darnaguen | Entries tagged with 1916

Rougher than Death the road I choose
Yet shall my feet not walk astray,
Though dark, my way I shall not lose
For this way is the darkest way.

Set but a limit to the loss
And something shall at last abide
The blood-stained beams that form the cross
The thorns that crown the crucified;

But who shall lose all things in One,
Shut out from heaven and the pit
Shall lose the darkness and the sun
The finite and the infinite;

And who shall see in one small flower
The chariots and the thrones of might
Shall be in peril from that hour
Of blindness and the endless night;

And who shall hear in one short name
Apocalyptic thunders seven
His heart shall flicker like a flame
Twixt hell’s gates and the gates of heaven.

For I have seen your body’s grace,
The miracle of the flowering rod,
And in the beauty of your face,
The glory of the face of God,

And I have heard the thunderous roll
Clamour from heights of prophecy
Your splendid name, and from my soul
Uprose the clouds of minstrelsy.

Now I have chosen in the dark
The desolate way to walk alone
Yet strive to keep alive one spark
Of your known grace and grace unknown.

And when I leave you lest my love
Should seal your spirit’s ark with clay,
Spread your bright wings, O shining dove,—
But my way is the darkest way.

-Joseph Mary Plunkett, April 1916

Current Mood: pensive
Current Music: Green Man - Óró, Sé Do Bheatha 'Bhaile | Powered by Last.fm

Went to see Once yesterday with my mom (yeah, it only came two bloody years late to Finland *rolls eyes*).
Quite a lovely little film, reminded me a lot of my beloved Before Sunrise, with a guy and a girl from two different cultures meeting randomly in a European capital and deciding to spend some time together and maybe falling in love in process.
Only instead of ten hours these two had a week and they spent it making music together in Dublin instead of just talking about anything and everything while wandering around Vienna like Jesse and Céline did.

Now I have Falling Slowly (which quite rightfully won an Oscar, even though it may not at first seem like a song that would) stuck in my head and am "homesick" for Dublin more than ever. It was fun seeing all those familiar places: the HMV on the Grafton Street where the nice salesgirl basically insisted we made use of the discount, St. Stephen's Green, the O'Connell Bridge... *sigh*
It will be probably a while before I can return, as our original plan to spend a weekend in Dublin in September with mom won't most likely work because it's very possible that me and Ella will be moving in together in September (which, on the other hand: yay!). Surprisingly enough she (my mom) did suggest that we'd go to Dublin in next April circa 24th so I can go lay flowers in front of the GPO. *smiles* I'd also like to visit the Arbour Hill and the Glasnevin Cemetery if we only have time.
I've also been thinking about maybe celebrating my 22nd birthday in Ireland. Halloween in Dublin could be an interesting experience. :D But we'll see...

Hmm. Okay. Forget Falling Slowly and instead go and have a listen of this.
That film was full of gorgeous music, but If You Want Me really stands out. <3

By the way, I had the strangest dream the other night. I somehow crossed paths again with my old junior high school crush and he ended up confessing he has loved me since those days almost ten years ago, and then we were kissing, which was nice, but even in that dream I was constantly thinking: "Okay, WTH is going on?". *chuckle*
In another part of the dream there also was this huge gorgeous butterfly in all the glimmering colors of the rainbow, which I think was supposed to symbolize something. Any thoughts on that? What are butterflies usually supposed to symbolize in dreams?

Current Mood: nostalgic
Current Music: Marketa Irglóva & Glen Hansard - If You Want Me

Ugh. My feet hurt and I'm bloody exhausted.

But I guess that's what you get for jumping and dancing like crazy for some three hours in a row and then going to work where you spend five hours in a row on your feet. And only sleeping like 2,5 hours in between.

