Even In France, the shirts had made an appearance like this one above. The translation of which is "Prof Dumbledore is killed on page 556, (he is actually confirmed to be dead on p605)".
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Pottering about...
We were in NY in August, 2005. Harry Potter fever was all around with the release of the latest tome. In Little Italy, the T-shirt shops were selling these shirts at $10 a pop and I should have bought one as my workplace was full of eager fans who were about to read the latest episode. But being the considerate person I am, I decided not to spoil their fun.Even In France, the shirts had made an appearance like this one above.
Even In France, the shirts had made an appearance like this one above. 
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Poetry Corner pt.1
Rudyard Kipling,
You may know him as the writer of the "Jungle Book", "Kim" or "The Man Who Would Be King". He wrote some interesting poetry too
There is much the man & I do not have in common; Namely his imperialism and his antipathy to all things of a nationalist Irish hue but you cannot deny that this paean, written (allegedly) to his young son - John, later to die in the terrible conflict that was WWI, is simply a sublime & profound work....
"IF"
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
There is a great deal of derision amongst his fellow British poets & writers about this poem in particular, notiicably TS Elliot who dismissed him as a versifier & George Orwell who regarded him as basically a "Colonel Blimp", a prophet of Imperialism.
Read it for what it is, a series of aphorisms in verse, by happenstance, a very fine work of poetry which has endured a century now and will no doubt endure a while yet.
Simply put, enjoy it's wisdom.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Eddie Lenihan
The master Seanchai, Eddie Lenihan is a national treasure. A native of Kerry now resident in the Banner county - Clare, he is a collator & archivist of the traditional tales from primarily that side of the country but to this Wexfordman, they are tales that I also heard in my own hinterland (the baronies of Forth & Bargy) from the old folk . A wonderful story teller.....His website is on the right hand side of this site....if you have an interest in the Other crowd or indeed enjoy the lore of Celtic Ireland and beyond...reading this man's tales is a must.
The Other crowd are what we Irish call the Tuatha De Dannann or the Fairies as they are known to the western world. To make fun of them is do so at your own peril. there are so many tales from all over the Country of the mischief they cause to the nay sayers & mongrels who make fun of them.
If you are interested in reading further, Try this book he told/co-wrote with Carolyn Eve Green...a cornucopia of tales & lore concerning the good people. It's available at all good online bookstores like Amazon, Barnes & Noble etc.Saturday, December 02, 2006
The Hairy Cornflake
Barrack boys, Local radio, Opera & the unpublished sons of Wexford
I keep in touch with the ould Sod (the home-town not the father), occasionally by reading the local rags. The more successful one still is chock full of the Sharons, Sandras & Mikeys or the “lads” having a great time in whatever local hostelry while the other is more of a press release for the stalwarts of the local parishes, such as “Macra”, the “ICA” or the Church of the latter day blue shirts or Fine Gael as they are more popularly known in the Emerald Isle.
I see local pundit, intrepid journalist, promoter, producer & wag, Frank Sinnott has a tome out this weekend and to say I cannot wait to read it is an understatement. Frank is a literary genius, I kid you not. He truly is. A great wit considered by some to be over bearing but usually these “some” were the butt of Frank’s humour. Now as I recall when the humour was turned on Frank, he was not so receptive which is your death sentence for slagging in Wexford. If you can’t take it, you better not dish it out! A choleric Frank was not a happy sight!
I knew him first as the representative of WCLR or Wexford’s (first) Pirate radio. He was the morning Dee-Jay and because of the vast bush of hair that populated his head, neck & chin, he soon earned the eternal moniker - “the Hairy Cornflake”. His love of Meringues (pronounced by him famously one morning as “Merang-gwews”) is a well worn tale trotted out when nostalgic Wexford - radio listeners gather to remember the shows of yesteryear & their hosts. Hosts such as Frank Sinnott, Danno Murphy, Kitty Daly & Kevin Lewis.
Licensing killed the Radio Star;
Wexford has long been renowned for her pirates, buccaneers & privateers, back in the late 70's & 80's, a new constellation of stars were discovered in the environs of George Street who were dubbed pirates by the owners of the rags mentioned above. This factually wasn't true as there was no legislation in place to justify such a term.
Therefore it was felt around the country by hundreds of Community radio stations that they had a legitimate place in society and as a whole most communities took them & their DJ's to their hearts. Local voices, local news - the people loved it.
