you know, anyway? Fuck yer granny!") you got a letter instead.
Thanks.
I'll also take into account your idiotic suggestions.
Ahem!
No, Wolfe Tone. Difficult, but.
Slán,
Breandáin / Brendan (dedalus)
I was skating on thin ice here and I knew it -- the one promise I made myself was not to try to cover my tracks with irony and/or inside jokes and asides. I was determined to play this thing straight in terms of the time when the events happened (the slang is dated) and, possibly, to encourage readers to reflect upon how these events still resonate today.
Of course, I pretty much spelled that out in the footnote but a lot of people will never get that far. Originally, the commentary was at the beginning of the poem but it took me about 5 minutes to realise that if you can't trust your readers you have no business writing either commentary or poem.
Nevertheless, the commentary does serve a purpose because it helps to explain the genuine ambiguity a lot of dyed-in-the-wool Irish people feel, as apart from the blazoning horns of the group-think roaring patriots, for whom few of us have much time and patience. Every nation has to put up with its own version of the National Front ... but I think it would be a mistake to put Sinn Fein in that same narrow category.
SF are a quite different phenomenon compared to other European nationalist parties. They have a much broader base, to begin with, and although outspokenly nationalist, they are not in the least xenophopic, nor right-wing. They support labour activists, immigrants with a grievance, the unemployed, gays and feminists; they are staunchly independent of the Catholic hierarchy (a dwindling power, anyway) who were always bitter enemies of Republicans in the past, and even dabble, rather touchingly, in the arts and poetry. They are a weird bunch and not easily described or contained. I was an outside member myself (you can't be a voting member of SF unless you live in Ireland) until the war died down and they transferred to local social issues. They have since got involved in a sporadic shooting war (ex-IRA guys, nothing to do with the party!!) against criminal gangs and particularly drug dealers in Dublin and other cities, and have been far more effective than the local police thanks to certain methods perfected from years of dealing with the SAS, the Regular Army, MI5, and the whole panoply of unpleasantness that the British government can bring to bear. They are committed, generally quite young, attractive to new voters, potentially ready and willing to overthrow the State, and quite capable of becoming a swing party in the Irish Parliament which neither major party can control without coalition partners. It's kind of amazing to look at them now and to look at them 10-20-30 years ago They are a lot like the Nazis in their enthusiasm, commitment, and phenomenal growth, not to mention their casual attitude towards political violence. They are totally unlike the Nazis in their social policies. Strange brew. They were defined by the war and as the war recedes their power and influence should recede with it. Strangely enough, it hasn't. Well, I don't want to write an essay about Irish politics (I have, almost) but I can tell you in advance that we'll have to be casting a wary eye on these people for years to come. The war was one thing but I don't want these people running the country because instead of respecting the Constitution they want to set it aside. Yez can fuck off, lads.
Sorry. Halfway through I started talking to myself (different if we were sitting across a couple of beers!) because I started to realise I had supported these people in the past and now I was having serious second thoughts. I don't follow any political party -- well, I do, if I think it's doing what needs to be done at the time -- at the end of the day, the only think that matters to me is that Ireland moves forward, moves on, becomes more influential, more independent, more free. It's never my country right or wrong, because there's no need to be wrong in the first place and certainly no need to persist in being wrong when you know you've fucked up (Messrs. Bush, Blair & Howard!!).
Ahh, shut up. (Take no offense: I'm talking to myself). I started off to write a short paragraph of appreciation and now look at what's come down on you. I'd apologise if I wasn't laughing; after all, there's a thread of sense running through it. Plus three glasses of wine and a clatter of new CDs from my cousin in Dublin to which I've been listening to throughout and punching the air from time to time. Brilliant music. Strange prose.
Anyway. This will teach you to think twice before writing a comment. Instead of smarmy thanks ("I was so pleased to read your kind remarks about my humble worthless poem ....") or fraught indignation ("What do you know, anyway? Fuck yer granny!") you got a letter instead.
Thanks.
I'll also take into account your idiotic suggestions.
Ahem!
No, Wolfe Tone. Difficult, but.
Slán,
Breandáin / Brendan (dedalus)
Ha! It's better than a smiley face.
In response to my comments... well, I got a bit excited about Irish history.
Still, my context effects me too. I'm knackered. So here's an apt response to your letter (that I am proud to say I read and found interesting):
In response to my comments... well, I got a bit excited about Irish history.
Still, my context effects me too. I'm knackered. So here's an apt response to your letter (that I am proud to say I read and found interesting):
You got a great detailed comment from Dave there - not as long as your reply, though. Blimey.
