Ireland's literary history is well-known and, as a rabid reader of all things, I am in heaven, even with just the small Westport library to browse in. There are several bookstores and many reading clubs. The one I have joined meets in the rare and used bookshop in town and our selection for March discussion was 'In Cold Blood.' What an interesting choice! For me, an American, I remember this book being controversial because of the sympathetic treament by the author towards at least one of the murderers and also the fact that it was one of the first efforts to understand 'senseless' murders and their perpetrators. The advent of nurture or nature in regards to criminals.
When I mentioned that in the U.S. murders like this are so commonplace that they might not even be reported anymore, my Irish co-members told me that while gangland execution-style murders are becoming more common in Ireland, and domestic abuse has always been part of the crime scene, senseless murders are extremely rare. In fact, they were hard put to think of any more recent than one they all remembered from the 1980's. So we spent some time discussing the boys who did the cold-blooded murder of the family back in the 1960's and how these young men were mistreated enough that perhaps they were not completely responsible for what they did, that they must have been insane because what normal person would do a thing like that, execute a whole family for $40?
All in all, a wonderfully literate evening with honest scrutiny of the writing, premise, style, and conclusion of a timeless piece of literature.
I am in the process of reading 'The Ireland Anthology' edited by Sean Dunne which covers Irish literature from the earliest times to modern days, including history, religion, and fiction. There I found a poem by Desmond O'Grady that struck me, especially in regards to the past year of searching for the place I might call home:
Ti
pperary
It's a long way to Tipperary
it's a long way to go -- and various.
It's a torture of twists, about-turns,
disillusions, disappointments.
The way to Tipperary appears
perennially dark with only
occasional twilights.
If you decide to go to Tipperary
set out while you're young, plucky;
at that age when you're bright-eyed with visions
of radiant horizons of revelation and achievement
and you know nothing of twilights or the dark;
that age when all creation, all life shines clear
as spring sunlight, bright as light-catching gold.
When you set out you must go alone.
There are no maps of the way to Tipperary.
Your only conmpass is your own heart. Trust that!
Some see their Tipperary clearly from the start;
see it's a long road, full of daily pitfalls;
a labyrinth of curious sidestreets, inviting
guesthouses; giddy with the temptations
of those bogey people's trinket stalls'
hokeypokey -- daily thieves of eternal energy --
easy come, easy go, you've sold your soul,
you've no more choice. They sell bedlam!
On the way to Tipperary keep your eye open
for signals of direction, encouragement;
that nod of understanding, comradeship,
a cherishing arm on your pillow. You'll see
beautiful sights on the way to Tipperary:
man's mirage tales, imagination's monuments.
You'll behold the endless vistas, panorams
of vision. Be curious about them all
for the gracious gifts they will afford you.
Without them you'd live that much the poorer.
It's a long way to Tipperary
and when you get there
nothing awaits you. You'll find no roadsign,
no brassband and welcoming committee
with a banner proclaiming you're in Tipperary
and a medallion to hang around your neck.
You'll find only what you brought with you
in your heart.
Then, what you must do
is make and leave some record
of what your Tipperary means to you --
as witness for all those behind you
on their way to their own Tipperaries.
It's a long way to Tipperay
but all our hearts lie there.
When I mentioned that in the U.S. murders like this are so commonplace that they might not even be reported anymore, my Irish co-members told me that while gangland execution-style murders are becoming more common in Ireland, and domestic abuse has always been part of the crime scene, senseless murders are extremely rare. In fact, they were hard put to think of any more recent than one they all remembered from the 1980's. So we spent some time discussing the boys who did the cold-blooded murder of the family back in the 1960's and how these young men were mistreated enough that perhaps they were not completely responsible for what they did, that they must have been insane because what normal person would do a thing like that, execute a whole family for $40?
All in all, a wonderfully literate evening with honest scrutiny of the writing, premise, style, and conclusion of a timeless piece of literature.
I am in the process of reading 'The Ireland Anthology' edited by Sean Dunne which covers Irish literature from the earliest times to modern days, including history, religion, and fiction. There I found a poem by Desmond O'Grady that struck me, especially in regards to the past year of searching for the place I might call home:
Ti
pperaryIt's a long way to Tipperary
it's a long way to go -- and various.
It's a torture of twists, about-turns,
disillusions, disappointments.
The way to Tipperary appears
perennially dark with only
occasional twilights.
If you decide to go to Tipperary
set out while you're young, plucky;
at that age when you're bright-eyed with visions
of radiant horizons of revelation and achievement
and you know nothing of twilights or the dark;
that age when all creation, all life shines clear
as spring sunlight, bright as light-catching gold.
When you set out you must go alone.
There are no maps of the way to Tipperary.
Your only conmpass is your own heart. Trust that!
Some see their Tipperary clearly from the start;
see it's a long road, full of daily pitfalls;
a labyrinth of curious sidestreets, inviting
guesthouses; giddy with the temptations
of those bogey people's trinket stalls'
hokeypokey -- daily thieves of eternal energy --
easy come, easy go, you've sold your soul,
you've no more choice. They sell bedlam!
On the way to Tipperary keep your eye open
for signals of direction, encouragement;
that nod of understanding, comradeship,
a cherishing arm on your pillow. You'll see
beautiful sights on the way to Tipperary:
man's mirage tales, imagination's monuments.
You'll behold the endless vistas, panorams
of vision. Be curious about them all
for the gracious gifts they will afford you.
Without them you'd live that much the poorer.
It's a long way to Tipperary
and when you get there
nothing awaits you. You'll find no roadsign,
no brassband and welcoming committee
with a banner proclaiming you're in Tipperary
and a medallion to hang around your neck.
You'll find only what you brought with you
in your heart.
Then, what you must do
is make and leave some record
of what your Tipperary means to you --
as witness for all those behind you
on their way to their own Tipperaries.
It's a long way to Tipperay
but all our hearts lie there.
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