I am not sure if Irish fairytales clearly define how the Irish view space and time. Time and space in a fairytale is what the reader perceives it to be. I noticed that time and space is often defined by the mythical abilities of some of the characters in the stories. For example the footman from “The King of Ireland’s Son” was summoned to beat the hag in a run to the well in the western world. Was he that fast or was the western world that close?
Kevin
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
...and the Irish sang
My Fairytale on how the Irish learned to sing……….
There was a time when the written word was unknown to the people of the land. It was not a sad time, for the crops were good and the deer plentiful. The children were fat and clean, the women were strong and the men were brave. The weather was equally perfect and there was no longing for comfort.
The elders of the land were smart and knew that these times were special and they feared the tragedy of human finitude. They loved the land, their blessings and especially the children. The children were treated with the best of care and love. The children were especially bright and absorbed the teaching with vigor. The elders wanted to teach them the beauty of life and the wonders of love. The teachings were past down from one generation to another by word for there was no such things as letters, symbols or any written communication. The people were known for their memories and their verbal accuracy was better than any fading ink.
In a far away place on a sea of glass lived a powerful and jealous brute. The brute had a flock of flying eyes that he sent to spy on the people of the land. The eyes returned from their arduous flight and told the brute about the people’s abilities to record history with their detailed speech. The brute was jealous and had no love in him. He hated the children and the happiness in the land. He mounted his 40 legged tiger and leaped to the land. He chased the fathers and mothers into hiding, ate the elders that did not escape and cursed the children that they would never be able to talk again.
The brute was so drunk with accomplishment that he returned to his home and began hitting the flying eyes with the femurs of the eaten elders of the land. His aim was particularly skilled and before long only the best of the flying eyes were unsquashed. Those eyes began to cry and the tears drowned the 40 legged tiger. The eyes knew that the brute would be trapped without the tiger’s transport so they fled to the land. They asked the fathers of the land to help them stop crying. The fathers too were crying because their children could no longer speak. There was sadness in the land. The tears were flooding the land and soon the children started to drown. The mothers came from hiding and began to wail words of despair. The drowning children heard their mother’s voices and the older children began to emulate the wails and moans of their mothers. This was all that they could do, they could not speak.
The youngest of the children could not comprehend the sadness and their voices had no despair. The very young were full of innocence and glee. Their voices contained spirit and they began to sing. The eyes stopped crying to listen, the fathers stopped crying to listen, the mothers and the older children stopped crying to listen and soon the flooding tears began to rescind.
It was that day that the children discovered how to sing. The people of the land never spoke again for their hearts were full of song.
There was a time when the written word was unknown to the people of the land. It was not a sad time, for the crops were good and the deer plentiful. The children were fat and clean, the women were strong and the men were brave. The weather was equally perfect and there was no longing for comfort.
The elders of the land were smart and knew that these times were special and they feared the tragedy of human finitude. They loved the land, their blessings and especially the children. The children were treated with the best of care and love. The children were especially bright and absorbed the teaching with vigor. The elders wanted to teach them the beauty of life and the wonders of love. The teachings were past down from one generation to another by word for there was no such things as letters, symbols or any written communication. The people were known for their memories and their verbal accuracy was better than any fading ink.
In a far away place on a sea of glass lived a powerful and jealous brute. The brute had a flock of flying eyes that he sent to spy on the people of the land. The eyes returned from their arduous flight and told the brute about the people’s abilities to record history with their detailed speech. The brute was jealous and had no love in him. He hated the children and the happiness in the land. He mounted his 40 legged tiger and leaped to the land. He chased the fathers and mothers into hiding, ate the elders that did not escape and cursed the children that they would never be able to talk again.