So, I'll just say I think this is excellent. No false notes at all, I think, and beautifully rendered everyday speech - and yet a poem, for all that.
Very very good stuff indeed, old chap.
So, I'll just say I think this is excellent. No false notes at all, I think, and beautifully rendered everyday speech - and yet a poem, for all that.
Very very good stuff indeed, old chap.
Blimey is right, mate.
This poem was hard to do for a number of reasons, maybe not so hard, just awkward. I was being pushed forward and pulled back at the same time, if you can get your head around it (course you can). The 1916 Rebellion is surrounded with so much mystique and heavy symbolism in a country that needs and demands a Foundation Myth that any sensible person would want to have a go at it -- just to stick two fingers up at the ruling elite (none of whose daddies or grandaddies happened to be in the GPO at the time it counted). But that's stupid. The 1916 guys pretty much knew they were going to lose but they went out anyway. We're talking about getting shot, here, not just losing a match and going home tomorrow. Going out to get shot takes a certain mindset. How many of us would do that today? If I'd been there at the time I don't know whether I'd have gone out or stayed home. I'd like to think I'd have gone out, but I don't know. There were tens of thousands of "patriots" but only 1200 actually showed up.
No matter how much we may deplore the hype and the political manipulation of the 1916 Rebellion by Wrap-the-Green-Flag-Around-Me idiot local politicians, the fact remains that it has nothing to do with any of them. There are certain areas of Dublin they'd be well advised to stay away from. None on the South Side, I might add. Well, let's stay away from that for the time being. Southside wankers.
I said, let's stay away from it ... OK?
As the years roll by, the whole thing becomes cool. Nineteen Sixteen becomes heroic, not just the defiance of a criminal gang that brought about the total destruction of the Central City. Which was how it was seen at the time. Michael Collins comes along like a ruthless South LA gang leader and the Brits send over the Black and Tans (their gang) and we end up with a bloody draw. So what happens? The Irish kill Collins. Jesus.
(The movie "Michael Collins" is about 80% accurate: you want to watch out for the remaining 20% ....!)
It's a very strange country. I was born there. I really do understand all these political idiots, whether FF or FG or ILP or SDLP or SF or UUP or DUP or whatever you've got. They are earnest, city-bred, and deluded.
The truth about Ireland has little do to with politics. Politics is concerned with people. People come and go. Nobody lives forever -- too bad about ye!! But the land goes on forever. We may have ruins and human wreckage all over the place from the Bronze Age onwards, but the Sugar Loaf mountain in Wicklow and mighty Ben Bulben of the Celtic sagas and the dark wooded secrets of the Glen of Aherlow will last long beyond our time and beyond the time of our grandchildren and their grandchildren to come. Our job (and I suppose this is where politics DOES come in) is to make sure they can live there in freedom, among the same familiar mountains and valleys, without interference, and pass things on to their children and their children's children for the next 2000 years or more.
I know, it sounds fuckin stupid, but this is actually the way we think. And there's not much I can do about it, because ... because I can't help but think the same way. Antediluvian Stone Age People. Fast forward a bit to the Celts. Fast forward a bit more to the modern age. We are still more or less Celtic and slightly less Stone Age people living in hideous bungalows with internet connections and satellite TV and two fuckin big cars in the driveway. The mountains are still there. Goddam.
Right, so
dedalus
This poem was hard to do for a number of reasons, maybe not so hard, just awkward. I was being pushed forward and pulled back at the same time, if you can get your head around it (course you can). The 1916 Rebellion is surrounded with so much mystique and heavy symbolism in a country that needs and demands a Foundation Myth that any sensible person would want to have a go at it -- just to stick two fingers up at the ruling elite (none of whose daddies or grandaddies happened to be in the GPO at the time it counted). But that's stupid. The 1916 guys pretty much knew they were going to lose but they went out anyway. We're talking about getting shot, here, not just losing a match and going home tomorrow. Going out to get shot takes a certain mindset. How many of us would do that today? If I'd been there at the time I don't know whether I'd have gone out or stayed home. I'd like to think I'd have gone out, but I don't know. There were tens of thousands of "patriots" but only 1200 actually showed up.
No matter how much we may deplore the hype and the political manipulation of the 1916 Rebellion by Wrap-the-Green-Flag-Around-Me idiot local politicians, the fact remains that it has nothing to do with any of them. There are certain areas of Dublin they'd be well advised to stay away from. None on the South Side, I might add. Well, let's stay away from that for the time being. Southside wankers.
I said, let's stay away from it ... OK?
