Forever Alone

By G. W. Mainhood

I understand what true pain is.
Waking up without a soul;
Existing forever, but always alone.

I know where sorrow is born.
In icy depths of man’s empty heart;
His spirit of love to tear apart.

I see misery in every face.
Knowing no mercy, nor joy, nor peace;
Only death can bring them ease.

I hear loathing in every word.
Every breath a burning pain;
Lies, deceit, and wraths disdain.

I feel hate inside mankind.
Rotting filth, disease, decay;
In their defence, nothing to say.

I taste the rotting flesh of sin.
Toxic putrescence, bitter and vile;
Evil by nature, the mind of a child.

I am the truth in all that you feel.
My humanity stolen, compassion is gone;
I am that which you know is wrong.

I am in misery and darkness complete.
Knowing no other than that of my soul;
Destined for solitude, I am always alone.

The Politically Correct Rudolph

Original: Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer …
Translation: Rudolph was a four-hooved ungulate,

Original: Had a very shiny nose …
Translation: Who, incidentally, possessed a nasal appendage of a maroon lustre.

Original: And if you ever saw him …
Translation: Consequently, if circumstances were to present themselves that he ever came into your view,

Original: You would even say it glows …
Translation: You would most undoubtedly remark at to its illuminary qualities.

Original: All of the other reindeer …
Translation: The multitude of other members of the population in his ecological community,

Original: Used to laugh and call him names …
Translation: Had previously teased, chuckled boisterously, and dubbed him unspeakable pseudonyms — the objective of which was to lower his self-esteem and make him miserable.

Original: They never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games …
Translation: They also excluded him from participation in leisure activities consistent with their species.

Original: Then one foggy Christmas eve …
Translation: However, on the twenty-fourth of December in an unspecified year…

Original: Santa came to say …
Translation: A mythological, supernatural being inherent to western culture (who symbolizes the Christmas attitude and allegedly brings gifts to children) arrived through the supersaturated, humid air.

Original: Rudolph, with your nose so bright …
Translation: He formally invited Rudolph, due to his extraordinary nasal characteristic.

Original: Won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?
Translation: To stand at the forefront of his snow vehicle with the express purpose that he navigate through the nocturnal mist.

Original: Then all the reindeer loved him …
Translation: At that point, the multitude of other members of the population in his ecological community who had previously teased, chuckled boisterously, and dubbed him unspeakable pseudonyms, reversed their disposition toward Rudolph to a more congenial, amicable relationship.

Original: And they shouted out with glee …
Translation: They consequently exclaimed with great exaltation and fervour,

Original: Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer …
Translation: Rudolph, the antlered mammal with a maroon nasal appendage,

Original: You’ll go down in history!
Translation: You shall most certainly be recorded in the annals of time, and your memory will be preserved for posterity!

Gloomy Sunday Video

Gloomy Sunday

Sunday is gloomy,
My hours are slumberless
Dearest the shadows
I live with are numberless
Little white flowers
Will never awaken you
Not where the black coaches
Sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thoughts
Of ever returning you
Wouldn’t they be angry
If I thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday

Gloomy is Sunday,
With shadows I spend it all
My heart and I
Have decided to end it all
Soon there’ll be candles
And prayers that are said I know
But let them not weep
Let them know that I’m glad to go
Death is no dream
For in death I’m caressin’ you
With the last breath of my soul
I’ll be blessin’ you

Gloomy Sunday

Dreaming, I was only dreaming
I wake and I find you asleep
In the deep of my heart here
Darling I hope
That my dream never haunted you
My heart is tellin’ you
How much I wanted you
Gloomy Sunday

(“Gloomy Sunday” (from Hungarian “Szomorú Vasárnap”, IPA: ['somoruː 'vɒʃarnɒp]) is a song written by the Hungarian self-taught pianist and composer Rezső Seress in 1933. According to urban legend, it inspired hundreds of suicides. When the song was first marketed in the United States, it became known as the “Hungarian suicide song”. There is no systematic substantiation for such claims, as it is not documented where any such allegations appear in press coverage or other publications of the time.

Numerous versions of the song have been recorded and released. Michael Brooks wrote in the program notes for the 10-CD set, “Lady Day” – the Complete Billie Holiday on Columbia, 1933-1944:

“Gloomy Sunday reached America in 1936 and, thanks to a brilliant publicity campaign, became known as The Hungarian Suicide Song. Supposedly after hearing it, distraught lovers were hypnotized into heading straight out of the nearest open window, in much the same fashion as investors after October 1929; both stories are largely urban myths.”)