The brute was so drunk with accomplishment that he returned to his home and began hitting the flying eyes with the femurs of the eaten elders of the land. His aim was particularly skilled and before long only the best of the flying eyes were unsquashed. Those eyes began to cry and the tears drowned the 40 legged tiger. The eyes knew that the brute would be trapped without the tiger’s transport so they fled to the land. They asked the fathers of the land to help them stop crying. The fathers too were crying because their children could no longer speak. There was sadness in the land. The tears were flooding the land and soon the children started to drown. The mothers came from hiding and began to wail words of despair. The drowning children heard their mother’s voices and the older children began to emulate the wails and moans of their mothers. This was all that they could do, they could not speak.
The youngest of the children could not comprehend the sadness and their voices had no despair. The very young were full of innocence and glee. Their voices contained spirit and they began to sing. The eyes stopped crying to listen, the fathers stopped crying to listen, the mothers and the older children stopped crying to listen and soon the flooding tears began to rescind.
It was that day that the children discovered how to sing. The people of the land never spoke again for their hearts were full of song.
Irish Folktales
My personal response to the Irish Fairytales:
The King of Ireland’s Son started with the building of a great story. The King’s son killed a raven and it was the blackest skull he had ever seen, which just so happened to fall on the whitest snow and bleed the reddest of reds. The son saw those colors and the contrast of the three and decided that he would find and marry a woman with hair so dark, skin so white and cheeks so red. Of course there was only one woman like this in the world and his search for this woman leads us on an adventure with little green men, giants, and other gifted companions. His saga eventually results in a convoluted courtship with the woman he seeks. In the end he wins her hand and finds that his generosity to his companions resulted in their commitment to his geas.
This story was interesting and I was surprised that after such travels the King’s son encountered a woman that rejected him. It took much work and cunningness to make this a “happily ever after story”.
The Man Who Had No Story was a quick tale that I imagine would serve as a bed time story for kids. The story is full of fantasy. Brian, the untalented man plays the fiddle, sings songs, holds mass, and doctors on a man, all of this at the direction of a lovely girl in a fairly land. He is introduced as having nothing and searching in vain for rods (to make baskets). He decides to cut the bar in a fairy glen and soon is overtaken by a fog that may well have been sleep. He wakes up after a long night of adventure and his bundles of bar are under his head. There may be a “you can do it” message in this story.
The Birth of Finn MacCumhail initially reminded me of the story of baby Moses in some ways. The King was advised that his grandson would take over the kingdom one day. As a precaution he watched his daughter’s every move, but she marries Cumhal and bears a son, Finn. The King knows that he will one day lose his kingdom, so he orders the child to be killed. The child was rescued and the King decided to kill every male infant so that there was no way for the grandchild of the King to escape. The story winds on and on until one day Finn MacCumhail is offered the hand of the King’s daughter (would this be Finn’s mother?) if he was able to defeat great obstacles that many warriors had failed to do. Those warriors were being held prisoners, pending their execution. Finn succeeded and the King gave Finn his daughter, but Finn asked to see the prisoner/warriors instead. Finn convinced the King to trade his daughter for the warrior champions and thus the birth of the Fenians of Erin.
This story correlates to the rise of Irish Nationals that opposed British rule in the 1850s. Finn MacCumhail’s mythical warrior status was used by the Irish revolutionaries as motivation and namesake in the 19th century conflict with British rule. The revolutionaries referred to themselves as “Fenians.”
Dreams of Gold was a quick story about a pot of gold, I am sure there is some moral to the story, but I never really got it. The title itself suggests fairytales…DREAMS….GOLD.
Usheen’s Return to Ireland was my favorite of the Irish Fairytales that we were assigned to read. Here is story of the Land of the Young, where you never grow old, never suffer from hunger or sickness. It is inhabited by fairies and happiness. But Usheen who was taken to Tir-Nan-Oge by a deer that he was hunting would one day return to the land of mortals (Ireland). He discovered that his friends and his comrades were dead and that the world had continued to age while he had not. He was given one rule to obey upon his return, and that was, do not touch the ground. Usheen was overcome with sentimental memories upon his return and forgot to stay on his horse. He climbed from the horse and touched the ground; he immediately lost the youth that he had captured at Tir-Nan-Oge.