As the years roll by, the whole thing becomes cool. Nineteen Sixteen becomes heroic, not just the defiance of a criminal gang that brought about the total destruction of the Central City. Which was how it was seen at the time. Michael Collins comes along like a ruthless South LA gang leader and the Brits send over the Black and Tans (their gang) and we end up with a bloody draw. So what happens? The Irish kill Collins. Jesus.
(The movie "Michael Collins" is about 80% accurate: you want to watch out for the remaining 20% ....!)
It's a very strange country. I was born there. I really do understand all these political idiots, whether FF or FG or ILP or SDLP or SF or UUP or DUP or whatever you've got. They are earnest, city-bred, and deluded.
The truth about Ireland has little do to with politics. Politics is concerned with people. People come and go. Nobody lives forever -- too bad about ye!! But the land goes on forever. We may have ruins and human wreckage all over the place from the Bronze Age onwards, but the Sugar Loaf mountain in Wicklow and mighty Ben Bulben of the Celtic sagas and the dark wooded secrets of the Glen of Aherlow will last long beyond our time and beyond the time of our grandchildren and their grandchildren to come. Our job (and I suppose this is where politics DOES come in) is to make sure they can live there in freedom, among the same familiar mountains and valleys, without interference, and pass things on to their children and their children's children for the next 2000 years or more.
I know, it sounds fuckin stupid, but this is actually the way we think. And there's not much I can do about it, because ... because I can't help but think the same way. Antediluvian Stone Age People. Fast forward a bit to the Celts. Fast forward a bit more to the modern age. We are still more or less Celtic and slightly less Stone Age people living in hideous bungalows with internet connections and satellite TV and two fuckin big cars in the driveway. The mountains are still there. Goddam.
Right, so
dedalus
Ded, thanks for the reply. You've put your heart and soul into this, haven't you - and it shows. It's good. It's really good.
And what do I know? I don't have much in the way of credentials, but here's the best I can do.
1. I'm working my way through Yeats's poems at the moment, and - the wonders of coincidence - I read "Memories in Time of Civil War" and "Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen" last night. This is the real good Yeats - not your poncy roses and fin de siecle stuff.
2. Been to Wicklow - walked round (not all the way round) Glendalough - magic country.
3, The wife and I went to a superb wedding in Tipperary in about 1991 - reception in a hotel in the Glen of Aherlow. Great great night. We learned a dance called (I'm sure) The Walls of Ennis (?), and were introduced to what one of the guests called "Ireland's greatest contribution to 20th century music". Or was it just to pop music? (The Hucklebuck, in case you were wondering. Is it actually Irish at all? Whatever. It was that kind of night.)
And so on. (Honeymooned in Dublin and Killarney.) And so on. Anyway, that's it from me. Very good poem. I look forward to the rest.
Cheers
David
P.S. Also listening to Thin Lizzy Live and Dangerous at the moment - does that help or not?
And what do I know? I don't have much in the way of credentials, but here's the best I can do.
1. I'm working my way through Yeats's poems at the moment, and - the wonders of coincidence - I read "Memories in Time of Civil War" and "Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen" last night. This is the real good Yeats - not your poncy roses and fin de siecle stuff.
2. Been to Wicklow - walked round (not all the way round) Glendalough - magic country.
3, The wife and I went to a superb wedding in Tipperary in about 1991 - reception in a hotel in the Glen of Aherlow. Great great night. We learned a dance called (I'm sure) The Walls of Ennis (?), and were introduced to what one of the guests called "Ireland's greatest contribution to 20th century music". Or was it just to pop music? (The Hucklebuck, in case you were wondering. Is it actually Irish at all? Whatever. It was that kind of night.)
And so on. (Honeymooned in Dublin and Killarney.) And so on. Anyway, that's it from me. Very good poem. I look forward to the rest.
Cheers
David
P.S. Also listening to Thin Lizzy Live and Dangerous at the moment - does that help or not?
Aye, a good poem Brendan and flows as well as ever. Theme is secondary to your tale telling skill. A craft spun yarn.
Not as up on history as your good self, always been more of a head down workin' man but enjoy a well told truth.
Ireland is indeed a magical landscape, untouched surprisingly in its natural beauty. Even the romans resisted, although not sure if that was by empirical decree or the fact that wellies hadn't been invented.
Last time I was in Portumna, Galway, it seemed a new invader had conquered the shores. The rich European to be exact, German, French and yes perhaps even the terrible English. Driving property prices up and young Irish out. Who, to be fair, weren't that interested in a rural lifestyle anyway. Prefered the draw of the city, the world, or wherever their wit might take them. Lets face it, the Irish are number one on the culturally attractive list of Europe at the moment.