Desiderata

(by Max Ehrmann)

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Finnegan’s Wake

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street, a gentle Irishman mighty odd
He had a brogue both rich and sweet, an’ to rise in the world he carried a hod
You see he’d a sort of a tipplers way but the love for the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on his way each day, he’d a drop of the craythur every morn

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

One morning Tim got rather full, his head felt heavy which made him shake
Fell from a ladder and he broke his skull, and they carried him home his corpse to wake
Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet, and laid him out upon the bed
A bottle of whiskey at his feet and a barrel of porter at his head

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

His friends assembled at the wake, and Mrs Finnegan called for lunch
First she brought in tay and cake, then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
Biddy O’Brien began to cry, “Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see,
Tim avourneen, why did you die?”, “Will ye hould your gob?” said Paddy McGee

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

Then Maggie O’Connor took up the job, “Biddy” says she “you’re wrong, I’m sure”
Biddy gave her a belt in the gob and left her sprawling on the floor
Then the war did soon engage, t’was woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

Mickey Maloney ducked his head when a bucket of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed, the liquor scattered over Tim
Bedad he revives, see how he rises, Timothy rising from the bed
Saying “Whittle your whiskey around like blazes, t’underin’ Jaysus, do ye think I’m dead?”

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

 (A Tim Finnegan is the main character in James Joyce’s book Finnegans Wake. According to people who ought to know there are some parallels between Joyce’s Tim Finnegan and the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhail. Both are representatives of the old Irish order and values. As you may know Fionn MacCumhail is asleep in the Sheebeg Cairn and he will wake when Ireland need him. In this song Tim Finnegan has broke his skull and seemingly has passed away. Finnegan raised again when whiskey was spilled over him. Nice touch: in Gaelic whiskey is known as uisce beatha, or water of live.)

The Dawning Of The Day (Raglan Road)

On Raglan Road on an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might someday rue
I saw the danger
Yet I walked
Along the enchanted way
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf
At the dawning of the day

On Grafton Street in November
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine
Where can be seen
The worth of passion’s pledge
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
And I not making hay
Oh I loved too much
And by such and such
Is hapiness thrown away

I gave her gifts of the mind
I gave her the secret sign
That’s known to the artists
Who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint, I did not stint,
I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair
Like clouds over fields of May.

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should
A creature made of clay
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose
His wings at the dawning of the day.

(The confusion caused by the two titles of this song can be traced back to the different previous history of the tune on one hand and the words on the other.

The tune, known as Fainne Gael an Lae, strictly meaning The Bright Ring of Day, probably originates from the seventeenth century blind Sligo harpist Thomas O’Connellan. In 1847 Edward Walsh scored an eighteenth century poem to this air and the song Fainne Gael an Lae, by then translated as The Dawning of the Day, was born. The popularity of this song rocketed when a masterly interpretation by the famous Irish-American tenor John McCormack, of the The Dawning of the Day was used in the 1937 film Wings of the Morning.
O’Connellan’s air inspired not only Edward Walsh, but also Thomas Moore, when he sought music for The Minstrel Boy, as well as the author of The Ballad of William Bloat, Raymond Calvert.
In 1909, to make thing even more complicated, Cicely Fox Smith published a poem entitled At the Dawning of the Day. Apart from some phrases this poem has little to do with our subject, although it is not entirely unthinkable that Patrick Kavanagh at least knew this poem.

Most likely with knowledge of Walsh’s song The Dawning of the Day and Smith’s poem At the Dawning of the Day Patrick Kavanagh wrote a poem entitled Dark Haired Myriam Ran Away. This poem, which was published in 1946, seemingly referred to an unrequited love of Patrick Kavanagh. The words however don’t give a clue about her name and like a true gentlemen he never consigned the lady’s identity.

Kavanagh’s poem led a forlorn existence on dark bookshelves until Patrick Kavanagh and Luke Kelly of The Dubliners, at that time novices in the music scene, treated each other with their talents during a joyful pub session somewhere in the 1960’s.
The exact course of this gathering is vague. Some assume that Kavanagh recited his poem Dark Haired Myriam Ran Away and that Kelly set it to O’Connellan’s air. Others, among them Luke Kelly himself, state that Kavanagh already had set the poem to the air. Anyway, Patrick was impressed by the musical talents of Luke Kelly and he gave him permission to use the song. For some reasons The Dubliners didn’t use the original title of the poem and because there was already a song entitled The Dawning of the Day they came up with On Raglan Road.)

Four Green Fields

By Tommy Makem

What did I have, said the fine old woman
What did I have, this proud old woman did say
I had four green fields, each one was a jewel
But strangers came and tried to take them from me
I had fine strong sons, who fought to save my jewels
They fought and they died, and that was my grief said she

Long time ago, said the fine old woman
Long time ago, this proud old woman did say
There was war and death, plundering and pillage
My children starved, by mountain, valley and sea
And their wailing cries, they shook the very heavens
My four green fields ran red with their blood, said she

What have I now, said the fine old woman
What have I now, this proud old woman did say
I have four green fields, one of them’s in bondage
In stranger’s hands, that tried to take it from me
But my sons had sons, as brave as were their fathers
My fourth green field will bloom once again said she

(The Four Green Fields in this song are symbolising the four provinces of Ireland: Connacht (north-west), Leinster (east coast and central), Munster (the south and west coast) and Ulster (north).)