Ireland has been blessed with some extraordinary Singers.
Mary and Luke sing with natural authority.
Singing songs all their lives.
Silver songs of Freedom.
Songs for Ireland.
Louis MacNeice’s long autobiographical Poem, ‘Autumn Journal’ has had a prominent place on my shelves for more than 50 years now (I was a precocious Poetry devotee).
Today I feature two exquisite shorter poems which demonstrate his technical accomplishment and plangent imagination.
… I am not yet born; provide me With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
in the back of my mind to guide me.
And ain’t it the truth ….
It’s no go the merrygoround, it’s no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head of bison.
If you are Irish or know someone who is Irish or of Irish heritage (and that’s all of you!) please share these Hail St Patrick Posts as widely as possible.
For the week that’s in it The Immortal Jukebox series A Parade of Posts for St Patrick celebrates Ireland’s glorious heritage in Song, Poetry and Painting.
It seems to me that the, ‘Secret Sign’ has been revealed to generations of Irishmen and Irishwomen and that in response they have blessed us with inspiring voices and visions that will always echo through stone and time.
Today:
A Song from Luke Kelly
A Poem by Flann O’ Brien performed by Eamon Morrissey
A Painting by Jack B Yeats
Staff in hand let’s set off with Luke Kelly’s magisterial performance of Poet Patrick Kavanagh’s great, ‘Raglan Road’.
Luke Kelly was born to Sing.
Born to Sing.
In his singing there is passion pledged.
In his singing there is grief and rue.
In his singing there is enchantment.
In his singing there is Love and the whisper of old ghosts.
In his singing there is the creature made of clay and the angel.
In his singing there is life in abundance.
Life in abundance.
Patrick Kavanagh : Raglan Road
On Raglan Road on an Autumn Day,
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I may one day rue.
I saw the danger, yet I walked
Along the enchanted way
And I said let grief be a falling leaf
At the dawning of the day.
On Grafton Street in November,
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of a deep ravine where can be seen
The worst of passions pledged.
The Queen of Hearts still baking tarts
And I not making hay,
Well I loved too much; by such and such
Is happiness thrown away.
I gave her the gifts of the mind.
I gave her the secret sign
That’s known to all the artists who have
Known true Gods of Sound and Time.
With word and tint I did not stint.
I gave her reams of poems to say
With her own dark hair and her own name there
Like the clouds over fields of May.
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet,
I see her walking now away from me,
So hurriedly. My reason must allow,
For I have wooed, not as I should
A creature made of clay.
When the angel woos the clay, he’ll lose
His wings at the dawn of the day.
After such an intense experience I think it’s time to perch on a high stool and imbibe the wit and wisdom of Flann O’ Brien a writer of genius as attested by, ‘At Swim Two Birds’ and by the blazing brilliance of his, ‘Cruiskeen Lawn’ column for The Irish Times under the name of Myles na gCopaleen.
Eamon Morrissey gives a virtuoso performance of, ‘A Pint of Plain’ from his show celebrating the work of Flann O’Brien, ‘The Brother’.
I must confess I’ve been known to perform this, though with more enthusiasm than skill, myself on licensed premises when the humour is on me!
Flann O’ Brien : The Workmen’s Friend (A Pint Of Plain)
When things go wrong and will not come right
Though you do the best you can
When life looks black as the hour of night
A pint of plain is your only man
When money’s tight and hard to get
And your horse has also ran
When all you have is a heap of debt
A pint of plain is your only man
When health is bad and your heart feels strange
And your face is pale and wan
When doctors say you need a change
A pint of plain is your only man
When food is scarce and your larder bare
And no rashers grease your pan
When hunger grows as your meals are rare
A pint of plain is your only man
In time of trouble and lousey strife
You have still got a darling plan
You still can turn to a brighter life
A pint of plain is your only man
Jack B Yeats paintings are deeply imagined encounters with the life force present in ourselves and the world around us.
When I stand before them I am always shocked by the level of silence and attention they demand of me and by the magnitude of the reward such silence and attention produces.
Replete with Irish generosity and fortified by several Pints of Plain as a parting gift today I leave you with a glorious live version of Raglan Road.
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