Its a different world than it was in 1916.
In point of fact I remember a poem I thought of from Portumna!
The Cow
In its eagerness to gain its feet
Coiled and uncoiled like a huge fish
In the hands of a giant fisherman.
Righting itself, it stood up
And walked slowly away from the river
And the crumbled ledge upon which it had stood.
For the green of the field and the hill beyond.
Still the raindrops bounced from the surface of the Shannon
Who's fabled bream were yet to reward the patience
Of the tented nomads that lined its precarious banks.
But rewards of a higher order awaited those
Who's patience was not so easily quelled
By the bumping fight of a Shannon bream.
Indeed it was a different liquid alltogether
than that, that cuts a mighty trench
Through the peat of Galway
That bore the rewards of Ireland.
And I raise a glass filled with it
To you and your kind throughout!
Guard it well.
Sorry Bren, just came back to me. Great country.
David. Live and Dangerous. Good choice.
Not as up on history as your good self, always been more of a head down workin' man but enjoy a well told truth.
Ireland is indeed a magical landscape, untouched surprisingly in its natural beauty. Even the romans resisted, although not sure if that was by empirical decree or the fact that wellies hadn't been invented.
Last time I was in Portumna, Galway, it seemed a new invader had conquered the shores. The rich European to be exact, German, French and yes perhaps even the terrible English. Driving property prices up and young Irish out. Who, to be fair, weren't that interested in a rural lifestyle anyway. Prefered the draw of the city, the world, or wherever their wit might take them. Lets face it, the Irish are number one on the culturally attractive list of Europe at the moment.
Its a different world than it was in 1916.
In point of fact I remember a poem I thought of from Portumna!
The Cow
In its eagerness to gain its feet
Coiled and uncoiled like a huge fish
In the hands of a giant fisherman.
Righting itself, it stood up
And walked slowly away from the river
And the crumbled ledge upon which it had stood.
For the green of the field and the hill beyond.
Still the raindrops bounced from the surface of the Shannon
Who's fabled bream were yet to reward the patience
Of the tented nomads that lined its precarious banks.
But rewards of a higher order awaited those
Who's patience was not so easily quelled
By the bumping fight of a Shannon bream.
Indeed it was a different liquid alltogether
than that, that cuts a mighty trench
Through the peat of Galway
That bore the rewards of Ireland.
And I raise a glass filled with it
To you and your kind throughout!
Guard it well.
Sorry Bren, just came back to me. Great country.
David. Live and Dangerous. Good choice.
Thanks, lads, for your very open-hearted replies. I had a few jars on me last night (no!!) so I got a bit more loquacious than usual. Another few chapters and we'll have a book!! It's always around St Paddy's Day that I start missing Ireland more fiercely than ever. Japan is totally fascinating but there are times when I feel as though I'm on another planet ("This is Earth Control to Major Tom ... can you hear me, Major Tom??"). This year the music was great though. We have an Irish band out here, all Japanese apart from me but really brilliant musicians (pipes, fiddle, banjo, flute, tin whistle, bouzouki, guitars) and very much into all kinds of Irish trad from the very old pieces to the most contemporary. We've been playing gigs all over the place and the Japanese have been lapping it up -- they love the music, and for us just playing the music well puts us on a sort of group high. Well, we've hardly come down from it for a week and a half and I don't think any one of us has actually paid for a drink since March 16th!! We have another big gig coming up this Saturday at a gigantic beer hall, but it will be heads down and noses to the grindstone after that. The Walls of Ennis, is it? Hum a few bars and we'll take it away ... as for the Hucklebuck: Jayz, it must have been a great party!!!
Slán agus beannacht!
(and put a light little skip in your step as you walk on down the street)
Brendan
Slán agus beannacht!
(and put a light little skip in your step as you walk on down the street)
Brendan
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twoleftfeet
- Perspicacious Poster
- Posts: 6761
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- Location: Standing by a short pier, looking for a long run-up
Ded,
I really enjoyed your use of language in this poem - it sparkles like the
craic.
I would like to see you have a go at prose - flesh the skeleton out a bit,
as it were.
Plaudits
Geoff
I really enjoyed your use of language in this poem - it sparkles like the
craic.
I would like to see you have a go at prose - flesh the skeleton out a bit,
as it were.
Plaudits
Geoff
Brendan,
It's always around St Paddy's Day that I start missing Ireland more fiercely than ever.