The King of Ireland’s Son started with the building of a great story. The King’s son killed a raven and it was the blackest skull he had ever seen, which just so happened to fall on the whitest snow and bleed the reddest of reds. The son saw those colors and the contrast of the three and decided that he would find and marry a woman with hair so dark, skin so white and cheeks so red. Of course there was only one woman like this in the world and his search for this woman leads us on an adventure with little green men, giants, and other gifted companions. His saga eventually results in a convoluted courtship with the woman he seeks. In the end he wins her hand and finds that his generosity to his companions resulted in their commitment to his geas.
This story was interesting and I was surprised that after such travels the King’s son encountered a woman that rejected him. It took much work and cunningness to make this a “happily ever after story”.
The Man Who Had No Story was a quick tale that I imagine would serve as a bed time story for kids. The story is full of fantasy. Brian, the untalented man plays the fiddle, sings songs, holds mass, and doctors on a man, all of this at the direction of a lovely girl in a fairly land. He is introduced as having nothing and searching in vain for rods (to make baskets). He decides to cut the bar in a fairy glen and soon is overtaken by a fog that may well have been sleep. He wakes up after a long night of adventure and his bundles of bar are under his head. There may be a “you can do it” message in this story.
The Birth of Finn MacCumhail initially reminded me of the story of baby Moses in some ways. The King was advised that his grandson would take over the kingdom one day. As a precaution he watched his daughter’s every move, but she marries Cumhal and bears a son, Finn. The King knows that he will one day lose his kingdom, so he orders the child to be killed. The child was rescued and the King decided to kill every male infant so that there was no way for the grandchild of the King to escape. The story winds on and on until one day Finn MacCumhail is offered the hand of the King’s daughter (would this be Finn’s mother?) if he was able to defeat great obstacles that many warriors had failed to do. Those warriors were being held prisoners, pending their execution. Finn succeeded and the King gave Finn his daughter, but Finn asked to see the prisoner/warriors instead. Finn convinced the King to trade his daughter for the warrior champions and thus the birth of the Fenians of Erin.
This story correlates to the rise of Irish Nationals that opposed British rule in the 1850s. Finn MacCumhail’s mythical warrior status was used by the Irish revolutionaries as motivation and namesake in the 19th century conflict with British rule. The revolutionaries referred to themselves as “Fenians.”
Dreams of Gold was a quick story about a pot of gold, I am sure there is some moral to the story, but I never really got it. The title itself suggests fairytales…DREAMS….GOLD.
Usheen’s Return to Ireland was my favorite of the Irish Fairytales that we were assigned to read. Here is story of the Land of the Young, where you never grow old, never suffer from hunger or sickness. It is inhabited by fairies and happiness. But Usheen who was taken to Tir-Nan-Oge by a deer that he was hunting would one day return to the land of mortals (Ireland). He discovered that his friends and his comrades were dead and that the world had continued to age while he had not. He was given one rule to obey upon his return, and that was, do not touch the ground. Usheen was overcome with sentimental memories upon his return and forgot to stay on his horse. He climbed from the horse and touched the ground; he immediately lost the youth that he had captured at Tir-Nan-Oge.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Thinking of Japan.....
I had to be careful with this question as I didn’t want to run off into a loquacious rant. When I think of Japan or Japanese culture, there are so many images that I found one leading to another and so on.
I grew up in the early 1970s and I remember watching those late night television shows featuring Japanese martial arts. The “Kung Fu” movies were always dubbed in English, and I took it for granted that there were no English speaking person capable of such majestic fighting ability. In the 1980s and 1990s, Samurai warrior movies and TV shows became popular and there were many that were actually in English. The Ninja craze was at its peak in American movies.