To mention Danno Murphy & Frank Sinnott in the same sentence may yet send Frank into a rage if he reads this but they were paradoxically pillars of the radio community back in the day.
Danno had a hugely popular lunch time show on the wireless which always started with George Jone’s “Don’t let the stars…”, that’s all I can remember as Country music & I simply don’t mix….I was sad to hear of his recent demise as I spent many a pleasant evening in his & his wife Josie’s company…Good decent people.
Ireland owes Danno a single debt of "in/gratitude" in that it was he who exploded Richie Kavanagh onto the scene or so it seemed to us bemused & bewildered townies whenever one would tune in after the dreaded theme song, as either Richie would be on plugging his latest opus or his latest opus would be bleating out of the speakers…and Bleating was the operative word as Richie hails from “sheep country”, nuff said! . Another Danno perennial was the Furey Brothers rendition of the ballad “When you were sweet sixteen”…God save us all!
Kitty Daly had a loyal following too. Her theme music played by “The Max Jaffa Orchestra” was so joyful that the Samaritans would have an extra 100 phone lines opened for the duration of the show. Offers of sponsorship from Funeral Directors all over Europe had to be turned down owing to the fact that the show was being done “for the love of it!” or amateurishly in another word. Kitty though was a great friend of my family and had a wonderful sense of humour, her late husband Willie was a great favourite of mine as a kid. A very kind, gentleman - what more can you say of a person.
For the Opera Lovers, Kevin Lewis was the epitome of “Local Boy makes good”. He grew up in the canyon of concrete that is High Street, home to the Theatre Royal – venue of one of the top ten Opera festivals on this endangered planet and considered by most experts as the “Opera lover’s opera festival”. Not only did this man have a wonderful singing voice, he was a member of the chorus, backstage worker, Flies man et al. Kevin has an encyclopedic knowledge of the world of opera…this was all long before the internet and googling. Here's a link to a nice article on WFO and her latest news, http://www.andante.com/article/article.cfm?id=26070
The tribe of the "yet to be published".
My hometown though is simply seething with literary talent, many have been published – many haven’t...as yet! Several of these writers, playwrights & balladeers (published & unpublished) are friends of mine, no boast just a simple fact. Most Wexford people can make that same statement too.
One in particular, Francis M. is a poet of incredible depth & sensitivity. I pray his work will soon see the light of day as it needs to be read & shared by the world.
Another pal of mine Jim B. is working on his life saga and again it will be a remarkable work as the man has the eye of a hawk & the ear of an owl when he is observing life. When it comes to him telling a story, there is none better and it is clear to see that the mantle of Sheanachie rests easily upon his shoulders.
His stories of the tinkers, the local characters & the days of carting are both hilarious & profound. Jim laments the loss of a way of life – the horse & cart, (his family were Carters). He being the last of his family to drive a cart and stalwartly refusing to go the way of the dodo. He maintains a stable and will ride out every day, sharing his good humour to all he meets. His dedication to that tradition is humbling. A decent, caring Christian man.
Back to Frank though!
Frank would often burst into my office on the Quayside to have a chat and a cup. Frank is a brilliant guitarist. His siblings were all genius in all their chosen fields. His brother Declan is a legend in Irish Music, both Rock & Folk – no mean achievement.
Anyway, Frank once told me this tale of Christy Moore being interviewed by Bernard Patrick Fallon on (the then) RTE’s fledgling radio two. Apparently, BP or “the Beep” says to Christy, “Christy, some people say that you are angst ridden, what do you say to that?” the Kildare-man retorted with the legendary “Jayze, I’ve never ridden an angst in me life!’ I still remember the pair of us howling at that one...
That is what I liked about Frank, we had a similar irreverent attitude to the pious & the pompous except Frank’s was of a more unrestrained variety and sometimes I envied him that. More power to him and I wish him great success with the book.
I keep in touch with the ould Sod (the home-town not the father), occasionally by reading the local rags. The more successful one still is chock full of the Sharons, Sandras & Mikeys or the “lads” having a great time in whatever local hostelry while the other is more of a press release for the stalwarts of the local parishes, such as “Macra”, the “ICA” or the Church of the latter day blue shirts or Fine Gael as they are more popularly known in the Emerald Isle.
I see local pundit, intrepid journalist, promoter, producer & wag, Frank Sinnott has a tome out this weekend and to say I cannot wait to read it is an understatement. Frank is a literary genius, I kid you not. He truly is. A great wit considered by some to be over bearing but usually these “some” were the butt of Frank’s humour. Now as I recall when the humour was turned on Frank, he was not so receptive which is your death sentence for slagging in Wexford. If you can’t take it, you better not dish it out! A choleric Frank was not a happy sight!
