BEWARE OF THE RISING CELTIC PEOPLE

Ireland's Spirit, evolved from both Greek mythology of the Rising Phoenix on the ashes and the Easter Resurrection from the tomb, combined into our own. The words Rising and Phoenix, have highly significant Spiritual essence for the Irish, which can only be experienced, as once again it is happening in Ireland, at this present time. It is an experience, that is physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual among the developing relationships of insurrection and protest, which are currently part of the bigger picture, of defining Ireland's future relationships within itself, Europe and the World.

The cataclysmic experience of a sudden shift, from the illusory Celtic Tiger, to a mafianomic austerity, has sparked this insurrection. Through the ensuing process of awareness, the opportunity exists for Ireland to release old undigested experiences, traumas, personal beliefs, outdated habits and patterns, to move into a more whole and united entity in everyday life, with a new perspective and national efficacy.

The responsibility of the enlightened worldwide, is to support the Irish people in solidarity, while moving in the direction, of a life worth living on the island, to a purpose driven, meaningful life experience, with less poverty stress and anxiety, in fulfilling their work and relationships. Core issues, both private and public, that hinder a new progressive way of fulfilling Irish life, will have to be confronted and addressed, in what is hopefully, a peaceful, intelligent, way forward. Help to empower Ireland in this direction, is needed from the benign, rather than the centuries old, malign interference. The influence of the Irish diaspora abroad, is critical in all of this, as the New Ireland evolves, one protest at a time.

The article below from Wikipedia, on the work of WB Yeats, is a record of this critical influence from English literature, in what became known as the Celtic revival. However the writer and revolutionary Padraig Pearse was the Gaelic element, that recognized, the important Spiritual aspect of the Irish revival, in reawakening the Soul of the Island. This was best captured in his expression, “Tír gan teanga, tír gan anam. A country without a language is a country without a soul.” Ireland's Soul certainly went to sleep around the tiger, it remains to be seen, just how far the "Risen People" will take it this time and how both reactionary domestic forces and foreign occupation forces, will mishandle it, this time.


Currently they are using their corporate media, to demonize the protest. Their history suggests, they will try to use provocateurs to create violence, with some sort of false flag operation, in places such as Limerick, to divide and discredit the protesters. They will attempt to introduce the terrorist narrative, to justify extra judicial activity. They will use tactics, similar to those used outside the British Embassy in Ballsbridge some years ago, during the Hunger Strike. Lessons from that experience and mistakes made, are important factors in being prepared to anticipate any state, counter attacks and to be organized.

September 1913


From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia



This article is about the poem by W. B. Yeats. For the month in 1913, see September_1913_(month).


"September 1913" is a poem by W. B. Yeats. Perhaps one of his greatest works, September 1913 was written midway through his life as a highly reflective poem which is rooted within the turbulent past. Most notably, the poem provides insight into Yeats' detestation of the middle classes whilst also glorifying figures such as John O'Leary.


What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone;
For men were born to pray and save;
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry `Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.[1]


Contents

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1 Style
2 Key Themes and John O'Leary
3 The Hugh Lane Bequest
4 Dublin Lock-out
5 References

Style[edit]


Unlike some of his earlier work, this poem adopts a new tone and style which expresses a hatred for the CatholicBourgeoisie.[2] Yeats' new use of unpleasant adjectives such as 'greasy' is very much indicative of the tone, as he expresses that religion and the middle class are crafty and sly. Moreover, the use of the strong ABAB rhyme scheme maintains a spiteful and accusatory tone.
Key Themes and John O'Leary


The poem focuses on manifesting Yeats' new stance of belief exploring his new political mind and celebrating those, whom he believes worth of praise. Notably, in all four of the refrains, Yeats mentions John O'Leary, who was an Irish separatist 'of a different kind'. His political stance was much less self-interested, compared with many of Yeats' contemporaries, as he instead focused on getting the greatest good for Ireland. It is clear through the poem, Yeats admires this and wishes for a return to the less egotistical and self-driven politics of a bygone era. Yeats does, however, appear to question whether these great historical figures, whom he admired and previously emulated in the style of his earlier work, are comprehensive in their understanding of the world in which they lived.


