Welcome to my weekly blog,  SATURDAY SESSIONS!

In this blog, for the perusal of all our students, past, present and future, I include an extract from our interactive presentation Course, Ireland and its Culture.

If you wish to ask me any question about the text, by the way, just send me an e-mail at greg@bluefeather.ie

Log Twenty-nine, GEORGE BERNARD SHAW (1856-1950)

          Born in Dublin, Shaw was another household name in Britain and Ireland in the early twentieth century.  He was widely admired  for his sharpness of intellect and his wit and he wrote some engaging plays such as PYGMALION (later filmed as My Fair Lady).

          The prefaces to his plays are often better than the plays themselves, but nevertheless, Shaw was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1925.

          Like Wilde, he played a very important role in changing society through his plays. Victorian plays were usually sentimental and superficial. Shaw focused on the moral, political and economic issues of the time. Like Wilde, he was a superb essayist and a famous critic. 'My way of joking is to tell the truth. It's the funniest joke in the world.'

          Shaw was a committed  socialist and a vegetarian.  'Animals are my friends - and I don't eat my friends.'  He described schools as prisons, deadening to the spirit and stifling to the intellect.  'What we want to see is the child in pursuit of the knowledge, not the knowledge in pursuit of the child.'

          He was a member of a BBC radio panel set up to standardise the pronunciation of words in English - but the venture was a failure because the panellists could never agree!

          His political views, however (a fan of Stalin and Mussolini) and his appalling comments regarding eugenics and population control (not to mention his distasteful sense of self-importance), diminish his stature as a Nobel Laureate.

         

Some of Shaw's quotes:

1. Those who cannot change their minds, cannot change anything.

2. There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart's desire. The other is to gain it.

3. Why should we take advice on sex from the pope?  If he knows anything about it, he    shouldn't.

4. The liar's punishment is not that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else.

5. Never wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.

6. 'I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend...if you have one.'  (Shaw to Churchill)   'Cannot possibly attend first night; will attend second...if there is one.' (Churchill to Shaw)

7. The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.

8. Success does not consist in never making mistakes but in never making the same one a second time.

9. War does not decide who is right but who is left.

10. He knows nothing, and he thinks he knows everything. That points clearly to a political career.

11. Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire.

12. You don't stop laughing when you grow old; you grow old when you stop laughing.

13. The trouble with her is that she lacks the power of conversation but not the power of speech.

14. Youth is wasted on the young.

15. If you teach a man anything, he will never learn.

P.S. Fintan O'Toole has just published a magnificently-produced book on Shaw; it would make a great Christmas present for anyone who's interested!

Three more notes from the ET's logbook:

XCVII

a pinpoint of light

in the depth of the darkness

the Earth

XCVIII

the bend in the railtracks

on the platform at the station

memories

XCIX

rubber on gravel

the crunch of departure

the wake of the sound

OSCAR WILDE, PART 3

Oscar died in poverty in Paris. He had contracted meningitis which was related to an injury to his ear-drum during hard labour in prison.

          It is said that his last words were (in reference to the wallpaper he hated in the room where he stayed): “One of us had to go.”

          From a long letter he wrote while in prison:

        When first I was put into prison, some people advised me to try and forget who I was. It was ruinous advice. It is only by realising what I am that I have found comfort of any kind. Now I am advised by others to try on my release to forget that I have ever been in a prison at all. I know that would be equally fatal. It would mean that I would always be haunted by an intolerable sense of disgrace, and that those things that are meant for me as much as for anybody else – the beauty of the sun and moon, the pageant of the seasons, the music of daybreak and the silence of great nights, the rain falling through the leaves, or the dew creeping over the grass and making it silver – would all be tainted for me, and lose their healing power, and their power of communicating joy. To regret one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development. To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul.

from De Profundis

Here are some of Oscar Wilde's epigrams:

1.Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.

2.Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.

3.I am not young enough to know everything.

4.The only thing to do with good advice is to pass it on. It is never of any use to oneself.

5.The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.

6.The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.

7.Whenever people agree with me, I always feel I must be wrong.

8.Work is the curse of the drinking classes.

9.I can resist anything but temptation.

10.Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.

11.Only the shallow know themselves.

12.The truth is rarely pure and never simple.

13.All art is useless.

14.Nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.

15.Dull people are always brilliant at breakfast.

16. Punctuality is the thief of time.

FRIDAY FEELINGS

The ET's logbook has resurfaced with some more noun-based observations of Earth & Earthlings

LXXIV

after the attack, the silence

terror in the garden

the lawnmower

LXXV

sunrise

the opening of eyelashes

the daisy

LXXVI

children in the sunshine

even in Syria

birdsong

Welcome to my weekly blog,  SATURDAY SESSIONS!