In a more sober reflection on Japan, I am drawn to the Pearl Harbor attack by Japanese forces. One of my favorite movies is “Letters from Iwo Jima”, the story of the battle of Iwo Jima between the U.S. and Japan, as told from the perspective of the Japanese soldiers who fought. That historical chapter brings about all types of feelings and thoughts; Kamikaze pilots, F.D.R, Winston Churchill, Hiroshima, “Enola Gay”, the flag raising at Iwo Jima, Pearl Harbor, etc.
Japan also provokes the images of focused, hard working, smart and industrious people. I can’t think of a more remarkable post-war recovery than Japan’s following WWII. In just a few decades Japan became one of the strongest economies in the world, preceded only by the United States. Today, Japanese design, products and influence are everywhere in America. Cars, electronics, motorcycles, musical instruments, and sushi bars are almost as common as American products of the same nature and often more popular than the American counterpart.
Lexus vs. Cadillac, anyone?
Kevin
I grew up in the early 1970s and I remember watching those late night television shows featuring Japanese martial arts. The “Kung Fu” movies were always dubbed in English, and I took it for granted that there were no English speaking person capable of such majestic fighting ability. In the 1980s and 1990s, Samurai warrior movies and TV shows became popular and there were many that were actually in English. The Ninja craze was at its peak in American movies.
In a more sober reflection on Japan, I am drawn to the Pearl Harbor attack by Japanese forces. One of my favorite movies is “Letters from Iwo Jima”, the story of the battle of Iwo Jima between the U.S. and Japan, as told from the perspective of the Japanese soldiers who fought. That historical chapter brings about all types of feelings and thoughts; Kamikaze pilots, F.D.R, Winston Churchill, Hiroshima, “Enola Gay”, the flag raising at Iwo Jima, Pearl Harbor, etc.
Japan also provokes the images of focused, hard working, smart and industrious people. I can’t think of a more remarkable post-war recovery than Japan’s following WWII. In just a few decades Japan became one of the strongest economies in the world, preceded only by the United States. Today, Japanese design, products and influence are everywhere in America. Cars, electronics, motorcycles, musical instruments, and sushi bars are almost as common as American products of the same nature and often more popular than the American counterpart.
Lexus vs. Cadillac, anyone?
Kevin
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Hotel Rwanda
Hotel Rwanda was a depressing account of the 1994 genocide of the Tutsi people. Paul Rusesabagina is the manager of the upscale, European owned Les Milles Collines Hotel in Kigali. He is the perfect host, taking care of his clients with all of their needs and storing the favors for the future. He is eventually forced to use them all as his country falls apart in the violent slaughter that the Hutu bring upon the Tutsi. The fancy hotel becomes a refugee camp for over a thousand people, including Hutu and Tutsi alike.
I tried to draw some reference to African culture as I watched the film, but because of the film’s subject matter it was hard to distinguish a cultural identity. The entire film depicts the common acceptance of bribery, theft and even brutality that the military, police and politicians practice as a general rule. Bribery is accepted in almost all countries outside of the United States as a common and useful tool. It is looked down upon here and is illegal, but many countries in Asia, Africa, South America, Eastern Europe, etc. rely on bribery to supplement the income of those working in government. It is an accepted as a way of life. Bribery is a calculated expense for people traveling, businessmen and even tourist. Bribery is part of the culture.
My impression of the girls dancing by the pool is that they have a sense of peace. I do not know what the dance signified, although it certainly looked as if the dance was telling a story. I tried to put myself in the place of those people and the kids as well. Many of the refuges likely lived in deplorable conditions and had been rescued from certain death. They were now safe behind the walls of a luxury hotel. There was food, water (water is water, even from the pool), shelter and a sense of family that was forged by the commonality of the situation that everyone at that hotel faced. The girls were dancing perhaps not in celebration as we often relate to dancing, but dancing as a way to kill time, to play, to entertain or perhaps it was a dance designed to help one through difficult times.
