Monday, March 17, 2014

Yeats, the Gaol, and Thin Lizzy: Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I write it out in a verse—
MacDonagh and MacBride  
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:  
A terrible beauty is born.


These words from Yeats's masterful poem "Easter, 1916" rumbled through my head last month when I visited Dublin, and Kilmainham Gaol, because of the strange beauty of its architecture.

The gaol was a place of unmitigated suffering from its opening in 1796 through to the
famine year 1845–1852, when the poor were truly incarcerated for stealing bread, to the early 20th century when the leaders and followers of the 1916 uprising—fourteen at least— were shot by firing squad on the grounds.

Here's the thing about being an American visiting Ireland: We were a colony of England, and when that no longer felt tenable, we had a Revolution. It was bloody, and lasted 8 long years, April 19, 1775  until the surrender at Yorktown, September 3, 1783. Then it was over and we were free of British Crown Rule.

The Irish tried the same, and ended up with 800 years of bloodshed, and a third of their country still under the crown. Such different fates for two countries with the same goals.

We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English. Winston Churchill

Since the Good Friday Agreement, signed 10 April 1998, sanity returned to the two isles, and the daily/monthly killing of the 1970s was finally over. Economic prosperity has come and gone in the Celtic Tiger and the banking collapses.

Dubin Today: Irish Is Spoken & the English Like to Visit
What struck me most last month were the cultural things. For instance, the amazing resurrection of Irish, the Gaelic language.  The English language is so associated with Ireland through the brilliance of Joyce, Yeats, Shaw, Cavanaugh, etc., that it's easy to forget that it is the language of the conqueror. Forty years ago or so Ireland made a conscious effort to revive their native language. Today: official signs are in Irish first, then English; there are Irish language soap operas, sports shows, and talk shows, as well as columns in print and online; and you hear the Elven-sounding language spoken casually on cell phones.

I was also suprised how many young English guys and girls were visiting. At the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival, at the dinner/show with traditional Irish music, there were lots of and lots of Englishmen. One couple was on their honeymoon. Seems that the progeny of the conquerors are lucky to be able to enjoy the extensive charms of the vanquished, who were never entirely done in.

And in fact, are the coolest, quirkiest bunch of people on the planet. Case in point: outside of my hotel was a statue of Phil Lynott, late of Thin Lizzy, Ireland's first great rock band to go international. He was born in England to an Afro-Guyanese father and an Irish mother, and went to live with an uncle in Dublin when he was 4. Friends said that he insisted on being called Irish and wiki lists his "origin" as Ireland. Below a smoking performance of "Whiskey in the Jar."


Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Daoibh






              

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Ash Wednesday at the 2013 Venice Biennale


I am not much of a photographer, and my mind thinks in words before images. But these pictures I took at the 55the Venice Biennale have stuck with me. Sculptor Pawel Althamer installed Venetians (2013), life size sculptures of local Venetians, casting their faces and hands in plaster before joining them to bodies composed of extruded ribbons of gray plastic. Althamer: "It is a major achievement to realize that the body is only a vehicle for the soul."






Josef Koudelka's work in the historic first ever pavilion from the Vatican (Holy See). A look at the the decay of man's world. I get an Ozymandias vibe from the hand.








Mia Xiaochun of the People's Republic of China work The Last Judgment of Cypberspace is a virtual, digitzed version of Michelangelo's The Last Judgment. Xiaochun has replaced the 400 individual images of people in Michelandelo's with one cyber person.



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"Thank God Christmas is over. I prefer Ash Wednesday." Waugh & T.S.Eliot



 "Thank God Christmas is over. I prefer Ash Wednesday."
So wrote the fevered Catholic convert, Evelyn Waugh, commenting on his children’s impertinence. A glib remark from a man who lived a privileged life.

The photo here is from my visit to Kilmainham Gaol, Dublin. The stark cross is on the spot where 15 participants of the 1916 Easter Uprising were shot dead by firing squad, including all seven signatories of the Proclamation.

The exasperation of a pampered writer or a reminder of the tragic fate of a band of revolutionaries,  one can appreciate the austerity of Ash Wednesday, a time to think about the endgame, when our vessels of bodies will be returned to the earth.

The words that hang over the day are from the 1662 version of the Book of Common Prayer: while the earth shall be cast upon the body by some standing by, the priest shall say,

"Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ."