I knew him first as the representative of WCLR or Wexford’s (first) Pirate radio. He was the morning Dee-Jay and because of the vast bush of hair that populated his head, neck & chin, he soon earned the eternal moniker - “the Hairy Cornflake”. His love of Meringues (pronounced by him famously one morning as “Merang-gwews”) is a well worn tale trotted out when nostalgic Wexford - radio listeners gather to remember the shows of yesteryear & their hosts. Hosts such as Frank Sinnott, Danno Murphy, Kitty Daly & Kevin Lewis.
Licensing killed the Radio Star;
Wexford has long been renowned for her pirates, buccaneers & privateers, back in the late 70's & 80's, a new constellation of stars were discovered in the environs of George Street who were dubbed pirates by the owners of the rags mentioned above. This factually wasn't true as there was no legislation in place to justify such a term.
Therefore it was felt around the country by hundreds of Community radio stations that they had a legitimate place in society and as a whole most communities took them & their DJ's to their hearts. Local voices, local news - the people loved it.
To mention Danno Murphy & Frank Sinnott in the same sentence may yet send Frank into a rage if he reads this but they were paradoxically pillars of the radio community back in the day.
Danno had a hugely popular lunch time show on the wireless which always started with George Jone’s “Don’t let the stars…”, that’s all I can remember as Country music & I simply don’t mix….I was sad to hear of his recent demise as I spent many a pleasant evening in his & his wife Josie’s company…Good decent people.
Ireland owes Danno a single debt of "in/gratitude" in that it was he who exploded Richie Kavanagh onto the scene or so it seemed to us bemused & bewildered townies whenever one would tune in after the dreaded theme song, as either Richie would be on plugging his latest opus or his latest opus would be bleating out of the speakers…and Bleating was the operative word as Richie hails from “sheep country”, nuff said! . Another Danno perennial was the Furey Brothers rendition of the ballad “When you were sweet sixteen”…God save us all!
Kitty Daly had a loyal following too. Her theme music played by “The Max Jaffa Orchestra” was so joyful that the Samaritans would have an extra 100 phone lines opened for the duration of the show. Offers of sponsorship from Funeral Directors all over Europe had to be turned down owing to the fact that the show was being done “for the love of it!” or amateurishly in another word. Kitty though was a great friend of my family and had a wonderful sense of humour, her late husband Willie was a great favourite of mine as a kid. A very kind, gentleman - what more can you say of a person.
For the Opera Lovers, Kevin Lewis was the epitome of “Local Boy makes good”. He grew up in the canyon of concrete that is High Street, home to the Theatre Royal – venue of one of the top ten Opera festivals on this endangered planet and considered by most experts as the “Opera lover’s opera festival”. Not only did this man have a wonderful singing voice, he was a member of the chorus, backstage worker, Flies man et al. Kevin has an encyclopedic knowledge of the world of opera…this was all long before the internet and googling. Here's a link to a nice article on WFO and her latest news, http://www.andante.com/article/article.cfm?id=26070
The tribe of the "yet to be published".
My hometown though is simply seething with literary talent, many have been published – many haven’t...as yet! Several of these writers, playwrights & balladeers (published & unpublished) are friends of mine, no boast just a simple fact. Most Wexford people can make that same statement too.
One in particular, Francis M. is a poet of incredible depth & sensitivity. I pray his work will soon see the light of day as it needs to be read & shared by the world.
Another pal of mine Jim B. is working on his life saga and again it will be a remarkable work as the man has the eye of a hawk & the ear of an owl when he is observing life. When it comes to him telling a story, there is none better and it is clear to see that the mantle of Sheanachie rests easily upon his shoulders.
His stories of the tinkers, the local characters & the days of carting are both hilarious & profound. Jim laments the loss of a way of life – the horse & cart, (his family were Carters). He being the last of his family to drive a cart and stalwartly refusing to go the way of the dodo. He maintains a stable and will ride out every day, sharing his good humour to all he meets. His dedication to that tradition is humbling. A decent, caring Christian man.
Back to Frank though!
Frank would often burst into my office on the Quayside to have a chat and a cup. Frank is a brilliant guitarist. His siblings were all genius in all their chosen fields. His brother Declan is a legend in Irish Music, both Rock & Folk – no mean achievement.