I've been thinking about what you said here, with no little empathy - I'm a recovering exile myself - and I happened to come upon the following in my usual desultory reading. It comes from a piece about Jack MacGowran and Patrick Magee who were (as you know!) two Irish actors much associated with Beckett. It's a lovely thought, beautifully expressed (by Colm Toibin), and I thought you'd like it:
In any case they reminded Beckett less of home than of the joys of the Irish Sea, of what can happen to the self away from home; they did not carry any aura of nostalgia for Ireland, or an air of missing home, but a sense that Irish writers, actors, broadcasters and journalists have carried with them in London for more than a hundred years – a sense of pure ownership of the place, and a sense of absolute pleasure at being in the company of other Irish people miles away from Ireland while the English quietly and usually very respectfully listen in, half-bewildered, half-grateful. This is why we have English people.
Good eh?
Cheers
David
P.S. I thought Minstrel's Cow poem was a cracker as well.
It's always around St Paddy's Day that I start missing Ireland more fiercely than ever.
I've been thinking about what you said here, with no little empathy - I'm a recovering exile myself - and I happened to come upon the following in my usual desultory reading. It comes from a piece about Jack MacGowran and Patrick Magee who were (as you know!) two Irish actors much associated with Beckett. It's a lovely thought, beautifully expressed (by Colm Toibin), and I thought you'd like it:
In any case they reminded Beckett less of home than of the joys of the Irish Sea, of what can happen to the self away from home; they did not carry any aura of nostalgia for Ireland, or an air of missing home, but a sense that Irish writers, actors, broadcasters and journalists have carried with them in London for more than a hundred years – a sense of pure ownership of the place, and a sense of absolute pleasure at being in the company of other Irish people miles away from Ireland while the English quietly and usually very respectfully listen in, half-bewildered, half-grateful. This is why we have English people.
Good eh?
Cheers
David
P.S. I thought Minstrel's Cow poem was a cracker as well.
How strange, David, because I came across the same article myself only a few hours ago! It was in the online LRB. Talk about coincidence. I always read Toibin's pieces since they are generally spot on. I loved the little throwaway line at the end:
... while the English quietly and usually very respectfully listen in, half-bewildered, half-grateful. This is why we have English people. As a Manxman, I dare say you'd get a dry little kick out of that as well!
I thought the Cow poem was a cracker, too. Have you ever noticed what curious beasts they are? If you stand in a field every one of them will slowly wander across to look at you even from from the furthest corners until the whole lot are standing around you in a semi-circle, still chewing the cud and just staring, staring. That's the time to start reciting one's latest poems. Probably never again will there be such an attentive audience!
... while the English quietly and usually very respectfully listen in, half-bewildered, half-grateful. This is why we have English people. As a Manxman, I dare say you'd get a dry little kick out of that as well!
I thought the Cow poem was a cracker, too. Have you ever noticed what curious beasts they are? If you stand in a field every one of them will slowly wander across to look at you even from from the furthest corners until the whole lot are standing around you in a semi-circle, still chewing the cud and just staring, staring. That's the time to start reciting one's latest poems. Probably never again will there be such an attentive audience!
LRB - that's the very place. I was reading the print version in the garden, in a brief respite from my digging and mowing. Ah the joys of spring.
Have you tried the New York Review? I expected it to be Bushite and neo-con, but it's the opposite, and it has some great articles.
Cheers again.
Have you tried the New York Review? I expected it to be Bushite and neo-con, but it's the opposite, and it has some great articles.
Cheers again.
This one drives along and it tells the story and it's not altogether bad: for one thing, it uses dialogue, and for two thing, it is reasonably accurate about the events of the day.
The most truly Irish poem in the series so far is "Maureen Rua" which has elicited, I must say, scant interest, and I find that rather interesting. I'm not saying MR is a great poem or anything in that direction, just that it is the most totally grounded Irish poem of the lot, but nobody (perhaps not being Irish ... a sort of illness, an aberration, a flood of joy, not easily defined as a nationality) has happened to notice. This one would sing in Ireland, I know. They would suck it up by the roots.
I want to get away from the Irish stuff, to be honest. It has a way of taking over. You go back to Gaelic poetry and the early poems (before they got into complicated rhyme and metre in about the 1100s) is so fresh and sweet. Then we had a Renaissance of dangerous direct poetry after the wars of the 17th century when the "fili" (traditional poets) lost their traditional sponsors in the general upheaval. Poets, then and now, get cantankerous when someone takes away their source of patronage!!
I have a lot more to say about all this, but perhaps not now.