In this blog, for the perusal of all our students, past, present and future, I include an extract from our interactive presentation Course, Ireland and its Culture.

If you wish to ask me any question about the text, by the way, just send me an e-mail at greg@bluefeather.ie

IRISH LITERATURE IN ENGLISH

OSCAR WILDE (1854 - 1900)

Born near Merrion Square in Dublin, Oscar Wilde was raised in the house which is currently the American College in Merrion Square, directly opposite his famous statue in the park itself.

          At the height of his success as a playwright, Oscar was a household name in Victorian England where he lived most of his life. However, up to the 1960s, the Catholic Irish never dared speak his name - because he was gay!

          All of his satirical plays are still very funny, particularly The Importance of Being Earnest.

          His plays were about 'illegitimate' births, mistaken identities, late revelations and the hypocrisy of Victorian society - but his Victorian audiences loved them! 

          He irritated Victorian society by wearing long hair and having an aesthetic outlook on life: 'I find it harder and harder every day to live up to my blue china.' 

          He often wore a green carnation to remind everybody that he was Irish.

          He then shocked society when he published the famous, The Picture of Dorian Gray, in 1890. This was a Gothic Horror story about a young man who made a Faustian pact that allowed him to keep his youth and live a decadent  life; only the painting would grow old and show the effects of his corruption.

          Wilde was a great essayist and social commentator. In this, he was also ahead of his time, revealing the deep influence of Taoist philosophy in his work.

          Then, one day, Oscar made the tragic mistake of defending himself in court against an accusation relating to his homosexuality.    

          He discovered that he was bisexual later on in life; he had married Constance and they'd had two children. 

          He lost the court case and ended up again in court, this time not as plaintiff, but as defendant.

          Oscar lost the case and was sent to jail to do hard labour for two years. The experience broke his spirit and made him ill. He contracted an untreated infection to his ear-drum in prison which eventually led to meningitis.

          The British public promptly forgot him.  When he was being transferred from a very harsh prison (Pentonville) to Reading Gaol (jail) in London, the people on the railway station platform jeered and spat at him.  That unexpected incident was heart-breaking for him.

          Wilde wrote of his experience of hearing child prisoners crying.  22 children were imprisoned in Reading, including a seven-year-old, sentenced to one month’s imprisonment for setting fire to a hay stack, an 11-year-old who stole a paintbrush, and a 10-year-old who killed a duck. Wilde wanted to commit suicide but the prisoners helped him to stay alive. Indeed, he wrote a famous poem for one of them who was hanged for murder, The Ballad of Reading Gaol.

          After prison, he changed his name, left England and went to France.

(PART TWO NEXT WEEK)

LXXI

dream of the memories

memories of the dream

life

LXXII

(for jj)

in flight with the seagulls

on wheels at the seaside

the baby

LXXIII

the abandon of childhood

in the silence of the night

a playground

FRIDAY FEELINGS

Notes from planet Earth.

Some more nouns from the ET's logbook...

LXVII

a year in the freezer

a month in the crate

pink lady

LXVIII

disbelief in her eyes

acceptance in her bow

the cow

LXIX

the death-count of children

after the news

sports

And the days are not  long enough,

And the nights are not long enough,

And life slips by like a fieldmouse,

Not shaking the grass.

These poignant lines by Ezra Pound will resonate with all of us, young and not so young. 

When we say, "I'm running out of time", what does that mean?  One gets the feeling that I am actually doing the running.  

When we say "I'm running out of energy," or out of money, or out of space, etc. we also subconsciously assume that we are doing the running. 

Let's turn the object into the subject.  

Time is running out.  Money is running out.  Energy is running out.  Space is running out.  It's not the most popular way of expressing the idea  but it's less stress-inducing.

Let time run.  

Let time slip by.

Instead of being swept along with it, let us sit back and watch.

The irony is that time slows down when you sit back and decide that the days are, indeed, long enough. Scarcity eventually gives way to abundance.

The blade of grass comes to life.

Life comes to life.

Welcome to my weekly blog,  SATURDAY SESSIONS!

In this blog, for the perusal of all our students, past, present and future, I include an extract from our interactive presentation Course, Ireland and its Culture.

If you wish to ask me any question about the text, by the way, just send me an e-mail at greg@bluefeather.ie

IRISH LITERATURE IN ENGLISH

PART TWO

PRE- TWENTIETH CENTURY SELECTION

JONATHAN SWIFT (1667-1745):

This great writer was Dean of St Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin and wrote some classical satires such as Gulliver’s Travels and A Modest Proposal.  In the latter, he suggested that the children of the poor Irish should be fattened to provide food for the rich English:

"I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed is, at a year old, a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout."