Anyway, Frank once told me this tale of Christy Moore being interviewed by Bernard Patrick Fallon on (the then) RTE’s fledgling radio two. Apparently, BP or “the Beep” says to Christy, “Christy, some people say that you are angst ridden, what do you say to that?” the Kildare-man retorted with the legendary “Jayze, I’ve never ridden an angst in me life!’ I still remember the pair of us howling at that one...
That is what I liked about Frank, we had a similar irreverent attitude to the pious & the pompous except Frank’s was of a more unrestrained variety and sometimes I envied him that. More power to him and I wish him great success with the book.
Friday, October 06, 2006
A Booksigning in the Bluegrass...
A Book signing not a Book burning in the Bible belt!
An agreeable journey through the Bluegrass state. The elegant bloodstock farms as one approach the outer reaches of Lexington are simply mind-boggling in their size, scope and grandiosity.
Lexington itself seems to be dominated by the University of Kentucky; it appeared to this observer that the city was one big campus with shops. I am sure this is not true but one got that feeling as we drove through the town center.
We met up with my work colleague (Sue)’s daughter, Son in law & little girl and firm friends were made for life. It’s lovely to encounter synchronicity with other like minded beings. We enjoyed a wonderful Kentucky welcome and we are eternally grateful. Jessie & Scott were brilliant company and we look forward to seeing them soon again especially as dinner hosts.
So onto the book-signing at Joseph Beth, Almost a “This is your life” moment when I popped up. I think Eoin was a bit (pleasantly) shocked to see another “yellow belly” in the tropical rainforest that is Lexington, Kentucky especially one that he went to school with.
The ironic address “Hallo, Mr. Colfer!”,..,
“Oh! It’s Mister now, is it?”, the sardonic reply, all in good jest. A typical Wexford rapport was struck up. Two sentences and my wife & oldest had another instance of how the natives communicate back in Forth & Bargy.
Eoin had a huge turnout of fans, indeed of all ages and I would think that he left with a few hundred more, looking at those that strayed in and attended his one man show which enthralled his audience. It took me back to his Dad’s class and the easy yet sharp wit that we enjoyed as 10/11 year olds all those years ago.
While Eoin was signing for the legions, I observed my youngest going about his merry way, playing with Thomas the tank engine and then discovering (much to my delight) a castle and an array of Crusaders, Saracens, Vikings , Dragons and God knows what all. I was back in my childhood once more, Knights & Castles was a source of hours of fun for me and to see my youngster get in the spirit of thing was a joy beyond description. Stevenson’s “Black Arrow” jumps to my mind as I type, there are memories here just bursting to get out on the page but another day will suffice for now.
Eventually, the book signing was over. Eoin was released from his duties and we had a chat & a drink. The poor man was drained, shattered even and obviously missing his family. A city a day, thousands of faces, thousands of books, thousands of images leaves a person shell shocked I guess after a while. All he sees are airports, bookstores, hotels on these tours, guarded by matronly trolls/sorry, literary agents from his adoring public.
It meant a lot to my stepson to be in the company of another Wexfordman. My wife’s family are here stateside, 5 generations removed from the Model County. Our oldest, Bryan, is very aware of his roots, is an aspiring writer and to meet a published one in the form of a genial, relaxed form as Eoin whose books he happens to admire, was a thrill for him. It was nice to see the encouragement he received from Eoin, just as I did from his father many years ago. The apple did not fall far from the tree! (Very much meant as a compliment, Eoin!).
We parted ways and my last view of Eoin was a sad one. Trudging back to his nearby Hotel suite, alone and dog tired. Success can be a cruel mistress but as Eoin informed me earlier, “this way I can spend so much time with my family for the other 10 months of the year”. At least, he’ll be “en famille” in the City of Angels before he heads home.
He has a one man show to start in London’s West End later this month…It will be a sell out of that there is no doubt. I hope he gives himself some time out in the meantime. We need people of his ilk on the planet. What an ilk is I do not know, probably a Canadian elk but we’ll discuss it another time.
Thanks Eoin & God speed home!
An agreeable journey through the Bluegrass state. The elegant bloodstock farms as one approach the outer reaches of Lexington are simply mind-boggling in their size, scope and grandiosity.
Lexington itself seems to be dominated by the University of Kentucky; it appeared to this observer that the city was one big campus with shops. I am sure this is not true but one got that feeling as we drove through the town center.
