“The English language brings out the best in the Irish. They court it like a beautiful woman. They make it bray with donkey laughter. They hurl it at the sky like a paint pot full of rainbows, and then make it chant a dirge for man’s fate and man’s follies that is as mournful as misty spring rain crying over the fallow earth.”
– T. E. Kalem
Byzantium
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
The unpurged images of day recede;
The Emperor’s drunken soldiery are abed;
Night resonance recedes, night walkers’ song
After great cathedral gong;
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains
All that man is,
All mere complexities,
The fury and the mire of human veins.
Before me floats an image, man or shade,
Shade more than man, more image than a shade;
For Hades’ bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path;
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon;
I hail the superhuman;
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.
Miracle, bird or golden handiwork,
More miracle than bird or handiwork,
Planted on the star-lit golden bough,
Can like the cocks of Hades crow,
Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud
In glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.
At midnight on the Emperor’s pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
Astraddle on the dolphin’s mire and blood,
Spirit after Spirit! The smithies break the flood.
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.
The Emperor’s drunken soldiery are abed;
Night resonance recedes, night walkers’ song
After great cathedral gong;
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains
All that man is,
All mere complexities,
The fury and the mire of human veins.
Before me floats an image, man or shade,
Shade more than man, more image than a shade;
For Hades’ bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path;
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon;
I hail the superhuman;
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.
Miracle, bird or golden handiwork,
More miracle than bird or handiwork,
Planted on the star-lit golden bough,
Can like the cocks of Hades crow,
Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud
In glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.
At midnight on the Emperor’s pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
Astraddle on the dolphin’s mire and blood,
Spirit after Spirit! The smithies break the flood.
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.
A reader sends in “Top Five Irish Exports”:
1. White Sweaters
2. Bagpipes
3. Guinness
4. Irish Whiskey
5. Bartenders
2. Bagpipes
3. Guinness
4. Irish Whiskey
5. Bartenders
E-Verse Radio Unbelievable But Real Film Titles of the Week:
Irish American Ninja (2005)
The Irish Gringo (1936)
Scenes in an Irish Bacon Factory (1903)
The Irish Vampire Goes West (2006)
Check out the latest issue of Caveat Lector, featuring “satirical verse by stage director, actor, and playwright Gordon Phipps, poetry and art by Peter Schwarz, and an excerpt from a novel he wrote in all of a month as well as a song composed and sung by our webmaster and fiction editor (and also a filmmaker), Ho Lin”:
Even Song
Justin Quinn
Justin Quinn
Blackrock or thereabouts.
The bay spreads, a colossal
riffled sheen of phosphor.
The sound of waves, faint shouts.
The bay spreads, a colossal
riffled sheen of phosphor.
The sound of waves, faint shouts.
About five minutes ago
the tide was full and brimming.
It must be getting dimmer
gradually, but who’d know?
the tide was full and brimming.
It must be getting dimmer
gradually, but who’d know?
Clontarf supports the sky
like some great arm; it ushers
the early evening rush hour
hordes back home and dry.
like some great arm; it ushers
the early evening rush hour
hordes back home and dry.
Lights flicker on in Howth,
Baldoyle, and further suburbs
a good bit out from Dublin.
Steady colonial growth.
Baldoyle, and further suburbs
a good bit out from Dublin.
Steady colonial growth.
The odd container ship
sits fat on the horizon.
This light is mesmerising.
The water meets the lip
sits fat on the horizon.
This light is mesmerising.
The water meets the lip
of the observing eye
and shimmers in that opening,
loose flow of gold and opal
that grades into black lye:
and shimmers in that opening,
loose flow of gold and opal
that grades into black lye:
it has a lift and sway
that makes the rest seem added,
even Howth, large shadows
of the ground-swell’s play.
that makes the rest seem added,
even Howth, large shadows
of the ground-swell’s play.
I turn and find no land —
no town or station.
It has gone without saying,
and all that is to hand
no town or station.
It has gone without saying,
and all that is to hand
is another mirroring sea,
which leaves me like a ripple,
a rift of mind that’s slipped in
between a sea and sea.
which leaves me like a ripple,
a rift of mind that’s slipped in
between a sea and sea.