I was more impressed by the scene when Paul took Tatiana on the rooftop for a candle lit dinner. That was impressive as the fighting rang in the background. They could actually see tracer rounds being shot through the darkness. He then asked her to kill herself and the children in order to avoid the machete’. That made an impression on me as a father and husband.
I certainly think that America has many hidden dialects in different social groups and ethnicities. The majority of our dialects are obvious, notably the difference in regional dialects, for example southern English versus northern English. In certain social circles southern English is improper and lacks the standard for acceptable speech. I have experienced this personally as I’ve worked with hundreds of northern transplants that are quick to point out our accents or use of certain phrases, etc. I am as quick to point out that this is not an accent, this is the language here. If I was visiting New York or Maine, then I would have an accent. When northerners are in the south, it is they who have an accent.
I tried to draw some reference to African culture as I watched the film, but because of the film’s subject matter it was hard to distinguish a cultural identity. The entire film depicts the common acceptance of bribery, theft and even brutality that the military, police and politicians practice as a general rule. Bribery is accepted in almost all countries outside of the United States as a common and useful tool. It is looked down upon here and is illegal, but many countries in Asia, Africa, South America, Eastern Europe, etc. rely on bribery to supplement the income of those working in government. It is an accepted as a way of life. Bribery is a calculated expense for people traveling, businessmen and even tourist. Bribery is part of the culture.
My impression of the girls dancing by the pool is that they have a sense of peace. I do not know what the dance signified, although it certainly looked as if the dance was telling a story. I tried to put myself in the place of those people and the kids as well. Many of the refuges likely lived in deplorable conditions and had been rescued from certain death. They were now safe behind the walls of a luxury hotel. There was food, water (water is water, even from the pool), shelter and a sense of family that was forged by the commonality of the situation that everyone at that hotel faced. The girls were dancing perhaps not in celebration as we often relate to dancing, but dancing as a way to kill time, to play, to entertain or perhaps it was a dance designed to help one through difficult times.
I was more impressed by the scene when Paul took Tatiana on the rooftop for a candle lit dinner. That was impressive as the fighting rang in the background. They could actually see tracer rounds being shot through the darkness. He then asked her to kill herself and the children in order to avoid the machete’. That made an impression on me as a father and husband.
I certainly think that America has many hidden dialects in different social groups and ethnicities. The majority of our dialects are obvious, notably the difference in regional dialects, for example southern English versus northern English. In certain social circles southern English is improper and lacks the standard for acceptable speech. I have experienced this personally as I’ve worked with hundreds of northern transplants that are quick to point out our accents or use of certain phrases, etc. I am as quick to point out that this is not an accent, this is the language here. If I was visiting New York or Maine, then I would have an accent. When northerners are in the south, it is they who have an accent.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
My music memories
When I hear music, I slightly bob my head and often drum my fingers. I like all kinds of music and depending on the mood, the genre could range from “country to hard rock”. I am a runner and the thread mill requires the highest of upbeat music, as the beat is transferred into my effort. I used to listen to rap and enjoyed the beat, but unfortunately, most modern rap has regressed to vulgarity and profanation. I certainly don’t want to expose my kids to music that glorifies disrespect and a life of crime.
Recently, I have found myself listening to old 70’s songs. They are easy to sing along with and many are just fun. Thank goodness for XM radio, now I can pick any genre at any time and enjoy it all. If you really want a fun taste of the 70’s, you must see Mamma Mia! the recent smash hit musical based on the songs of ABBA.
One of my fondest memories of music is really more of a recent discovery. My dad has a group of buddies that are quite talented. They look a bit haggard in their overalls and work boots. Most of them enjoy a taste from the bottle and to be honest, likely personify what many would call, “rednecks, hillbillies or hicks”. I was amazed one night as they started pulling banjos, guitars, and fiddles from their trucks. These old men circled around and after a minute of tuning up, started “pickin”, the sound was almost hypnotic. I was amazed that these old guys had such talent, not a single one had a sheet of music and I doubt any of them ever had a formal music class. They smoothly rolled into song after song with casual ease, reminding me that this was certainly a work of art that took years and years to perfect.