Gulliver’s Travels is often seen as a children’s book, particularly Gulliver's voyages to Lilliput -where all the inhabitants are thumb-sized - and Brobdingnag, the land of the giants.

The book is, in fact, a wonderfully written satire.

Swift himself reminded us what satire was:

'Satire is a sort of glass, wherein beholders do generally discover everybody's face but their own.'

Even though it was written in the 18th Century, it is still easy enough to read and like all the best books, it doesn't age and is still very funny!

Here are some more quotes from Swift:

"Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed."

"Laws are like cobwebs, which may catch small flies, but let wasps and hornets break through."

"We have enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another."

"The best doctors in the world are Doctor Diet, Doctor Quiet and Doctor Merryman."

"May you live all the days of your life!"

          

An introduction to Irish Writing in English

PRE- TWENTIETH CENTURY SELECTION

LAURENCE STERNE (1713 – 1768): 

Laurence Sterne was born in Clonmel, Co. Tipperary. 

He was a Protestant pastor. 

Just as Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe was the first great novel in England (1719), Laurence Sterne’s novel Tristram Shandy (1759) could be described as the first great novel in Ireland.

This novel (or anti-novel!) is full of jokes, has no plot (the preface is in volume three!), it doesn't follow the normal time-line of a novel and it's about...nothing at all! 

It can be said to be a reflection of the chaos and absurdity of life itself. It's full of red herrings and non sequiturs.  Before Tristram is even born, the reader has already gone through one third of the book! (It's supposed to be about his life!) 

Influenced by Rabelais, Sterne was greatly admired by  Voltaire and Goethe, who praised him highly for his work.

Is it a novel? Well, yes, sort of, (because it's not a real biography), but there's no story. It is full of novel ideas and madcap literary acrobatics, e.g. when Sterne wants to describe the flourish of his uncle’s walking-stick, what does he do? Does he look up his dictionary or thesaurus to select from a variety of descriptive adjectives? No!  He draws a squiggle on the page!

When an uncle dies, the following page is black, completely black and wordless!  The 'hero' of the novel, Tristram Shandy, is a scatterbrain who can't organize his thoughts and who gets easily distracted.

The book has no beginning and no end. It is certainly the craziest novel in English of the 18th century and probably one of the craziest of all times!  It's mad - but it's wonderful!  When asked about it, Sterne would say, 'It's like life itself!'

Although the book was dismissed at first in England because of its bawdy humour, it is still read with great interest and pleasure three hundred years later. Twentieth century writers like Joyce and Beckett were influenced by it and loved it for its madness and creative genius.

From the ET's Logbook:

Forty years ago Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 left Earth to explore the planets.                                            Voyager 1 has already left our Solar System and has lost contact with us.                                              

Five billion years from now, when the Sun will have expanded and swallowed up the Earth, Voyager 1 will still be travelling through space at a speed of at least 50,000 km per hour.                                                           

It carries with it the Golden Record (a metallic LP) which, among other things, includes greetings in languages from all over the world and a sample of Earth's music.                                                   

It was an amazing achievement, considering that you have more technology in the key-fob in your pocket today than they had in 1977.

Thanks to the astronomer, Carl Sagan, Voyager 1 was programmed to turn its camera around one last time to take a picture.  The astrophysicist who first saw the dark print of the photo with some bands of sunbeams in it, noticed what she thought was a speck of dust. She impulsively wanted to brush it off with her hand but suddenly realised it was Earth, five billion kilometers away!

As the scientists like to say, Think about that for a while!

The 3-minute video below of Carl's commentary on the speck of dust is always worth watching!

Pale Blue Dot

"Only when you are still inside do you have access to the realm of stillness that rocks, plants, and animals inhabit.....

"Nature exists in the innocent stillness that is prior to the arising of thought. The tree, the flower, the bird, the rock, are unaware of their own beauty and sacredness...

"Nature can bring you to stillness. That is its gift to you...

"When you perceive and join with nature in the field of stillness, that field becomes permeated with your awareness. That is your gift to nature...

"Through you, nature becomes aware of itself. Nature has been waiting for you, as it were, for millions of years."

Eckhart Tolle, Stillness Speaks

Welcome to my weekly blog,  SATURDAY SESSIONS!

In this blog, for the perusal of all our students, past, present and future, I include an extract from our interactive presentation Course, Ireland and its Culture.

If you wish to ask me any question about the text, by the way, just send me an e-mail at greg@bluefeather.ie

POWERSCOURT GARDENS in County Wicklow, 'The Garden of Ireland'

The 2km-long avenue to Powersourt is lined with beech trees, hundreds of years old. On the right as you enter, you see the magnificent Powerscourt golf course.