We met up with my work colleague (Sue)’s daughter, Son in law & little girl and firm friends were made for life. It’s lovely to encounter synchronicity with other like minded beings. We enjoyed a wonderful Kentucky welcome and we are eternally grateful. Jessie & Scott were brilliant company and we look forward to seeing them soon again especially as dinner hosts.
So onto the book-signing at Joseph Beth, Almost a “This is your life” moment when I popped up. I think Eoin was a bit (pleasantly) shocked to see another “yellow belly” in the tropical rainforest that is Lexington, Kentucky especially one that he went to school with.
The ironic address “Hallo, Mr. Colfer!”,..,
“Oh! It’s Mister now, is it?”, the sardonic reply, all in good jest. A typical Wexford rapport was struck up. Two sentences and my wife & oldest had another instance of how the natives communicate back in Forth & Bargy.
Eoin had a huge turnout of fans, indeed of all ages and I would think that he left with a few hundred more, looking at those that strayed in and attended his one man show which enthralled his audience. It took me back to his Dad’s class and the easy yet sharp wit that we enjoyed as 10/11 year olds all those years ago.
While Eoin was signing for the legions, I observed my youngest going about his merry way, playing with Thomas the tank engine and then discovering (much to my delight) a castle and an array of Crusaders, Saracens, Vikings , Dragons and God knows what all. I was back in my childhood once more, Knights & Castles was a source of hours of fun for me and to see my youngster get in the spirit of thing was a joy beyond description. Stevenson’s “Black Arrow” jumps to my mind as I type, there are memories here just bursting to get out on the page but another day will suffice for now.
Eventually, the book signing was over. Eoin was released from his duties and we had a chat & a drink. The poor man was drained, shattered even and obviously missing his family. A city a day, thousands of faces, thousands of books, thousands of images leaves a person shell shocked I guess after a while. All he sees are airports, bookstores, hotels on these tours, guarded by matronly trolls/sorry, literary agents from his adoring public.
It meant a lot to my stepson to be in the company of another Wexfordman. My wife’s family are here stateside, 5 generations removed from the Model County. Our oldest, Bryan, is very aware of his roots, is an aspiring writer and to meet a published one in the form of a genial, relaxed form as Eoin whose books he happens to admire, was a thrill for him. It was nice to see the encouragement he received from Eoin, just as I did from his father many years ago. The apple did not fall far from the tree! (Very much meant as a compliment, Eoin!).
We parted ways and my last view of Eoin was a sad one. Trudging back to his nearby Hotel suite, alone and dog tired. Success can be a cruel mistress but as Eoin informed me earlier, “this way I can spend so much time with my family for the other 10 months of the year”. At least, he’ll be “en famille” in the City of Angels before he heads home.
He has a one man show to start in London’s West End later this month…It will be a sell out of that there is no doubt. I hope he gives himself some time out in the meantime. We need people of his ilk on the planet. What an ilk is I do not know, probably a Canadian elk but we’ll discuss it another time.
Thanks Eoin & God speed home!
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Artemis Fowl
We hope to head off on another cross -country safari soon. This time down to Lexington to see an old friend from school. Eoin Colfer is the creator of the best selling "Artemis Fowl" book series. His websites can be viewed here, http://www.artemisfowl.com/ & http://www.eoincolfer.com/home.htm . He is on a book tour at this moment in time, hence the trip to darkest Kentucky. The books are wonderful for readers of all ages and are winning devotees all over the world.
Eoin was a good pal at school with a wonderful wit which you'll discover reading his work. Playwright, Artist, Actor, Singer. A man of many talents as are his Brothers & Parents. Believe me, it is thrilling to see the fact materialize that "good things do happen to good people!" Eoin is living proof of this. He is the product of remarkable parents.
His father was the best teacher I ever had. People come into your life and make a change or influence you in some way. Billy Colfer’s influence in my life has been momentous to say the least.
If I could some the man up in a word, a statement even - it would simply be "encouragement!".
It may appear trite at first but to a ten year old, dealing with all types of upheaval and discouragement at home, a kindly word of encouraging spirit meant the world to me.
I was introduced to the world of history in this man's class. Made aware of my heritage, my roots, and our common past - our sense of place in the world. I will never forget our visit one day to the SW of my County, Tintern Abbey, Baginbun, The magical Hook Head and Dunbrody. The hinterland of the Colfers.
As soon as I could drive, they were my favourite haunts. Places I could get lost in and indulge in my love of local history. Places, memories I still revisit when I have quiet time here.
