When Seamus Heaney died, I didn't quite know how to react. I had had to read his poems in school and I loved them then, but on the whole I'm insensitive to poetry, so picking up one of his collections to read in remembrance would have been a chore, and so have missed the point. So, as I was reading some epic poems at the time, I bought his
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I think it's nice, being able to see Ireland in that rosy light, not being utterly jaundiced. I've been here too long now and I'm corrupted myself by the resentment and internal bending of logic and emotion it takes to survive here; but I stayed for love, and he was worth it, so that's that :)
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"I stayed for love, and he was worth it, so that's that"
That sounds to me like a microcosm of life. :p
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The Englishman in me sees Cromwell, for example, as necessary for curbing the powers of the monarchy and asserting the primacy of parliament: the Irish side, however...
The main problems I have with Ireland aren't however in England's historical shames any more. Abortion rights to save the mother seem rather prosaically normal where I come from. And my aunts would probably cross themselves furiously should I ever have said such a thing out loud. I have a female cousin who marched against liberalising the abortion laws even in cases where the mother's life was in danger. Ye gods ( ... )
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But I see what you mean, and I'm sure there's a lot of truth to it (though I'll have to think on it). When I was in Dublin this last time, though, I was actually pretty surprised by how sophisticated, or city-like, or European, it's become. For instance: Beweley's is one of the most important landmarks in Dublin, a restaurant/café, and it's always done excellent coffee. (Also Wittgenstein's haunt for the few months he lived in Ireland.) But they've upped their game and when I was there recently my latte (which is still called a capuccino, in an adorable misunderstanding of foreign concepts) had a dragon painted into its milk! That's more virtuosic than you get even in the best coffee shops in London! Of course being a hipster is not quite being sophisticated; but it's not so distant either, if you think of sophistication not as a virtue but a way of appearing to embody that virtue.
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That sort of decoration normally means that either you are known as a regular tipper, or the chap or lass who did it was, er, trying to attract your attention. Make of it what you will. :)
No, the thing should be the thing: of itself and in itself. The culture that built Yeats, or Joyce, or Wilde doesn't need reformation in the coffee making department: what it has to do is recognise some twenty-first century realities, to incorporate into its mythos and history of itself.
To an intellect much vaster and greater than ours, the Irish narrative will have reached an impasse until these things are dealt with: much as has the fundamentalist religious position ceased to reflect our best understanding of the mind of God.
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I've responded to a lot of what you say in our e-mail correspondence, so I won't repeat it here; I'll make some smaller points.
You say you couldn't make the joke about not talking to the staff, but that it's for reasons of humanism. But this is as may be. It is not a vicious joke just because it's not Irish; I'm not saying Irish people wouldn't make the joke because they're not vicious. But that particular sort of vice is not one that an Irish person could ever have, even if they were vicious in a host of terrible ways; even if they treated people inhumanly in other ways ( ... )
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May the coming year be full of joy and success for you.
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