Trinity College, Jonathan Swift and the love of literary things

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Most of us who have a degree in English fall into raptures when we enter old universities, especially their libraries.

Our group has the good fortune of staying at Trinity College Dublin, founded in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth I. The library is another world, and visitors can’t take photographs, so I’ve downloaded this one, below, from the internet for you. The Book of Kells (c. AD 806) is housed in a special room in the library building (photo of a closeup of a page in the Book of Kells below the library photo, below).


Library at Trinity College


close-up of Book of Kells page Chi-Rho

In my photo of Trinity, below, you can see the building where Don and I are staying on the left. Our room looks out on tree-filled Library Square to the right. The library lies across the square from us. Hundreds if not thousands of visitors come to Trinity daily because it is such a landmark in the heart of Dublin and has a lot of historical significance. Every time I walk through the front gate to come “home” I pinch myself.




Trinity's front gate

One of Trinity’s best known alumni is Jonathan Swift (1667-1745).




The author of Gulliver’s Travels (a bitter satire of Anglo-Irish relations) was an outspoken Irishman born in Dublin. He attended Trinity College Dublin 1682-1686 and became Dean of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in 1713. While Dean, Swift wrote Gulliver’s Travels and other scathing attacks on the British and Irish political establishment.

I did not know before reading about Swift in St. Patrick’s cathedral today the compassionate spirit he had.


Chairs in St. Patrick's cathedral

In addition to the remarkable stand he took against injustices (kept him from any higher position politically than Dean of the cathedral), he had this memorial (below) erected to his manservant, Alexander McGee, and upon his own death left money to found a hospital for mentally ill patients. Ironically, at the end of his life he suffered from Ménière’s disease, which led many to believe him insane.




By the way, Don and I saw the new film “The Wind that Shakes the Barley,” and highly recommend it. It is a gut-wrenching account of the “Black & Tans” – soldiers of the British government who were sent to stamp out the Irish fight for independence after WWI. If you’ve wondered about the beginnings of the Irish Republican Army, you’ll see it told in this lovely and sad film that won the Palme d'Or at Cannes this year.

(Another BTW, Don and I met at Trinity College in 1975. Ha, but not this Trinity College. We met at the one in Deerfield, Illinois.)

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Do you believe?

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This is Eddie Lenihan, folklorist and storyteller of Irish stories. He has collected and recorded more than 20,000 personal stories from Irish men and women, stories of their own first-hand experiences. What stories? Well, among them, fairy stories.




Are fairies real? If you talk with many Irish people, they will not answer that question "yes" or "no." Their answer will be related to someone they know whose life has seemingly been affected by fairies. Eddie told us a few, and our bus driver to Killarney Monday told us some more.

We heard a lot about "fairy forts."

"A Fairy Fort, also known as raths, are the ruins of old houses where the ancient Celts lived. It is believed that the Druids’ magic surroundings these raths. Although a superstition, many Irish believe that misfortune will come to anyone who disturbs these raths. These raths are located throughout Ireland." (found at http://www.romanceeverafter.com/Fairy%20Forts,%20Music%20&%20Language%20of%20Ireland.htm)

We heard story after story of people who had bulldozed a fairy fort and suffered early deaths or disease in themselves and loved ones. Every Irish man or woman we asked knew just where the local fairy forts were.

After hearing Eddie's stories, next day we travelled to Killarney, a 25,000-acre national park that felt like a fairy land. We rode in boats, horse-drawn carts, and listened to the wind through the heather and mountain gorse.
















On the bus ride back to Cork, the driver stopped for us to show us this fairy fort! You can see (through the window, sorry) the trees are in a ring.

Whether or not they believe, the Irish respect fairies and don't ever want to meet them.

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Kinsale: another harbor town

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All of us -- 45 students, 3 instructors, Don and I -- hopped on a bus yesterday for a 30-minute ride from Cork to Kinsale (emphasis on the second syllable - "sale"). This is another quaint harbor town, like Cobh, with lots of history and charm.



The hills of Kinsale overlook a harbor that leads to the Irish Sea. A famous battle here in 1601 between the Irish (with Spanish allies) and the British ended in British victory.




Don and I cruised the harbor for an hour, finding the Charles Fort, a classic star-shaped fort (photos below).







Kinsale is the gourmet capital of Ireland, and so after our cruise, we had dinner with the instructors Linda, Phil and Jim. I had a wonderful stuffed seabass.

There was a "poetry trail" all around Kinsale with poems posted every here and there. I did not intend for this photo of two of our students and Jim, an instructor, to be associated with each other. Nor do I personally feel this way about men from my own experience. Click on the photo to enlarge and read the poem by Wendy Cope.

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Ireland: Work, work, and a little play

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Don in Dublin

Sunday we began our Ireland visit in Dublin for 36 hours, running around doing errands for the study abroad program commencing two days later. Then off to Cork by train 3 hours and more running around before the group arrived Wednesday.

Problem: 24-hour taxi strike throughout Ireland Sunday night to Monday night. Meaning long walks with luggage to the bus we'd take to the train station in Dublin and from the bus to our lodging in Cork. No big deal, but were we beat after the trans-Atlantic flight!


Overlooking Cork

We're a week in Cork, a city of 250,000 and third largest next to Dublin and Belfast. Cork was designated European City of Culture in 2005. It's a hodge podge of elements. I'll try to post more on it later. But now on to Cobh!


Ryan and Brianna on the train to Cobh

Our whole group -- 45 students, 3 instructors, and Don and I -- took a 25-minute train to Cobh (pronounced "cove") today. You can see several of the students in the photo above.

Cobh was the last port the Titanic saw before its demise. Cobh is the harbor more than 3 million Irish people emigrated from mid-1850s to mid-1950s. Cobh is the harbor near where the Lusitania was sunk by a German U-boat. In houses and hotels throughout this small town of a few thousand inhabitants, survivors of the Lusitania were welcomed.


Street in Cobh

Don and I walked the hills of Cobh today.


Rooftops in Cobh

This view is from near St. Colman's Cathedral, a huge church for a tiny town. I didn't get a good photo of St. Colman's because it is so tall, I cut the spire off in every one!


Funeral procession for Sheola Keaney

Sadly, this photo of St. Colman's is after the funeral today of Sheola Keaney, a beautiful 19-year-old girl who was murdered a few days ago right here in Cobh. We had heard about her death before going to Cobh today, and forgot about it until we came over the hill to go visit St. Colman's, and there was the casket being removed from the church. Her parents are just at the back of the hearse at left. At least 1,000 people followed the hearse to the cemetery on foot.

I'm sorry to end on that note. It really was a touching experience.

I had hoped for wireless in our dorm room, but no such luck. So we're here at an internet cafe in Cork, which is quite posh, I must say.

I'll try to visit you online and update you soon. I miss you all!

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On our way

Tomorrow we leave for two weeks in Cork and Dublin, Ireland, but we will keep in touch with you from there. I'll be posting and commenting and doing what I can to keep up with you.

The corn was breathtaking this morning coming to work, so I leave you with it. You can see it is tassled (on top)! And this means the corn is almost ready to be picked! Alas, we will be away when the first of it is harvested. But there will be plenty to devour when we return, I trust.

I'm moving with leaden feet today as the attacks in Lebanon, Israel, India, and of course those we don't hear so much about, explode in our ears with hatred. But not our hearts. No one can put hatred in our hearts. Only we decide what is there.

And with that, I send you all my love.

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Beyond Goodness

Here are some musings from Rob Brezsny this morning:

"I used to have superpowers," the bumper sticker says, "but my therapist took them away." Does that describe you? Have you been overly normalized by the bland conventions of what constitutes psychological health? Has your spunk been sapped by the pressure to behave yourself in a civilized manner?

If so, I'll offer you three pieces of advice. They may have a sickening effect if you apply them too liberally, but they'll be a tonic if you use them in small doses.

Here is the first, courtesy of Henry David Thoreau: "Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life. Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something."

Here's the second, from Isaac Asimov: "Never let your sense of morals get in the way of doing what's right."

Here's another, formulated by William Irwin Thompson: "An overdose of an antidote becomes a poison in itself."

- Rob Brezsny, Pronoia, Frog Ltd., Berkeley, CA, p. 60

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