Go well
Is Mise,
Brendan/ dedalus
The most truly Irish poem in the series so far is "Maureen Rua" which has elicited, I must say, scant interest, and I find that rather interesting. I'm not saying MR is a great poem or anything in that direction, just that it is the most totally grounded Irish poem of the lot, but nobody (perhaps not being Irish ... a sort of illness, an aberration, a flood of joy, not easily defined as a nationality) has happened to notice. This one would sing in Ireland, I know. They would suck it up by the roots.
I want to get away from the Irish stuff, to be honest. It has a way of taking over. You go back to Gaelic poetry and the early poems (before they got into complicated rhyme and metre in about the 1100s) is so fresh and sweet. Then we had a Renaissance of dangerous direct poetry after the wars of the 17th century when the "fili" (traditional poets) lost their traditional sponsors in the general upheaval. Poets, then and now, get cantankerous when someone takes away their source of patronage!!
I have a lot more to say about all this, but perhaps not now.
Go well
Is Mise,
Brendan/ dedalus
This is a Resurrection of the Dead ... I've just learned how to make an audio.
Click on the link below and be patient. It takes 15-20 seconds to rouse the server. Click on the PLAY button when you get the chance and wait 30 seconds more. A pop-up window will eventually make an apppearance. Something will happen. State-of-the-art it is not but you get there in the end:
http://www.box.net/shared/k9ht6pudy9
Slán anois mo chairde,
Bren/ dedalus
Click on the link below and be patient. It takes 15-20 seconds to rouse the server. Click on the PLAY button when you get the chance and wait 30 seconds more. A pop-up window will eventually make an apppearance. Something will happen. State-of-the-art it is not but you get there in the end:
http://www.box.net/shared/k9ht6pudy9
Slán anois mo chairde,
Bren/ dedalus
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OwenEdwards
- Prolific Poster
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Suffice to say this is excellent, but here I learn how hard it is to remove personal bias from reading poetry. I'm part Irish Catholic (my Grandma), and was baptised as such, and worshipped as such for years; I despise the history of the plantations; and these days I'm deeply sympathetic, in some (SOME) ways, to the fight of the Provos and SF.
But in the end, however lovely it'd be to see Ireland united in a lot of ways, there's something so very ominous and, to my mind, distasteful about seeing it as a great romantic Gaelic thing. Everyone gets together and says what a bad time they all had under the Black and Tans, etc, etc...
All that pays no mind to the actual demographic realities, the historical realities or indeed a basic morality: as long as the Province is majority Protestant (who will tend to desire continued Union under their Queen), it is RIGHT for the Province to remain British. Cut it any way you like, and it's not me citing facts on the ground...but romantic (and Romantic) notions are to be cut down brutally when they colonise the needs and rights of the actual facts.
But in the end, however lovely it'd be to see Ireland united in a lot of ways, there's something so very ominous and, to my mind, distasteful about seeing it as a great romantic Gaelic thing. Everyone gets together and says what a bad time they all had under the Black and Tans, etc, etc...
All that pays no mind to the actual demographic realities, the historical realities or indeed a basic morality: as long as the Province is majority Protestant (who will tend to desire continued Union under their Queen), it is RIGHT for the Province to remain British. Cut it any way you like, and it's not me citing facts on the ground...but romantic (and Romantic) notions are to be cut down brutally when they colonise the needs and rights of the actual facts.
It's not that terribly hard to agree with you, Owen ... superficially. Colonisation is a bad thing in itself, however, since it consists of violence, theft and coercion. It's a crime and it should be seen as such. We find it easy enough to condemn the 17th-19th century European imperialists for their depradations in the Americas and Asia. We condemn Hitler and Stalin for reducing people to slavery. Why, then, should the English be given a free pass for their behaviour in Ireland? Why should we be hanging on to this dwindling majority vote (only in their own designated area) of the last colonial gasp of 17th century Protestant "settlers" in Ireland? How are they any different from the pieds-noir in Algeria (long since gone, btw)? They were introduced by force and mass evictions and have hung on by doing everything in their power to suppress and intimidate the native population. How do you think the Troubles started in the late 1960s? The IRA? There WAS no IRA!!! It was these guys refusing to think or listen. They brought everything down on themselves. Thirty years down the road they came kicking and screaming to power-sharing negotiations. As for the future, these hardline Orangemen can either get their minds around participating in a national government (nobody's talking of slinging them out) or go back to the Britain they profess to love (but don't) and which certainly doesn't love them. Another generation, maybe two, three at the outside, and we'll see a united Ireland.