I loved reading. Reading was then my safe retreat, it still is and to participate in a classroom where it was extolled was a revelation. To be encouraged (that word again) to think about what we had read and to discuss it in an adult fashion was a joy.. We were enabled not patronized.
I brought so many life lessons out of that class, lessons that I hope I pass on to the kids I coach, the others I teach. Encouragement is such a crucial, vital force for this world at the moment. Good things happen when it is used.
I may not have joined the Royal Hong Kong Police Force, as I stated in his classroom one day (deadly serious too!) but I did sense I would someday move away from Erin's green shores, such was the need I guess, of escape in my life.
If he is reading this someday, I've been meaning to express my gratitude either via a letter or phone call for many a year but could never pluck up the courage. So maybe by doing so publicly via a blog is my way of saying "Thank you Billy, for all your encouragement those years ago!".
Eoin was a good pal at school with a wonderful wit which you'll discover reading his work. Playwright, Artist, Actor, Singer. A man of many talents as are his Brothers & Parents. Believe me, it is thrilling to see the fact materialize that "good things do happen to good people!" Eoin is living proof of this. He is the product of remarkable parents.
His father was the best teacher I ever had. People come into your life and make a change or influence you in some way. Billy Colfer’s influence in my life has been momentous to say the least.
If I could some the man up in a word, a statement even - it would simply be "encouragement!".
It may appear trite at first but to a ten year old, dealing with all types of upheaval and discouragement at home, a kindly word of encouraging spirit meant the world to me.
I was introduced to the world of history in this man's class. Made aware of my heritage, my roots, and our common past - our sense of place in the world. I will never forget our visit one day to the SW of my County, Tintern Abbey, Baginbun, The magical Hook Head and Dunbrody. The hinterland of the Colfers.
As soon as I could drive, they were my favourite haunts. Places I could get lost in and indulge in my love of local history. Places, memories I still revisit when I have quiet time here.
I loved reading. Reading was then my safe retreat, it still is and to participate in a classroom where it was extolled was a revelation. To be encouraged (that word again) to think about what we had read and to discuss it in an adult fashion was a joy.. We were enabled not patronized.
I brought so many life lessons out of that class, lessons that I hope I pass on to the kids I coach, the others I teach. Encouragement is such a crucial, vital force for this world at the moment. Good things happen when it is used.
I may not have joined the Royal Hong Kong Police Force, as I stated in his classroom one day (deadly serious too!) but I did sense I would someday move away from Erin's green shores, such was the need I guess, of escape in my life.
If he is reading this someday, I've been meaning to express my gratitude either via a letter or phone call for many a year but could never pluck up the courage. So maybe by doing so publicly via a blog is my way of saying "Thank you Billy, for all your encouragement those years ago!".
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Hackwatch
The Da Vinci code & other hackworks….
What is all this hoopla about this bloody book? It is fiction, folks, fiction…and people get their knickers in a knot about it?…Whoever is the PR person at Random House - He/She should get pr award of the decade!
There is an Industry spawned on this book and one can only laugh, throw a dog a bone, I guess and he’ll gnaw away!
It almost reminds me of James Joyce and some of the assorted glitterati that follow him, trying to make head & tail out of “Ulysses” not to mention “Finnegan’s Wake”. I have tried to understand these Joycean scholars & their constant theorizing on Leopold Bloom but I simply don’t get it, maybe I am simply not an intellectual…or maybe is it that I feel like the child in that fable of “The Emperor’s New Clothes” when surrounded by these “Arsigans”. It's almost like being a Chelsea supporter or getting lost in the turmoils of a writer like Brendan Behan!
I enjoy Joyce but then again I enjoy Enid Blyton too!
The man was ahead of his time, pushed out the boundaries of writing and in so doing, brought reflected glory to his countrymen - reinforcing the view of the Emerald Isle as a place of “Saints & Scholars”. It’s a pity in those days that the saints ran the scholars out of the country! More’s the pity that Mr. Joyce eked out a living at the end of his days thanks to their fascism.
A decent man called Philip Thompson organizes a “Bloomsday” on or around June 16th in Jack Quinn’s Alehouse in Covington. The following is an article with Mr. T who explains his passion to Citybeat (a great paper for lagging btw!).
http://www.citybeat.com/2001-06-14/art.shtml
What is all this hoopla about this bloody book? It is fiction, folks, fiction…and people get their knickers in a knot about it?…Whoever is the PR person at Random House - He/She should get pr award of the decade!
