The Night of Women's Christmas* and other Poetry

I really look forward to Tuesdays.

This Tuesday was exceptional, of course, but having Oscar and Pierce over is really great and then their mom ("mum"), Dervla, comes over and we usually share a some wine and conversation. Tonight in honor of Pancake Tuesday she even brought the "older girls" some takeout.

I mentioned to you that her parenting feels really familiar to me, so that is nice, but it is also great because she has read lots of stuff and enjoys talking about Ireland and puts up with my questions.

I was telling her about my lack of fondness for Yeats (in the context of visiting the exhibit at the National Library) and she immediately recited several poems and gave me some suggestions to get hooked!

Then she recited a poem in Irish that she is fond of because it sounds so lyrical.

If you don't know anything about the Irish language (or, Gaelic), it is really interesting. The language (which is nearly dead now in the sense that it is not spoken anywhere else) originated in Ireland and was historically spoken by the Irish people for most of recorded history. It was discouraged under the Elizabethan era and nearly died out during the Great Famine (1845-1852 -- when nearly 20-25% of the population either emigrated or died). Apparently Irish-speaking areas were disproportionately affected.

By the end of the 19th century there was a "Gaelic revival" in which interest in Irish Gaelic culture (folklore, sports--like Gaelic Football and hurling, music, arts, language etc.) throughout Ireland was promoted. This coincided with other nationalistic movements throughout Europe. Kevin B. Nowlan (an Irish writer) said that the revival existed "to glorify the notion that although we may now be in the mire, we were once great, we were taller than Roman spears."

Currently Irish is recognized as the first official language of the Republic of Ireland, but this is clearly not the case. If you want to have a government job, you've got to have a degree of proficiency in Irish and it is taught in all of the schools. There are some "Irish" schools that immerse students in the language. I pass one every day on my way to UCD. All road signs have English and Gaelic written on them. Having said all of this, most Irish people are not fluent in the language, but seem to appreciate its cultural relevance. Furthermore, though they may not be fluent, or use it in their every day life, they can all read it and recognize it, and remember words, phrases and poems from their childhood.

Dervla recited her poem for us last week and I loved it so much I asked her to repeat it on tape for me. I didn't include a video to preserve her privacy and she didn't (admittedly) recite it with as much verve as last week, but it is still wonderful. What follows is her recitation (noticeably of the first half of the poem--I wonder if kids don't learn the second half?), and the poem itself in both English and Irish.

Oiche Nollaig na mBan
Sean O'Riordain

Bhi fuinneamh sa stoirm a ealaigh areir,
Areir Oiche Nollaig na mBan,
As gealt-teach iargulta 'ta laistiar den re
is do scread trid an speir chughainn 'na gealt,
Gur ghiosc geatai comharsan mar ghogallach ge,
Gur bhuir abhainn slaghdanach mar tharbh,
Gur muchadh mo choinneal mar bhuille ar mo bheal
A las 'na splanc obann an fhearg.

Ba mhaith liom go dtiocfadh an stoirm sin fein
An oiche go mbeadsa go lag
Ag filleadh abhaile o rince an tsaoil
Is solas an pheaca ag dul as,
Go lionfai gach neomat le liuraigh on speir,
Go ndeanfai don domhan scuaine scread,
Is na cloisfinn an ciuneas ag gluaiseacht fam dhein,
Na inneal an ghluaisteain ag stad.


The Night of Women's Christmas
by Sean O'Riordain

There was fury in the storm that came last night
last night, the Christmas of Women;
as if released from a distant bedlam
a lunatic shriek through the sky;
rattling against the gate like the gaggling of geese
roaring up the river like a bellowing bull
dousing my candle like a blow upon my mouth
an unexpected spark for anger

I hope such a storm will come to me
The night I begin to die
As I return home from the dance of life
with the light of this life failing,
so every moment might be filled with cries from the sky,
transforming the world into a chorus of screams,
so I would not hear the silence moving toward me
or feel the engine that moves me stop.


*Women's Christmas happens in Ireland on the 6th of January (the Epiphany) and is celebrated by having men take on all of the household duties for the day.