Jumping and dancing was due to a Flogging Molly gig at Tavastia last night, and boy, let no one ever say the Irish can't throw a hella good party. If after a gig you're covered in sweat, Guinness and cranberry lonkero, your feet are sore and you have an ecstatic grin on your face, it's never a bad sign. :D
There is no doubt whatsoever that the Mollies live up to their reputation as an excellent live band. I don't think I've ever seen a Finnish audience go crazy like that, and in a good way. Dave King (the lead-man) said as much, something along the lines that he didn't think there can be a people as crazy as the Irish until he was introduced to the Finnish audiences. :D
It's that spiritual kinship again I guess, as the Irish are in a way like our rowdier, more lively cousins. Good thing, then, that they obviously like to play here. Because when Flogging Molly's in the house, the Finns momentarily lose their sullen cool and become a bit more lively and rowdy too, in the best way possible.

I wish we'd had time to grab a drink or two in Molly Malone's because I'm sure the atmosphere would have been amazing and perhaps even some of the band members would have showed up (although there was no lack of seeing them at Tavastia either, the guys casually walked around mingling with the crowd after the gig) as they have another Tavastia show tonight. But well, there are night buses to catch and work to do. *sigh*

( Pseudo-philosophical and possibly somewhat incoherent ponderings on ethics, history etc. )

But guess I should end my incoherent ramblings now and go get some sleep. G'night, kittens.

Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Flogging Molly - What's Left Of The Flag

Right. I have been writing this entry for over two weeks now, so I guess it's high time to get it posted already.
I wanted to post this yesterday alongside some other Ireland-related ponderings, but life decided to intervene. The said other ponderings will have to wait, then.
You can expect them soon, though, but first things first. A warning, though: the following account of our adventures between 6th and 7th of April in Ireland is long. "Like, Tolstoy long" to quote Agent Michael Vaugh from Alias. Try to bear with me, aye?

( The Irish Experience pt. II )

Current Mood: nostalgic
Current Music: Christy Moore - Ride On

I've really started to wonder why songs about the 1916 Easter Rising in Ireland are always making me cry. Sure, The Foggy Dew and Down By the Glenside are beautiful and touching tunes, but still...

I do not generally support bloodshed, even if it was in the name of liberty.
Nor am I a Republican or a nationalist of any kind. If I hear songs or tales about the Finnish War of Independence (or alternatively, Civil War or The Great Mindless Bloodbath), I'm mostly thinking something like "Bloody stupid idiots" or "I'm supposed to care?". So I couldn't give a damn about Mannerheim & co., but if I hear a song about Pádraig Pearse and his Fenians, I'm bawling like a baby? Odd.

I should probably watch that The Wind That Shakes the Barley someday to get a better picture about that whole era and see if my opinion about the Irish War of Independence and the Civil War is really any different than my opinion of the Finnish ones. Somehow I doubt it. Bloody Sunday's (both of them, really) nothing to be proud of, after all. IRA be damned.

But... If you'll allow me to venture into the realm of mystical mumbo-jumbo again for a moment...
If I think about that dream-vision-thingy I've had for I don't even know how long, the one with the young woman standing on a moor by the stormy sea (in moonlight, no less), clearly mourning but also determined, I suppose the imagery fits the beginning of the 1900s... (But then again I've always thought it's somewhere in Western Ireland, maybe in Connacht or somewhere near Clare in Munster, judging by the steep cliffs.)
Ah well, who knows... Maybe some past incarnation of me did live in Ireland circa 1916, or maybe earlier. Maybe not at all and I'm just imagining things. But it would kinda explain a lot.

Or maybe it's just the magic of the Irish music, as those people can sing about anything and make it the most heart-wrenching song ever. But strangely enough it's still this verse of The Foggy Dew that usually makes me cry the most:

"Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go, that "small nations might be free";
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew."

And these as well:

"Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year.
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew.

As back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more.
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew."

As I said: odd. *shakes head and wipes tears*

Current Mood: thoughtful
Current Music: Jenny Holohan - The Foggy Dew

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
					1	2
3	4	5	6	7	8	9
10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23
24	25	26	27	28	29	30

The Howling

I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself.

Entries tagged with 1916

The Dark Way

The Rocky Road To Dublin

Rebels of the Sacred Heart

"Come with me, I'll show you eternity..."

Glory O, Glory O to the bold Fenian men?

Profile

November 2013

Syndicate

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags