A Not Dot Com Picture
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Pier, Connemara, Ireland
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As an American teenager, I thrilled to the "Celtic twilight" poetry of Yeats, the plays of J.M. Synge & the glorious doom of Irish revolutionary folk songs. Later, I learned to take the measure of Irishness -- its booze-addled, sentimental allegiance to illusion -- & to discount many of the grand stories as the wishful nostalgia of the Irish diaspora.
I was nearly 50 & booze & romance free by the time I visited Ireland. Sure enough, I found a brisk, prosperous place, where practicality & ambition seemed to banish the mists of the past. But sometimes -- especially in the West by the edge of the restless sea -- I could almost hear again the fife & the drum & the unearthly faerie fiddling. |
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