Recently, I have found myself listening to old 70’s songs. They are easy to sing along with and many are just fun. Thank goodness for XM radio, now I can pick any genre at any time and enjoy it all. If you really want a fun taste of the 70’s, you must see Mamma Mia! the recent smash hit musical based on the songs of ABBA.
One of my fondest memories of music is really more of a recent discovery. My dad has a group of buddies that are quite talented. They look a bit haggard in their overalls and work boots. Most of them enjoy a taste from the bottle and to be honest, likely personify what many would call, “rednecks, hillbillies or hicks”. I was amazed one night as they started pulling banjos, guitars, and fiddles from their trucks. These old men circled around and after a minute of tuning up, started “pickin”, the sound was almost hypnotic. I was amazed that these old guys had such talent, not a single one had a sheet of music and I doubt any of them ever had a formal music class. They smoothly rolled into song after song with casual ease, reminding me that this was certainly a work of art that took years and years to perfect.
Africa...Continent...Images...
When I think of Africa, I think of it as a continent. I have had the privilege of working and living with a group of South African men that were much more in likeness to the Australians and British. This is explained somewhat by the large Dutch and British influence/control of the region during the 1800s. Even today, English is the predominate language in South Africa. Australia is close to South Africa and its influence is obvious. In fact, many middle and upper class families have fled to Australia in the past 10-15 years due to the extreme violence that has followed the post apartheid government.
In comparison, Egypt is to the northeast and is quite different from the 4th world countries that make up the vast of Africa; in fact there are 33 4th world countries in Africa. This is the poorest region in the world. In contrast, Egypt is fairly prosperous, with gleaming cities and large cultural centers. The government is extremely stable and peace is the norm. Egypt is considered one of the oldest of civilizations.
In summary, I consider Africa very much a continent with fascinating differences in the countries that make up that continent. The size of the continent is second only to Asia. The geography is varied, ranging from tropical to subarctic, with vast deserts in between. Its wildlife and jungles has been the backdrop for thousands of movies. As a boy, one of my favorite shows was Tarzan. Africa will always be known for its slave trading history, the television documentaries on lions, elephants, and other wild African animals, the diamond trade and for sports fans, the 2007 Rugby World Cup.
When I hear the word “Africa”, I think about the chaos, the starvation, the wars, and the corrupt government that dominates most of Africa today. Of course, the peaceful and productive countries are not news worthy by modern media standards, so it is the ugliness that we see on TV and in print. I also think about my good friends from Africa that have seen the country of South Africa tumble from one of the most productive and peaceful countries in the world to the most dangerous place to live.
Kevin
In comparison, Egypt is to the northeast and is quite different from the 4th world countries that make up the vast of Africa; in fact there are 33 4th world countries in Africa. This is the poorest region in the world. In contrast, Egypt is fairly prosperous, with gleaming cities and large cultural centers. The government is extremely stable and peace is the norm. Egypt is considered one of the oldest of civilizations.
In summary, I consider Africa very much a continent with fascinating differences in the countries that make up that continent. The size of the continent is second only to Asia. The geography is varied, ranging from tropical to subarctic, with vast deserts in between. Its wildlife and jungles has been the backdrop for thousands of movies. As a boy, one of my favorite shows was Tarzan. Africa will always be known for its slave trading history, the television documentaries on lions, elephants, and other wild African animals, the diamond trade and for sports fans, the 2007 Rugby World Cup.
When I hear the word “Africa”, I think about the chaos, the starvation, the wars, and the corrupt government that dominates most of Africa today. Of course, the peaceful and productive countries are not news worthy by modern media standards, so it is the ugliness that we see on TV and in print. I also think about my good friends from Africa that have seen the country of South Africa tumble from one of the most productive and peaceful countries in the world to the most dangerous place to live.
Kevin
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