There is an Industry spawned on this book and one can only laugh, throw a dog a bone, I guess and he’ll gnaw away!
It almost reminds me of James Joyce and some of the assorted glitterati that follow him, trying to make head & tail out of “Ulysses” not to mention “Finnegan’s Wake”. I have tried to understand these Joycean scholars & their constant theorizing on Leopold Bloom but I simply don’t get it, maybe I am simply not an intellectual…or maybe is it that I feel like the child in that fable of “The Emperor’s New Clothes” when surrounded by these “Arsigans”. It's almost like being a Chelsea supporter or getting lost in the turmoils of a writer like Brendan Behan!
I enjoy Joyce but then again I enjoy Enid Blyton too!
The man was ahead of his time, pushed out the boundaries of writing and in so doing, brought reflected glory to his countrymen - reinforcing the view of the Emerald Isle as a place of “Saints & Scholars”. It’s a pity in those days that the saints ran the scholars out of the country! More’s the pity that Mr. Joyce eked out a living at the end of his days thanks to their fascism.
A decent man called Philip Thompson organizes a “Bloomsday” on or around June 16th in Jack Quinn’s Alehouse in Covington. The following is an article with Mr. T who explains his passion to Citybeat (a great paper for lagging btw!).
http://www.citybeat.com/2001-06-14/art.shtml
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
The Borstal Boy
March 23rd, 1964
A wonderful talent died.
Brendan Behan was a force of nature!
He left behind a small but brilliant body of work..a few plays, a couple of novels, some observations on Ireland, New York plus a miscellany of short stories based mainly on the colourful characters one meets in the public houses of Ireland.
For anybody who has not discovered his work. Read “Borstal Boy” first. It is simply one of the most human and humane pieces of prose committed to paper.
Behan was paranoid about being found out. He felt he had no talent and his luck would run out. People would discover that his maverick genius would be declared a fake. He tormented himself with this fear and hid it from the world with a sham air of drunken belligerence.
There is a link with my family which I will not divulge here. My parents remember him well.
He died 6 months before I entered the world. Alcohol and diabetes had destroyed his small but ample frame.
I’ll write more on the laughing boy soon and indeed his contemporaries who are sadly overlooked by the Intelligentsia on both sides of the Atlantean pond. It’s late and I’ve yet to arrange travel for my clan to the windy city.
(c) deadlydesh2005
A wonderful talent died.
Brendan Behan was a force of nature!
He left behind a small but brilliant body of work..a few plays, a couple of novels, some observations on Ireland, New York plus a miscellany of short stories based mainly on the colourful characters one meets in the public houses of Ireland.
For anybody who has not discovered his work. Read “Borstal Boy” first. It is simply one of the most human and humane pieces of prose committed to paper.
Behan was paranoid about being found out. He felt he had no talent and his luck would run out. People would discover that his maverick genius would be declared a fake. He tormented himself with this fear and hid it from the world with a sham air of drunken belligerence.
There is a link with my family which I will not divulge here. My parents remember him well.
He died 6 months before I entered the world. Alcohol and diabetes had destroyed his small but ample frame.
I’ll write more on the laughing boy soon and indeed his contemporaries who are sadly overlooked by the Intelligentsia on both sides of the Atlantean pond. It’s late and I’ve yet to arrange travel for my clan to the windy city.
(c) deadlydesh2005
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Glossary of my language
One of my hobbies is etymology, if you don’t know what it means get a dictionary!
But seriously though, my American pals & colleagues always get confused and sometimes worried when I use the following terms, in conversation or work situations.
So in an effort at Détente, International Co-Operation, World Peace and simply to clarify the meanings for the American (& indeed British) reader, I have embarked on writing a small list which I may add to from time to time.
Hopefully, this list will explain words as they are to me and ought to be to them! (In my mindJ!).
Arse: Ass as in posterior.
(e.g.) “He is a right pain in the arse!” Also can be used as a term of defiance as in “I will in me arse!”
Bog: A term of disdain normally used by townies and Dubliners to the country side.
“Get back to the Bog, ya culchie!”. It can also refer to the bathroom, as in “I’m going to the bog!”
Bollocks, Bollix: means literally testes/testicles but usually as a term of enragement. However it can be used as a term of endearment depending on the tone it is said in.
“You Lousy bollocks!’ “He’s only a bollox!” “A pain in the bollocks!”
Bum: Arse
“He is a pain in the Bum!”
Crack, Craic: Fun!
