green snow
Scottie Bowman (rbowman@indigo.ie)
Sat, 18 Dec 1999 18:01:53 +0000
When Stephen picked up the hammer in his smithy
he certainly forged that particular piece of MY uncreated
conscience. I expect it belongs to all of us now - even
those fortunate enough to have escaped the Celtic curse.
I'm very grateful to Tim for its recall.
However, as an example of poetic truth telling an awful lie
it could hardly be bettered.
Not this side of the Great Glaciation has snow fallen
'... general all over Ireland ...'; rarely on '... the dark central
plain'; & virtually never on '... the dark mutinous Shannon
waves.'
That's one of the many tarnation things wrong with
this distressful country. It hardly ever snows. The last time
I recognised that wonderful, telltale glare reflected from
behind the curtain onto the bedroom ceiling was in
my native Angus, Scotland in 1937. Nineteen, f---ing,
thirty seven. Since then, nothing. Maybe for a day or two
in Dublin, once a decade in Waterford, but NEVER EVER
in horrid, mild, damp, mouldy green Cork. And as for
the Shannon or unspeakable Limerick, forget it.
If you want snow in Ireland you have to go to Belfast.
And that, as we all know, isn't actually part of Ireland at all.
(Incidentally, I think Max was right about that 'orgiastic'
- though 'orgastic' is worse. The orgiastic future?
That's an elegiac sentence. Wouldn't you want to avoid
DeMille connotations?)
Scottie B.