"September 1913" functions also as an iconic example of Yeats's own fidelity to the literary tradition of the 19th British Romantic poets. A devoted reader of both William Blake andPercy Shelley, Yeats's repetition of the phrase "Romantic Ireland" connects the politically motivated ideals of the Romantics "to an Irish national landscape."[3] The fact that Yeats attaches a second repetition of "It's with O'Leary in the grave" indicates further the speaker's belief that John O'Learyembodied a nationalism in his political actions that now rests solely within the poem. Indeed, John O'Leary "directed Yeats not just to large-mindedness, but to a way of combining Romanticism with Irishness into an original synthesis."[4] In other words, O'Leary's influence on Yeats enables the poet to both inherit the literary legacy of the Romantics while carrying on the nationalistic vision of O'Leary. As a result, the romantic idealism found in Blake and Shelley is now transformed into a fundamentally Irish concept whereas Yeats's deep Irish heritage becomes Romantic in every sense of the word. "September 1913" thus illustrates that "Romantic Ireland is not dead after all; rather, it lives on in the remarkable voice uttering the poem, the voice of O'Leary's greatest disciple, fully of hybridity and passion at once."[5] In a matter of four stanzas, the poem's speaker manages to exist at the confluence of British Romanticism and Irish nationalism.


Ironically, Yeats's endorsement of the Romantic imagination in "September 1913" is also used to identify several of its flaws that are in need of his revision. Writing at the nexus of the Romantic and Irish traditions "enabled him to correct flaws not only of Shelley but also of Blake, who he thought should have been more rooted and less obscure."[6] Now that "Romantic Ireland's dead and gone," it can no longer express its will and thus requires Yeats poetic prowess to clarify Ireland's message. Speaking specifically about Irish leaders such as Edward Fitzgerald, Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone, Yeats describes them as brave yet a bit delirious, a classification that treats the poet as far more grounded in his politics than the Irish nationalists who died. Yeats channels the fervor of their idealism and struggle through his words by insisting that his own poem continues the nationalist project initiated by those who came before him. The speaker's voice thus becomes "the characteristic note of Yeats's great mature poetry."[7]
The Hugh Lane Bequest


Hugh Lane offered his collection of paintings to the Dublin Municipal Corporation. Public reaction was mostly negative on economic and moral grounds. In the end, as Yeats said "the mob" prevailed. In a note to this poem Yeats wrote that the pictures "works by Corot, Degas and Renoir - were compared to the Trojan Horse 'which destroyed a city'. They were dubbed 'indecent' and those who admired the painting were called 'self-seekers, self-advertisers, picture dealers, log-rolling cranks, and faddists'..."[8]
Dublin Lock-out


Yeats wrote this poem following the Dublin Lock-Out and The Hugh Lane Bequest. Robert Emmet, mentioned in the poem, planned for a revolution several times, unsuccessfully. When he was finally successful, he was said to try and stop everything mid-rebellion, because he witnessed a man being pulled from his horse and killed. Considering that Emmet had spent months previously manufacturing explosives and weapons, this sudden drawback at the sight of violence, suggests that he did not fully understand the implications of a revolution. Perhaps Yeats is acknowledging the naivety of some Irish Republican figures like Robert Emmet, and himself, following public violence as a result of attempts at revolution.


see:[9]
References
Jump up^http://www.eliteskills.com/analysis_poetry/September_1913_by_William_Butler_Yeats_analysis.php
Jump up^ http://voices.yahoo.com/analysis-yeats-poem-september-1913-4534097.html
Jump up^ George Bornstein, "Yeats and Romanticism," The Cambridge Companion to W.B. Yeats, 27. Edited by Marjorie Howes and John Kelly. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006.
Jump up^ George Bornstein, "Yeats and Romanticism," 27.
Jump up^ George Bornstein, "Yeats and Romanticism," 28.
Jump up^ George Bornstein, "Yeats and Romanticism," 27.
Jump up^ George Bornstein, "Yeats and Romanticism," 28.
Jump up^ Adele M dalsimer, "By the Irish Political Ballad, Colby Library Quarterly, 12,1 March 1976, p38)http://www.advertiser.ie/galway/article/1479
Jump up^ Dublin Lock-out


This article incorporates text from September 1913, by W. B. Yeats, a publication from 1913 now in the public domain in the United States.