(e.g.) “We had great crack in Dublin!” “What’s the crack?” meaning “What are we going to do?’
Culchie: a term usually used by Dubliners but invariably other East Coast Townies to country folk. Apparently, the term has its roots from Kiltymagh, Co. Mayo (pronounced Culchiemack) although a lot of people believe it was a reference to agriculture including the writer of this piece.
Cute: It can have the normal meaning of “awwww” or it can mean sly or cunning.
(e.g.) “Mind him! He’s a cute bastard!”
Doss: To not work. (e.g.) “I had a right doss at school today!”
Dosser: A lazy person (e.g.) “He’s a real dosser!”
Fag: a cigarette
(e.g.) “I am dying for a fag!” “I need a fag!” “I’d kill for a fag!”
Fairy: a member of the Tuatha De Danann. An ancient Irish citizen to be treated with respect and due deference when encountered on a dark night. We never refer to them as fairies normally though. The term usually referred to is “one of the other crowd!” If somebody is daydreaming, it has been heard that “He is away with the fairies!”
Feck: The Irish lite version of F*ck. Like its stronger “Anglo” cousin can mean a whole raft of meanings like
To Feck: to steal
“Feck that!” : “No way!”
“Feck off!” : “Leave me alone!”
“fecking, feckin’” Adjective of
“Fecker”: Pest or alternatively a term of endearment.
Can be used dazzlingly together like, “Feck off! Ye Feckin’ fecker!”.
Gay: happy, go lucky though it isn’t used much anymore. It also is a man’s name, shortened version of Gabriel as in Gabriel or Gay Byrne.
Gob: Mouth
(e.g.) “I’ll give you a smack in the gob!’
Gobshite: a bull shitter, a fool
(e.g.) “Never mind that Gobshite!”
Gurrier: a youth of low moral caliber. Brave when they have a few cans of cider and hunt in packs. Picking normally on an isolated or lone individual. They can be found in all social strata. Usually they grow up to be rugby players, tax collectors and lawyers.
(e.g). "They are a right, nasty bunch of Gurriers!'
Hoor: Whore nominally but as in all things Irish, it has a plethora of meanings like;
“Watch that one! He’s a cute hoor!”
“Ye hoor, yeh!” - Exclamation of surprise or disdain
“ye little hoor!” :- loving term from your mom!
Jacks: a term used by Dubliners in reference to the bathroom.
(e.g.) “I’m off to the jacks!”
Joint: side of roast beef. The traditional Irish and British Sunday dinner. Simply put an institution of both Islands.
(e.g.) “Granny really loved the Sunday Joint”. “The family had a joint on Sunday”.
Knacker: a term used for a tinker usually in a disparaging manner. It is usually referred though to a person of low social standing or class. A person of unsophisticated tastes.
(e.g.) “He’s only a knacker, don’t mind him”
“They’re a bunch of knackers!’ in reference say to a football/soccer team whose tactics are, shall we say, dubious or uncompromising at best.
From the root of Knacker, we get
Knackered: which means tired¹ but also can be used as beaten²?
(e.g.)¹ “I am Knackered, , I haven’t slept in days!’
(e.g.)² “We’re knackered now, they’ve scored again!”
Lad: A term for a boy normally but when “the ”is put before it, it has only one meaning in the Irish psyche meaning the male appendage or penis. Always referred to in the third person.
(e.g.) “How’s the lad?” a popular greeting among (usually) young Irish males in a light hearted enquiry as to one’s sex life. Amongst Older Irish males though, it is normally an enquiry about one’s self in the third person! A reflection on the libido I guess as one gets older
Mickey: Pet name for the penis as in “Me Mickey is itchy!” usually overheard from a pack of Gurriers on a Saturday night in a fast food outlet
Quare: Odd, not right.
(e.g.). “Something is quare here!” or “That’s quare!”
Quare fella: Usually a term for Satan or the devil.
(e.g.) “I think he’s in with the quare fella!”
Redneck: A term for a culchie or a countryperson. My Dublin born mammy told me it was a reference to culchies getting slapped on the back of their necks by their frustrated parents, saying “Get up to Dublin and get a job!”
(e.g.) “Go back to the bog, ya redneck!”
Smack: Slap, a blow
(e.g.) “I’ll give you a smack in the gob!” “I’ll smack the arse off you!”
(c) deadlydesh ravenspoint 2005
(image courtesy of Fr. Ted online @ http://www.fathertedonline.ukf.net)
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