Powerscourt was a Norman-Irish castle dating back to the 13th century and was reconstructed in 1741. (Stanley Kubrik's Barry Lyndon was filmed there.  Great film! An Irish rogue wins the heart of a rich widow and assumes her dead husband's aristocratic position in 18th century England.)

Today, the big house hosts a variety of quality shops and restaurants. The location - with a superb view of the Sugarloaf Mountain - and the design of the buildings and delightful gardens is irresistible for photographers.

Powerscourt Gardens were recently voted by the National Geographic as the third most beautiful gardens in the world, after Versailles in Paris and Kew Gardens in the south of England! 

To walk around the Italian and Japanese gardens on a sunny day and enjoy the splendour of the huge variety of trees is a great pleasure. There is also a Pet Cemetery.

The Waterfall nearby, the highest in Ireland at 121 metres, is a lovely spot for  a picnic.

LXIV

at the table

consumer and consumed

sunlight

LXV

the treasure-hunt

the treasure in the hunt

the treasure-hunt

LXVI

rush hour

rhe trees at the roadside

serenity

THE FAIRIES, PART 4

Welcome to my weekly blog,  SATURDAY SESSIONS!

In this blog, for the perusal of all our students, past, present and future, I include an extract from our interactive presentation Course, Ireland and its Culture.

If you wish to ask me any question about the text, by the way, just send me an e-mail at greg@bluefeather.ie

THE FAIRIES, PART 4

This is the final part of SATURDAY SESSIONS' introduction to the fairies in Ireland.

The following three fairies are notorious. The first two are amongst the nastiest individuals you are likely to come across if you find yourself walking the roads of Ireland after sunset.

Should you wish to avoid a confrontation with these unhappy creatures, our advice to you is the same in all three cases:                                           Do not be afraid.

THE SHEERIE

These fairies are often described as the creepiest of all. They appear around twilight as a floating glimmer of light. Some say they are the souls of dead babies trying to return to the mortal world.                                         

The sheerie (singular and plural) are hostile to humans and are only happy when they can cause misfortune.                                                            

There are water sheerie and land sheerie. One may find the land sheerie in fairy raths and they are very active around Bealtaine (30th April) or Samhain (31st October).                                                                         

They are about the size of a day-old baby, with a baby face. They don't speak but instead, they emit a high-pitched shrill. They carry a lantern or a branch that seems to be burning at one end. Some sceptics say that it's only marsh gas but others argue that marsh gas doesn't flit about like that.

Sheerie lure people to their death in dangerous countryside or bog-holes. They do this by pretending to be a welcoming light in the dark bog.

The land sheerie flit about and confuse travellers, forcing them to run backwards and forwards until they become irrational and lose their self-control. It is always a good idea to sit on the road, at this point, and turn your jacket or pullover inside out to regain your composure.                                                 

They can also appear as a little goblin with a long, grey beard, holding a straw, lit like a candle. These goblins pretend to welcome travellers by showing them the way or leading them to a place where money is hidden. Just ignore them and they will go away!

THE DULLAHAN

The Dullahan is a headless horseman who carries his glowing head (the colour of mouldy cheese) in his right hand or on the saddle-brow of his black horse. His whip is a human spine. The face of the head he is holding grins from ear to ear. The small, dark eyes swivel about mischievously.

Wherever the Dullahan stops, a human dies.                            

The head can see across vast distances, even at night. By just looking at him, you could be blinded in one eye. The horse emits sparks from its fiery nostrils. In some parts of the country, the Dullahan drives a coach with six of these black horses.                                                            

The disembodied head has a limited power of speech; when the rider stops, it calls out the name of the person who is about to die.                                The best way to scare them off is, yes, you guessed it, have no fear.                                                        

MERROWS

Merrows are the Irish equivalent of mermaids but the only difference in Ireland between them and humans is that merrows have very flat feet and webbed fingers. They are amphibious.                                             

The males are rare and not very handsome-looking, but merrows are all very beautiful and are attracted to humans, even though they may not actually like them.                                                                                           

Fishermen in Kerry will turn back to port if they see a merrow on a rock. They don't trust them. There's one who sits combing her hair on  a rocky island in the Shannon estuary, for example. Anyone who sees her dies within a year.

Having said that, the O'Flahertys, the O'Sullivans and the MacNamaras all claim to be descended from a union with merrows.   

If you find a merrow cap or cloak, the merrow cannot return to sea until she retrieves them so there are many stories of bargains between people and merrows in relation to the return of their belongings.

Merrows are wealthy. Their fortunes are normally acquired from shipwrecks. They also tend to be great cooks.

But they are cold and aloof.  They rarely laugh. And sadly, merrows show little or no affection for their husbands and children. The lure of the sea often draws them back home, so they can abandon their families in an instant.