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v
t
e


W. B. Yeats



Poetry





Volumes

The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems (1889)
The Countess Kathleen and Various Legends and Lyrics(1892)
In the Seven Woods (1903)
The Wild Swans at Coole (1919)
Michael Robartes and the Dancer (1921)
The Tower(1928)
The Winding Stair and Other Poems (1933)




Poems

"Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven"
"An Irish Airman Foresees His Death"
"Adam's Curse"
"Blood and the Moon"
"The Circus Animals' Desertion"
"Down by the Salley Gardens"
"A Drunken Man's Praise of Sobriety"
"Easter, 1916"
"Ego Dominus Tuus"
"In Memory of Eva Gore-Booth and Con Markiewicz"
"Lake Isle of Innisfree"
"On being asked for a War Poem"
"Politics"
"A Prayer for My Daughter"
"Remorse for Intemperate Speech"
"The Rose of Battle"
"The Rose-Tree"
"Sailing to Byzantium"
"September 1913
"Song of the Old Mother"
"The Scholars"
"The Second Coming"
"The Song of the Happy Shepherd"
"The Stolen Child"
"Swift's Epitaph"
"To the Rose upon the Rood of Time"
"The Tower"
"Under Ben Bulben
"The Wanderings of Oisin"
"The Wild Swans at Coole"




Plays

Mosada (1886)
The Land of Heart's Desire (1894)
Diarmuid and Grania (1901)
Cathleen ni Houlihan (1902)
The Countess Cathleen (1911)
At the Hawk's Well (1916)
The Resurrection (1927)
Purgatory (1938)



Other works

A Vision (1925)
The Curse of the Fires and of the Shadows



People

John Butler Yeats (father)
Susan Pollexfen (mother)
Jack Butler Yeats (brother)
Elizabeth Yeats (sister)
Lily Yeats(sister)
Maud Gonne (lover)
Georgie Hyde-Lees (wife)
Anne Yeats (daughter)
Michael Yeats (son)



Related

W. B. Yeats bibliography
An Appointment with Mr Yeats
"Troy"
Thoor Ballylee
Samhain magazine




Categories:
Poetry by W. B. Yeats

WHOREMASTERS Proddys Don't Join Roman Catholic IRA

According to a recent BBC report, many Protestants in east Belfast, now want to join the IRA. Because of BBC censorship, I can't show you's the video clip proof of it, so I will try to explain in this article. The first time I was in British Occupied Ireland, I went for a few pints with Paddy Barry to Iris Wilson's pub in Lawrencetown, which is outside the loyalist town of Banbridge. Paddy was the father of many, many children who had settled down there, after travelling the length and breath of Ireland, having married the daughter of Maggie Barry, who was Queen of the Gypsies. Paddy was the father of my first wife, who was as difficult a person as I am. He lived in a Caravan near the border, outside Crossmaglen with his wife Norah, her mother Maggie and their large family for many years. They fed themselves in hard times, smuggling a few pounds of butter, now and agin,(yes, I can spell) across the border. Ye see, the RUC men were too phukin lazy, to empty the creel of numerous sods of turf and put them back again. This is where the famous song, the Turfman from Ardee comes from. Unfortunately some phukwit has removed it from YouTube but this will give you a feel of the bould Maggie.



So, as is the custom in Ireland, with its bar culture and I being his new son-in-law, we got to chatting about the buffers around the place. He was an earnest man, which is a rare commodity these days in Ireland. He said, "Brian people have no nature in them anymore" words that have stuck with me, in the many years since. So I got to askin him, about his experiences traveling Ireland, in the days before the troubles, and I was particularly struck by one of his experiences.

You need to remember, that these were the days before contraceptives, where people could not afford to jump on the Belfast train, for the morning after pill, and people being human beings, did what every other species do and phuk like phuk. In Ireland with the added lubricant of drink, this happens on a phenomenal scale, altogether. In fact in my own case, I just had to throw my trousers into the bedroom and out popped a child nine months later. Mind you, this does not seem to have stopped in my own case, even after I put down the drink, with the result, that I am the proud father of 10 children, with 5 different mothers, all of them beautiful, healthy, children thanks to the Big Spirit albeit with very difficult women, as a lot of Irish women, Germans and Asians tend to be.