E-Verse Radio Invaluable Facts of the Week:
Population of Ireland, 4,015,676 (July 2005 est.)
Irish-American population, 30,528,492
4: Number of places in the United States named Shamrock, the floral emblem of Ireland. Mount Gay-Shamrock, West Virginia and Shamrock, Texas, were the most populous, with 2,623 and 2,029 residents, respectively. Shamrock Lakes, Indiana had 168 residents and Shamrock, Oklahoma., 125.
22: Gallons of beer consumed per capita by Americans annually. Some establishments offer beer dyed green in honor of St. Patrick’s Day.
9: Number of places in the United States which share the name of Dublin, Ireland’s capital city. Dublin, Ohio, was the most populous, at 31,392, followed closely by Dublin, California, at 29,973.
If you’re still not into the spirit of St. Paddy’s Day after stopping by one of the places named “Shamrock” or “Dublin,” then you might consider paying a visit to Emerald Isle, North Carolina, with 3,488 residents, of whom in a ratio of 1-in-6 are of Irish descent.
News You Can Use from the Un-E-Versity of Life:
“World’s shortest St Patrick’s Day parade runs 100 yards between two pubs in this tiny Irish village, which luckily also happens to be as far as the locals can stumble”:
“Glenn Gould’s 1955 disk of the Goldberg Variations, played on a modern Yamaha grand? By Gould himself? Well, yes. And no . . .”
“Fountain pen in hand, Duong Van Ngo sits near the post office, waiting for his next job. He is the last public letter writer of Saigon . . .”
“In its way, dueling can make a great painterly tableau, stark and eerily beautiful. But in the end, the practice remains barbaric . . .”
“Duke, Brown, Harvard: you are rich, you give them money, and your kids are very likely get accepted. It’s as simple, and as crude, as that . . .”
“Jazz is not a what, it is a how. If it were a what, it would be static, never growing. Real jazz is forever reborn . . .”
“Modernist architecture is at least cheap. Manhattan would be even more pricey if office blocks had to be done up like Chartres . . .”
“When so many untalented people all express a wish to write, the public must be labouring under some strange misapprehensions as to the nature of literature,” W.H. Auden on creative writing:
“They sing off key, don’t know it, and have not even learned how to sing: American Idol kids are all about self-esteem and ‘attitude’ . . .”
“Physicists like the idea that a theory of everything is hovering right around the corner. But what about consciousness? Sorry, it’s still a mystery . ..”
Fleming’s Follies:
Father Ted — Father Jack Hackett Highlights
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g40Pw6Oh4ME
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g40Pw6Oh4ME
Ali G in Northern Ireland
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-fH9SX046E
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-fH9SX046E
Peter and Brian from Family Guy in Ireland
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKuPtDq2kFU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKuPtDq2kFU
Ireland Cricket http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ae3e5qKhuc
Ireland Rugby http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8JOus-Aev8
Ireland Rugby http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8JOus-Aev8
Random beer name generator:
“Only Irish coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and fat.” – Alex Levine
The Emigrant Irish
Eavan Boland
Eavan Boland
Like oil lamps, we put them out the back —
of our houses, of our minds. We had lights
better than, newer than and then
better than, newer than and then
a time came, this time and now
we need them. Their dread, makeshift example:
we need them. Their dread, makeshift example:
they would have thrived on our necessities.
What they survived we could not even live.
By their lights now it is time to
imagine how they stood there, what they stood with,
that their possessions may become our power:
Cardboard. Iron. Their hardships parceled in them.
Patience. Fortitude. Long-suffering
in the bruise-colored dusk of the New World.
What they survived we could not even live.
By their lights now it is time to
imagine how they stood there, what they stood with,
that their possessions may become our power:
Cardboard. Iron. Their hardships parceled in them.
Patience. Fortitude. Long-suffering
in the bruise-colored dusk of the New World.
And all the old songs. And nothing to lose.