Based on: “For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.” — Gen 3:19

And Then There's T.S.Eliot
I get called to jury duty every three to four years like clockwork. One time I was even sequestered on a jury. That’s a tale for another time.

A few years ago I was in a different room than my usual at 110 Centre street. This room had a white marker board behind the officers’ desk. On it were written quotes meant to be funny to those hanging out in the jury pool:

“They also serve who only stand and wait”

I recognized that quote. It's Churchill by way of Milton “When I consider how my light is spent”

and

“Teach us to care and not to care, Teach us to sit still”

Hmm. I didn’t recognize that quote. It really bothered me.

It happened to be Ash Wednesday. At the lunch break I made my way over to St. Andrew’s, the Catholic church near 1 Police Plaza.

Where, to my complete amazement, in the middle of the sermon, I hear the priest say “Teach us to care and not to care, Teach us to sit still”

And then go on to explicate some of the T.S.Eliot poem it is from, "Ash Wednesday."

WHAT ARE THE ODDS?

That the homily would reference this quote on the day I saw it? And that somehow I had missed studying that poem in a fairly rigorous English lit education.

Sometimes the universe gives you what you need. I wanted to know where that line was from, and through no effort of my own, the universe tossed me the reference. I think of this every year on Ash Wednesday, that are lives are connected in many wonderful and amazing ways.

An excerpt from the last section of Eliot’s very ample poem meditation on Ash Wednesday, which he wrote after his conversion to Anglicanism.

VI
Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn

snip

Blessèd sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.


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Tuesday, February 11, 2014

The Rocky Road to Dublin




Not really rocky--I just love the song, here with the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem-- although Thursday's maybe huge storm is sending me out a day earlier than planned. I'm going to capital of Eire, for you crossword fans, for President's Day Weekend to sing a service at St. Patrick's Cathedral, founded in 1191. Whoa.

Unlike New York, this cathedral, named for the uber Catholic patron saint of an uber Catholic country in its capital, is Protestant (to Americans), Church of England, there called Church of Ireland, summing up the whole difficult history of that Emerald Isle beside the Scepter'd Isle. I love that the wikipedia page for the cathedral lists "previous denomination" as Roman Catholic, because of course it started as a Roman Catholic Cathedral, until the Reformation. OMG, such a succinct description of centuries of bloodshed.

From Wiki
After the English Reformation (an uneven process between 1536 and 1564 but at St. Patrick's, effective from about 1537), St. Patrick's became an Anglican Church of Ireland Cathedral, although most of the population of the surrounding Pale remained Roman Catholic. During the confiscation process, some images within the cathedral were defaced by soldiers under Thomas Cromwell, and neglect led to collapse of the nave in 1544.

 Jonathon Swift was the dean of St. Patrick's from 1713 to 1745, which is why in my very first visit to Ireland while studying in Southampton, England, I made a literary pilgrimage there.

The other big, medieval cathedral, down the Dublin block is Christ Church . It is also "previous denomination" Roman Catholic, but actually Protestant/Church of England/Ireland for the rest of Europe. Even more interesting, for those who follow such things, is that technically, Christ Church is the cathedral that the Vatican recognizes as the rightful seat of the Roman Catholic archbishop. But he's over in St Mary's,  known as a "pro-cathedral"in acknowledgement of the former statement.

Welcome to Irish/English history. Is it a wonder that Queen Elizabeth II made the supreme effort to visit while she could, and put some sense into this difficult past. The Penal Laws and the Troubles are not to be taken lightly, but the world has moved on.

I'm singing in a service in St. Patrick's because of a wonderful community that Ghislaine Morgan has formed.  She is a professional soprano who runs a week-long choral workshop in Sintra, Portugal, which I attended. And she has devoted students who run reunions in their own cities, like Berlin and Bologna. It's much easier for the Europeans to go to a weekend reunion than the isolated Americans, but when I heard it was Dublin, and on a 3-day weekend, I signed up.

St. Valentine's Day
And, as fate would have it, I will be in  ancestor's land on February 14. It feels like a cosmic Celtic embrace of the the land of my forefathers.

I had read that the relics of the actual martyred St. Valentinus were given to an Irish Carmelite priest in the 19th century, and he interred them at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel.

They are brought to the high altar on the feast day. I thought it would be interesting to see, if it wasn't too far out of my way. Turns out the church is literally between my hotel and St. Patrick's Cathedral, by complete chance. Lots of background about how the saint ended up in Dublin here.