Anyway to get back to Paddy Barry, and not be going on about myself all the time, I asked him, why he preferred to drink in a Protestant pub, rather than a Catholic one. He told me Protestants were more trustworthy than a lot of Roman Catholics, as opposed to Celtic Catholics, something that only a Crossmaglen man might understand. So being myself, I pushed it a bit further, as I have a habit of doing, to scratch people, to try to find what is really under their thin veneer of civility.

He said the me," Brian you are from the west of Ireland, and the first thing you need to understand about people drinking in pubs in the north of Ireland, is that, " They are all whoremasters." So pushing it a bit more, he reiterated in a loud voice, "WHOREMASTERS." Well he was a very big, fit, man and despite his age, could certainly take care of himself. So I didn't push it anymore, because this was a time just after the Reavey and Dowd families were wiped out in that  area, when the British RUC police, walked into their homes and just opened up and shot most of them indiscriminately.So not wanting to provoke a row, as often happens in the North, when you're being honest, and their being a fair chance, that a few RUC men were there, I dropped the subject and asked him instead, about days travelling in the south of Ireland.

He told me, that times were very hard for travelling people in those days in Ireland, particularly in winter. He told me that a lot of priests in those days wouldn't baptize traveler's children and where in one instance in the middle of winter, where he took his dying child to the local priest to be baptized, who refused and sent him away. A couple of days later Paddy returned with the dead child in his arms, asking for permission to bury his child, but was refused permission to bury it in the cemetery, because the same child was not baptized.He dug the ground and buried the child himself, just outside the cemetery wall, still a better fate than the babies in Tuam.

Well fortunately, we were joined by his wife Norah later on that evening, who lightened the place up, with some of the most beautifully sung Irish songs, that I ever heard. Mind you there was an unmerciful row in the house later on that night, when we returned home and I told her mother Maggie, who was one of Ireland's most favourite singers, that her daughter was a better singer than her. Maggie lifted a big armchair and fired it at me, calling me all the bastards under the Sun. I learned that night, that it wasn't just because of her singing, that Maggie became Queen of the Gypsies. Mind you her granddaughter took after her. So there you are, that was the way of it.

Year's later, I was to learn the hard way again, that there was a lot of truth in Paddy's summation of whoremasters. From many years in the north of Ireland, I found them to be the most hearty people in Ireland and I still miss them, but if I was to join the IRA again, it would need to be a Protestant IRA. It's a bit like when I was going to join the priesthood, as my mother reared me to be, you can measure as often as you like but only cut once. These Durty Marty wannabee's in Derry are not my cup of tea at all, at all. I think Marty has polluted the City with the Queen's shite, beyond immediate redemption. As the saying goes..."Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me." Now of course, men have been shot for writing less than that sort of thing, but then as another famous Irishman from the West Indies, Bob Marley put it..."My hand was made strong by the hand of ..." I still can't figure out, how the phuk did he write such profound songs, smoking all that weed? Now if after reading all this, you are feeling suicidal, then just go down to Crossmaglen and sing a few verses of the song below or better still, go into Conor Murphy's PSNI office and give him a full throated rendition!

WHISKEY IN ME TAY

Come all ye bold teetotallers and list(?) to me a while,
And if you close attention pay I'll cause you to smile;
No story of Grecian queen, nor tale of Trojan say
But a tale of woe that happened so with whiskey in me tay.
I was a bold teetotaller for three long years and more,
The neighbours all respected me and decent clothes I wore,
My family were fond of me till one unlucky day
Just like a child I was beguiled with whiskey in me tay.
I only took the smallest sup when up the ructions rose,
I saw that I was put upon and slaughtered friends and foes,
A Polisman(?) surrounded me and hauled me up next day,
The charge was read and duly pled, 'twas whiskey in me tay.
From Carrickmacross to Crossmaglen the polisman(?) did vow
There are more rogues than honest men as any will allow,
It isn't rogues or honest men the Justice then did say,
We deal with now, but a drunken row from whiskey in his tay.
This man he was a sober man for three long years or more
The neighbours all respected him and decent clothes he wore,
The story is an ancient one the justice did say,
He'll pay up bail or go to gaol for whiskey in his tay.
So all bold teetotalers if sober you would be
Be careful of your company and mind what happened to me,
It wasn't the lads from Shercock or the boys from Ballybay,
But the dealing men from Crossmaglen put whiskey in me tay.