“The form of the poem, in other words, is crucial to poetry’s power to do the thing which always is and always will be to poetry’s credit: the power to persuade that vulnerable part of our consciousness of its rightness in spite of the evidence of wrongness all around it, the power to remind us that we are hunters and gatherers of values, that our very solitudes and distresses are creditable, in so far as they, too, are an earnest of our veritable human being.” – from Seamus Heaney’s Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech
E-Verse Radio Bad Book Cover of the Week, Fatally Yours by Xaviera Hollander:
“The English should give Ireland home rule — and reserve the motion picture rights.” – Will Rogers
E-Verse Radio towns you really have to visit:
Effin (Limerick, Ireland)
Nobber (County Meath, Ireland)
The Blue Ball (Tullamore, Ireland)
Digging
Seamus Heaney
Seamus Heaney
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade. Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
Hear Heaney read the poem in a short film:
Just for the hell of it, some quotes from James Joyce’s Ulysses:
“Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned: — Introibo ad altare Dei.”
“The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea.” – Buck Mulligan
“It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a servant.” – Stephen Dedalus
“When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I makes water I makes water … Begob, ma’am, says Mrs. Cahill, God send you don’t make them in the one pot.” – Buck Mulligan
“History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.”
“I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.”
Sidle up to the bar at the Irish Pub, in Atlantic City and Philadelphia:
E-Verse Radio collective noun of the week:
A pint of Irish poets
Reports from the E-Verse Universe:
A reader writes in:
“Oh I think we can do better than that on Top 5 telephone songs . . .”
1. “Chantilly Lace” by the Big Bopper
2. “Memphis Tennessee” by Chuck Berry
3. “Stephanie Says” (and its various variations) by the Velvet Underground
4. “Pennsylvania 6-5000” by Glenn Miller
5. “O Superman” by Laurie Anderson
2. “Memphis Tennessee” by Chuck Berry
3. “Stephanie Says” (and its various variations) by the Velvet Underground
4. “Pennsylvania 6-5000” by Glenn Miller
5. “O Superman” by Laurie Anderson
(Honorary mention “El Disco Anal,” Los Amigos Invisibles)
Another:
1. “Memphis” by Chuck Berry ’59
2. “Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You” by Sugarloaf ’75
3. “Sylvia’s Mother” by Dr. Hook ’75
4. “You’ve Got My Number (Why Don’t You Use It?)” by the Undertones ’79
5. “Call Me” by Blondie ’80
6. “Call Me Up” by Gang of Four ’82
7. “Calling You” by Jevetta Steele ’87
8. “Ring Ring Ring (Ha Ha Hey)” by De La Soul ’91
9. “Beep Me 911” by Missy Elliott ’97
2. “Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You” by Sugarloaf ’75
3. “Sylvia’s Mother” by Dr. Hook ’75
4. “You’ve Got My Number (Why Don’t You Use It?)” by the Undertones ’79
5. “Call Me” by Blondie ’80
6. “Call Me Up” by Gang of Four ’82
7. “Calling You” by Jevetta Steele ’87
8. “Ring Ring Ring (Ha Ha Hey)” by De La Soul ’91
9. “Beep Me 911” by Missy Elliott ’97
A reader invites you to check out LibraryThing, a “MySpace for books”:
“LibraryThing is a full-powered cataloging application, searching the Library of Congress, all five national Amazon sites, and more than 60 world libraries.”
A reader writes in:
“Check this out in honour of St Patrick’s Day and for your next episode ‘All Things Irish’. I should mention that ‘Doogle’, if you don’t know, is a play on the name of Fr. Dougal from the cult Irish sit-com ‘Father Ted’ which starred the late Dermot Morgan and Ardal O’Hanlon. For more information on it, check out.”
Next week’s episode: The Zodiac episode! Send in poems, facts, anything you like about the Zodiac, and not just the killer.
E-Verse Radio says Kiss Me, I’m at Least One-Fifth Irish! See the freckles? It is a regular weekly column of literary, publishing, and arts information and opinion that has gone out since 1999. It is brought to you by ERNEST HILBERT and currently enjoys over 1,300 readers. If you wish to submit lists or other comments, please use the same capitalization, punctuation, and grammar you would for anything else intended for publication. Please send top five lists, bad movie titles, limericks, facts, comments, and new readers along whenever you like; simply click reply and I’ll get back to you.
Audio and video segments are produced by Paul Fleming.
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