 I don't know how much sightseeing I will get in in between jet lag, rehearsals, and the reunion activities. But I'll be tweeting from the Old Country. You can follow along here
https://twitter.com/MaPeel

The lyrics to the great "Rocky Road to Dublin"

In the merry month of June, From me home I started,
Left the girls of Toom, Nearly broken hearted,
Saluted father dear, Kissed my darlin' mother,
Drank a pint of beer, My grief and tears to smother,
Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,
with a stout blackthorn, To banish ghost and goblin,
In a brand new pair of brogues, I rattled o'er the bogs,
And frightened all the dogs, On the rocky road to Dublin.

One, two, three, four five,
Hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky road
And all the ways to Dublin,
Whack-fol-lol-de-ra.

In Mullingar that night, I rested limbs so weary,
Started by daylight, My spirts light and airy,
Took a drop of the pure, To keep my heart from sinkin',
That's the paddie's cure, Whene'er he's on for drinking.
To see the lasses smile, Laughing all the while,
At my curious style, 'Twould set your heart a-bubblin'.
They ax'd if I was hired, The wages I required,
Till I was nearly tired, Of the rocky road to Dublin.

In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity,
To be so soon deprived, A view of that fine city.
Then I took a stroll, All among the quality,
Bundle it was stole, In a neat locality;
Something crossed my mind, Then I looked behind;
No bundle could I find, Upon my stick a wobblin'.
Enquirin' for the rogue, They said my Connacht brogue,
Wasn't much in vogue, On the rocky road to Dublin.

One, two, three, four five,
Hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky road
And all the ways to Dublin,
Whack-fol-lol-de-ra.

From there I got away, My spirits never failin'
Landed on the quay As the ship was sailin';
Captain at me roared, Said that no room had he,
When I jumped aboard, A cabin found for Paddy,
Down among the pigs I played some funny rigs,
Danced some hearty jigs, The water round me bubblin',
When off Holyhead, I wished myself was dead,
Or better far instead, On the rocky road to Dublin.

One, two, three, four five,
Hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky road
And all the ways to Dublin,
Whack-fol-lol-de-ra.

The boys of Liverpool, When we safely landed,
Called myself a fool; I could no longer stand it;
Blood began to boil, Temper I was losin',
Poor ould Erin's isle They began abusin',
Hurrah my soul, sez I, My shillelagh I let fly;
Some Galway boys were by, Saw I was a hobble in,
Then with a loud hurray, They joined in the affray.
We quickly cleared the way, For the rocky road to Dublin.

One, two, three, four five,
Hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky road
And all the ways to Dublin,
Whack-fol-lol-de-ra.
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Sunday, February 9, 2014

"In my life, I love you more" Paul McCartney to John Lennon


The Beatles were not the band of my youth. I didn't know about them until the midseventies, after they had broken up. And I didn't have a epiphany when I did learn about them. That came much later.

I know exactly where I was when I heard John Lennon was murdered. But the shock didn't have that extra personal depth that fans feel when someone they feel attached to dies.

But I'm excited about the 50th anniversary of the Beatles first appearance on Ed Sullivan today because my late-in-life Beatles love came when working on an exhibit at the Paley Center of photographs from the group's beginnings in Liverpool. And that fired my imagination. How Johh, Paul, and George found each other as teens, and completed themselves later with Ringo, and went on to change the world in all the ways people have been talking about since then. Theirs was a positive energy filled with love and yearning amidst the bloodless revolution they were creating.

The talent of Lennon and McCartney is one of the great phenomenons of all time and their relationship one of the great love stories of the 20th century.

In My Life
This first video is from the Anthology documentary series that Paul, George, and Ringo, along with Yoko Ono for John, did in 1995 so that they could tell their own story. The opening montage to "In My Life" tells you everything you need to know about them.



"Some for ever, not for better" dissolves from John in Germany at the very beginning, to John on the Let It Be rooftop, the last time the Beatles played together. Having the "not for better" lyric over that Rooftop image is a pretty strong editorial judgment: Paul didn't like what John had become.

Then later is a dissolve from Paul to  John: "In my life,  I love you more." And there you have it.


Revolution: But When You Talk About Destruction You Can Count Me Out




Across the Universe: Sounds of Laughter Shades of Life




(top photo: AP via Daily News
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Saturday, January 25, 2014

"Gin a body meet a body" Happy Birthday Robert Burns



The great Scot poet Robert Burns is not exactly a household name in the 21st century, outside of the yearly St. Andrew society dinners around the world. He did get a Google doodle a few years ago that called out his poem, "My Luve is like a red, red rose/That's newly sprung in June."