It's all very well to condemn the Gaelic or Catholic Irish for their romanticism and their songs and their tribalism and whatever else you may want to have a go at them for but the struggle to recover the territorial integrity and sovereignty of our home island is legitimate. The whole thing was stolen from us between 1534 and 1692 (we don't really count the Normans who arrived in 1169 since they assimilated and their descendants are no different from anybody else except for the lingering surnames: Doyle, Butler, Roche, Joyce, Delahanty, Fitzgerald, Fitzpatrick, Fitz-anything, really) and we've got most of it back; now we're trying to get all of it back. If the Germans had taken over Kent and the South Coast you wouldn't be sitting there and saying, "Oh, that's all right. It's democratic. They have a majority." Or would you?
I supported SF during the hard times (the Hunger Strike and after) but I'm no dyed-in-the-wool republican. As unexpected as my views may seem to you I think they reflect the feelings of many middle-of-the-road Irish people -- at least those who don't stick their heads in the sand and wish the whole bloody thing would go away!
Cheers,
Brendan
It's all very well to condemn the Gaelic or Catholic Irish for their romanticism and their songs and their tribalism and whatever else you may want to have a go at them for but the struggle to recover the territorial integrity and sovereignty of our home island is legitimate. The whole thing was stolen from us between 1534 and 1692 (we don't really count the Normans who arrived in 1169 since they assimilated and their descendants are no different from anybody else except for the lingering surnames: Doyle, Butler, Roche, Joyce, Delahanty, Fitzgerald, Fitzpatrick, Fitz-anything, really) and we've got most of it back; now we're trying to get all of it back. If the Germans had taken over Kent and the South Coast you wouldn't be sitting there and saying, "Oh, that's all right. It's democratic. They have a majority." Or would you?
I supported SF during the hard times (the Hunger Strike and after) but I'm no dyed-in-the-wool republican. As unexpected as my views may seem to you I think they reflect the feelings of many middle-of-the-road Irish people -- at least those who don't stick their heads in the sand and wish the whole bloody thing would go away!
Cheers,
Brendan
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OwenEdwards
- Prolific Poster
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- Joined: Fri Jan 16, 2009 3:34 am
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There's little I would really disagree with you on...but as you say, only at a superficial level.
History isn't so concrete. Of course planting was an appalling thing to do, and God knows I despise the Puritans who encouraged it (ardent Royalist me...it wasn't about democracy, it was about which God was in charge, and I prefer Charles'). Ironically, of course, it DID unite the Old English and the Gaels, so maybe it wasn't so bad after all. But, as horrid as it sounds, it was a long time ago; when that all happened, the Byzantine and Almohad empires were less than a century dead. Perhaps Greece should ask for Constantinople back? Or should all the whites bugger off out of America unless they accept traditional Amerindian tribal leadership of the nation?
It's all blood guilt, isn't it, though? Those Proddies in the Province (who aren't all vile Orangers, are they?), they're to take responsibility for Cromwell's policies, are they? Well, of course not. They have the same democratic rights as any Catholic, as you agree. Now, if 53% or so are Proddies, and overall 66% (as of 07) favour long-term British Union, that makes something like 1.19m Northerners who are for British Union. Now let's assume that the whole 4.4m population of Eire, and about .6m Northerners, are for Irish Union. That's 5m "Nationalists" and 1.2m "Loyalists"; more than a sixth want British Union, and a sixth of Ireland is in Union. Cromwell was 350 years ago; the basic right of those 1.2m people to self-determination must stand.
That's what I must critique some Irish art of lamentation for - and that is, I suppose, my only reservation about your own work here (to keep uss on topic!). How can it be artistically or morally acceptable to dismiss the emotions and rights of over a million folk who have been Irish for anywhere between 300 and nearly 500 years? Do you blame the Proddies for looking at the Civil War and deciding that they weren't safe in an independent Ireland? My God Bren, Thomases Moore and Davis would probably have been shot for traitors by one group or another. Yeats was lucky he was famous, else someone surely would have sought to string him up for his Williamite ancestry. I exaggerate for effect, of course; but the point surely stands.
Don't think I don't understand, in part, your feelings. My own Irish sympathies are one thing; my close, close association with Palestine is quite another. I vociferously defended Hamas during the recent spat, against most sensible opinion. It was a desperate, heroic, flawed, ultimately somewhat effective war against starvation. But the "planters" of the pre-48 Zionist settlers, or the tide of immigration post-48, can hardly be expelled. Their descendants can only be held responsible to the degree that they encourage continued occupation of the OPT. The whole of that place is Palestine to many of my friends and acquaintances; but on so many levels, realism has to rule, not romanticism...or at least, not a partisan romanticism.
History isn't so concrete. Of course planting was an appalling thing to do, and God knows I despise the Puritans who encouraged it (ardent Royalist me...it wasn't about democracy, it was about which God was in charge, and I prefer Charles'). Ironically, of course, it DID unite the Old English and the Gaels, so maybe it wasn't so bad after all. But, as horrid as it sounds, it was a long time ago; when that all happened, the Byzantine and Almohad empires were less than a century dead. Perhaps Greece should ask for Constantinople back? Or should all the whites bugger off out of America unless they accept traditional Amerindian tribal leadership of the nation?
It's all blood guilt, isn't it, though? Those Proddies in the Province (who aren't all vile Orangers, are they?), they're to take responsibility for Cromwell's policies, are they? Well, of course not. They have the same democratic rights as any Catholic, as you agree. Now, if 53% or so are Proddies, and overall 66% (as of 07) favour long-term British Union, that makes something like 1.19m Northerners who are for British Union. Now let's assume that the whole 4.4m population of Eire, and about .6m Northerners, are for Irish Union. That's 5m "Nationalists" and 1.2m "Loyalists"; more than a sixth want British Union, and a sixth of Ireland is in Union. Cromwell was 350 years ago; the basic right of those 1.2m people to self-determination must stand.
That's what I must critique some Irish art of lamentation for - and that is, I suppose, my only reservation about your own work here (to keep uss on topic!). How can it be artistically or morally acceptable to dismiss the emotions and rights of over a million folk who have been Irish for anywhere between 300 and nearly 500 years? Do you blame the Proddies for looking at the Civil War and deciding that they weren't safe in an independent Ireland? My God Bren, Thomases Moore and Davis would probably have been shot for traitors by one group or another. Yeats was lucky he was famous, else someone surely would have sought to string him up for his Williamite ancestry. I exaggerate for effect, of course; but the point surely stands.
Don't think I don't understand, in part, your feelings. My own Irish sympathies are one thing; my close, close association with Palestine is quite another. I vociferously defended Hamas during the recent spat, against most sensible opinion. It was a desperate, heroic, flawed, ultimately somewhat effective war against starvation. But the "planters" of the pre-48 Zionist settlers, or the tide of immigration post-48, can hardly be expelled. Their descendants can only be held responsible to the degree that they encourage continued occupation of the OPT. The whole of that place is Palestine to many of my friends and acquaintances; but on so many levels, realism has to rule, not romanticism...or at least, not a partisan romanticism.
I am NOT going to get sucked into this discussion, Owen! This is so reminiscent of the all-night arguments we used to have in the 80s and 90s while the Troubles were still going on. Yes, history is to blame but we have to do something about it in the here and now. I think the one step forward that Ireland did manage to make in resolving the worst of the conflict (and that Israel has evidently not managed to do in relation to the Palestinians) was to recognise that people end up on the wrong side of territorial borders and the only political way out of the impasse is to acknowledge that people are more important than lines on maps. This means we can hold out the hope of eventual peaceful reunification of the island while concentrating on local empowerment in the meantime -- this translates as equality of status under the law, equal educational and employment opportunities, access to political power in free and open elections, access to the civil service and a host of smaller community and cross-community projects and even freedom of choice with regard to passports and nationality. It's not always easy and smooth but the troops are back in barracks and there are no more armoured cars on the streets or roadblocks at the border, and also no more bombs going off in public places. The War Zone atmosphere is gone and good riddance to it. There are still problems and differences (and a few loons like the Continuity IRA and their ilk) but the majority on all sides -- Catholics, Protestants, Loyalists, Nationalists, both the UK and Irish governments -- are resolved to work things out slowly and incrementally by political interaction and not by bombs and bullets. That much has been accomplished since Good Friday 1998 and the process continues.
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OwenEdwards
- Prolific Poster
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Ballot boxes and not bombs, indeed.
And I think we are agreed entirely on the matter of people over borders.
Now, where are parts 1-3?
EDIT: And I meant to say my favourite thing about this poem was the sense of being caught up in events bigger than oneself...having one's hand forced by duty, or love, or whatever, to do something radical, even foolish. "Do your duty, come what may" and so on.
And I think we are agreed entirely on the matter of people over borders.
Now, where are parts 1-3?
EDIT: And I meant to say my favourite thing about this poem was the sense of being caught up in events bigger than oneself...having one's hand forced by duty, or love, or whatever, to do something radical, even foolish. "Do your duty, come what may" and so on.