Link to a beautiful short story--Road of Souls--by PJ Curtis

I read a beautiful short story last night by the Irish writer and broadcaster PJ Curtis, called Road of Souls. It was printed in the latest book I'm reading, entitled Burning the Midnight Oil: Illuminating Words for the Long Night's Journey Into Day by Phil Cousineau (https://www.amazon.com/Burning-Midnight-Oil-Illuminating-Journey/dp/1936740737). In this book, the short story is entitled The Last Prince of Thomond (not Road of Souls); it was apparently first printed in a book entitled The Music of Ghosts. I went online to try to find the short story printed for itself alone so I could share it with  you here, and found it at the Clare County Library in Ireland. Unfortunately I cannot print the entire story here because it would be copyright infringement. But I can include a link to the webpage with the story on the Clare County Library website:

http://www.clarelibrary.ie/eolas/coclare/literature/ncww/road_of_souls.htm

Dublin views

Riverdance at The Gaiety Theatre

Flower market

A Dublin street with very old row houses

Wall art

Blowing bubbles on Grafton Street

The Old Storehouse bar and restaurant in Temple Bar area

The Yeats exhibition at the National Library of Ireland

Oscar Wilde statue in Merrion Square park

A New Yorker in Dublin

So many impressions of Ireland and of Dublin—here are a few. The Irish are an unpretentious folk, friendly, with a pleasant sense of humor. It actually felt 'familiar' to be there, because it reminded me of some of the residential areas around New York City--the Irish neighborhoods. Not surprising since the Irish who immigrated to the USA settled in and around the city. I felt as though I fit in with the culture and that didn’t surprise me either, because I grew up in the New York City area and because my mother was of Irish ancestry (as well as of English and Scottish ancestry). The people don’t seem to get too excited or stressed or angry. I cannot remember that we heard much yelling or cursing or that we saw angry people yelling or screaming at the world around them. There were a few beggars who sat in the streets hoping for some change. I ate Irish food each night—fish and chips, bangers and mash (pork sausages and mashed potatoes—delicious), and Irish stew. Didn’t get a chance to sample shepherd’s pie, but my mother used to make that and Irish stew as a matter of course especially during the cold winter months. So I knew what to expect and I wasn’t disappointed. And the beer was good. I am not a beer drinker, but I enjoyed the Guinness beer and the tour of the brewery that makes it.

We made our way to two interesting library exhibitions: the first was about the famous Irish poet William Butler Yeats (my favorite poet)--‘ The Life and Works of William Butler Yeats’ that took place at the National Library of Ireland http://www.nli.ie/en/udlist/current-exhibitions.aspx?article=adb6ce52-1f52-4a33-882c-685dedd0fb9d and http://www.nli.ie/yeats/ (virtual tour). It was a fascinating collection of his manuscripts, photo albums and books and told the story of his life in an effective and moving way. The second exhibition was The Book of Kells at Trinity College library, with a trip at the end of the tour to the second floor of the library to visit the Long Room—a fantastic room lined with marble busts of ancient philosophers, writers and medical scientists as well as with ancient books from floor to ceiling, of course off-limits to the public. The Book of Kells was fascinating—an amazing book put together by scribes and illustrators and holy men. I have a new appreciation for libraries and the incredible work that goes into creating these exhibitions. They do such a good job.

We also enjoyed the Temple Bar area in the evening with its many pubs with live music and dancing. We spent one evening at The Old Storehouse and enjoyed a good meal and live music—a duo—a young female violinist and a male guitarist. The woman sang and the two of them were terrific, performing traditional Irish folk songs as well as some American songs. Many of the singers in the different pubs seemed to have a fascination with Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen. I really enjoyed the Irish folk songs, e.g. Wild Rover comes to mind, a classic song that seemed to be a real crowd-pleaser; the public clapped and sang along as though they knew the song by heart, which they probably did.

Dubliners are not much different than other Western Europeans when it comes to walking on city sidewalks; there is only a halfhearted attempt at staying to one side of the sidewalk in an orderly fashion. Pedestrians spread out all over. You bump into them when you meet them. Everyone says excuse me and all that, but it would be easier to walk if there were ‘lanes’ like if we were driving cars on the highway. But it isn’t much better in Manhattan, except that people tend to be a bit more proactive in terms of moving to the right side of the sidewalk when they see folk coming. Dubliners also flock to cafes and outdoor restaurants to enjoy the lovely sunny weather when it arrives (sporadically), just like Oslo city dwellers. Of course there were a lot of tourists there now at this time of year, but a good number of them were Irish (we could hear the accent), in addition to the French and Italian visitors.

I will be posting some Dublin photos in upcoming posts. It is a lovely city with interesting storefronts and clever names for its many shops and pubs, as well as versatile architecture—very old or modern. Both seem to work. I’m glad I got to see the city, and I know already I will be going back.

Pangur Bán--an eighth century poem written by an Irish monk

I and Pangur Bán, my cat
'Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight
Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill will,
He too plies his simple skill.

'Tis a merry thing to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur's way:
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

When a mouse darts from its den,
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!

So in peace our tasks we ply,
Pangur Bán, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.

Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.

(Written by an eighth-century Irish monk--name unknown. English translation by Robin Flower)

I read this poem for the first time when we visited The Book of Kells exhibition at the Trinity College library. It spoke to me as a lot of poetry does. I could just see in my mind's eye, the monk toiling away in the darkness while his cat hunted mice. The monk could have been working on one of the books of Kells, transcribing or illustrating them. And then the symbolic last sentence, 'Turning darkness into light'. There is so much that he says in this one little sentence--isn't this the whole basis of religion and our belief in a supreme being? That if we accept God into our lives, that this God turns our darkness into light? But I also think about this monk's place and time in history--the medieval times. Dark times. Perhaps he understood his role in turning the minds of his fellowmen toward the light; he perhaps understood his small and simple role in history. It must have been a profound moment for him when he wrote this--a kind of simple divine inspiration. 

A great Irish pub song---Wild Rover

I've been a wild rover for many's the year,

and I spent all me money on whiskey and beer.

And now I'm returning with gold in great store,

and I never will play the wild rover no more.

(Chorus):

And it's no, nay, never! No, nay, never, no more,

will I play the wild rover. No (nay) never no more!

I went to an alehouse I used to frequent,

and I told the landlady me money was spent.

I asked her for credit, she answered me "nay,

such a custom as yours I could have any day".

(Chorus)

I pulled from me pocket a handful of gold,

and on the round table it glittered and rolled.

She said "I have whiskeys and wines of the best,

and the words that I told you were only in jest".

(Chorus)

I'll have none of your whiskeys nor fine Spanish wines,

For your words show you clearly as no friend of mine.

There's others most willing to open a door,

To a man coming home from a far distant shore.

(Chorus)

I'll go home to me parents, confess what I've done,

and I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son.

And if they forgive me as oft times before,

I never will play the wild rover no more.

(Chorus)

----------------------------

It’s not clear who wrote the song, but it’s a lot of fun to sing along to, and in every pub we visited in Dublin in the Temple Bar area, there were singers performing this song. It seems to be a great crowd-pleaser.