He will never be entirely forgotten, because one of his poems-—better known with its raunchy lyrics cleaned up for a children's song—is tied to one of the most famous novels of the 20th century:

"You know that song 'If a body catch a body comin' through the rye'? I'd like — "
"It's 'If a body meet a body coming through the rye'!" old Phoebe said. "It's a poem. By Robert Burns."
"I know it's a poem by Robert Burns."
She was right, though. It is "If a body meet a body coming through the rye." I didn't know it then, though.
"I thought it was 'If a body catch a body,'" I said."
 Holden Caufield in Catcher in the Rye
The same song that inspired JD Salinger and his character has been recorded many times. These are all must-listens.

Karen Carpenter & John Denver
The Carpenters Very First Television Special was on December 8, 1976. It has the most extraordinary medley of Comin' thro the Rye with the Beach Boys's Good Vibrations. Surely one of the strangest medleys in pop music history, but it works musically and a true duet for these two consummate singers. A real treat.




Ava Gardner in Mogambo
I prefer the 1932 Red Dust, but its 1953 remake with Grace Kelley and Ava Gardner vying for the love of Clark Gable has the distinction of Ava singing Comin' thro' the Rye, "a bit of home."




Marian Anderson
Her 1944 version on The Bell Telephone Radio show is exquisite. The announcer raises the whole "is rye a field of wheat or a river" issue.  Before The Catcher in the Rye, people thought the rye was a river, probably based on the first stanza of the underlying poem

O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body,
  Jenny's seldom dry:
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
  Comin thro' the rye!

that Jenny is wet from wading across a small Rye river, dragging her petticoat,  to meet her lover. Later pundits dispute this, maybe influenced by Salinger.  I think the strongest argument that Burns did not intend a river is that he did not capitalize it, and he was a stickler for his punctuation.

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Wednesday, January 1, 2014

"RING OUT WILD BELLS": Peter O'Toole Got It


I haven't seen How to Steal a Million in forever, but when I did as a kid I remember Peter O'Toole exuberantly shouting "Ring Out Wild Bells" at the end when the alarms are all going off all over the place. He said it with such conviction, like he really knew what it meant beyond a line of dialogue in a movie. I remember my mom saying that it was Tennyson, which I filed away until college, when I looked it up.

When O'Toole died I was surprised there is no clip of the scene on YouTube, but someone posted

When I'm feeling blue this is one of my go to movies for comfort!! "Ring out wild bells!!"

on FlickChick's FB page, so I'm not the only one it made an impression on.

The line is from Lord Tennyson's long elegiac poem In Memoriam, written over 17 years to cope with the sudden death of Arthur Henry Hallam, who was his sister's fiancé, at age 22.

It's most famous lines are

    'Tis better to have loved and lost
    Than never to have loved at all.

But it has the most glorious of New Year's lines,

    The year is dying in the night;
    Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Real European church bells are a force of nature. They are like nothing I ever heard of in my suburban upbringing.  The first bells I heard where at Solesmes, in France, where I met Cadfael. I could not get over the magnitude of their glorious sound, the depth of feeling they can summon.

Tradition says that Tennyson's lines came upon hearing the bells at the Abbey Church of Waltham Holy Cross and St. Lawrence. It's a church with many distinctions, including being an 11th century pilgrimage site; having Thomas Tallis as the organist in the 16th century; and being the last of the Catholic monasteries to be closed or "dissolved" by Henry VIII during the Reformation.

RING OUT WILD BELLS. HAPPY NEW YEAR!
 Listen to the amazing bells from Waltham that someone kindly filmed:




    Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
    The flying cloud, the frosty light
    The year is dying in the night;
    Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

    Ring out the old, ring in the new,
    Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
    The year is going, let him go;
    Ring out the false, ring in the true.

    Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
    For those that here we see no more,
    Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
    Ring in redress to all mankind.


    Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
    The faithless coldness of the times;
    Ring out, ring out thy mournful rhymes,
    But ring the fuller minstrel in.

    Ring out false pride in place and blood,
    The civic slander and the spite;
    Ring in the love of truth and right,
    Ring in the common love of good.

    Ring in the valiant man and free,
    The larger heart the kindlier hand;
    Ring out the darkness of the land,
    Ring in the Christ that is to be.

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