Once in Ireland

As a newbie brownie in my first primary school, Marymount Convent, I was told to pick a country and enlighten the other girls about brownies and their activities in that country. After faster girls got their choice nation, I was left with two; I don't recall the other, only the one that I picked - Ireland. I didn't know a thing about the place, except that the first three letters were the same as my mother's name, Irene. Since my mother had supported my wish to be a brownie, and since she was my heroine when I was nine (and still is when I am twenty-nine), I pointed to the card that said "Ireland."

In time, I read Swift, Joyce, Yeats, Heaney, and counted Maeve Binchy as a guilty pleasure. I saw the Cliffs of Moher for the first time in a National Geographic Traveler magazine and vowed to visit one day.

I never did make it there though. And though my yearning for all things Irish waned, it never quite faded, returning every once in a while and tempting me to make good on that long-ago vow. When I was seventeen, I had a date in an Irish pub in Singapore, and as I tasted Irish food (or, as Irish as it gets in Asia) for the first time, I remembered the descriptions of colcannon and coddle I'd read and nearly forgotten. At college, I took a class with Richard Tillinghast, who made me write some of my best poetry (and also one rap, which I struggled to perform in class, so he performed it for me), and who had such a wealth of knowledge on Irish poets and poetry that it flowed out from even his fingernails. It was he who introduced me to Derek Mahon, and in particular, the poem "The Chinese Restaurant at Portrush." Incidentally, Professor Tillinghast was the only one in the classroom who recognized the phrase "billions of blistering barnacles," which I quoted during an alliteration exercise. "Captain Haddock," he said with a raised eyebrow. "Does anyone here know of Tintin?" he asked. The question delighted me to no end. During office hours that week, we talked about Tintin and my inability to rap. He was still teaching when I returned to grad school, but the spring I graduated was also the one when he retired and moved to Ireland.

In May, during my crazy days of grading over 50 examination scripts, I read a movie review about a little movie set in Dublin. Like "Waitress," that other film on my to-watch list, "Once" came out of the Sundance Film Festival and received excellent reviews. And they weren't for just the acting and the story, but also the music. I looked up the trailer and then added the title "Once" to my to-watch list. The song in the trailer, "Falling Slowly," is full of yearning, the melodic phrases shifting like water against a shoreline, and shutting my eyes, I conjured up a vision of the Cliffs of Moher (which I didn't really need to, since the Wikipedia has a few beautiful pictures).

I started this entry thinking I would write about "Once" but my on-off affair with Ireland took control instead. Still, watching the film is a reality that will happen sooner than my making it to Ireland. And even then, who knows if the small film will get to Singapore. I'll settle for listening to a few songs from the soundtrack, which I got from theyellowstereo.com. Let's hope that we'll get the soundtrack in Singapore some day too.

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A song, a poem, and a picture.

"Falling Slowly" by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová.

The Chinese Restaurant in Portrush
by Derek Mahon

Before the first visitor comes the spring
Softening the sharp air of the coast
In time for the first seasonal 'invasion'.
Today the place is as it might have been,
Gentle and almost hospitable. A girl
Strides past the Northern Counties Hotel,
Light-footed, swinging a book-bag,
And the doors that were shut all winter
Against the north wind and the sea-mist
Lie open to the street, where one
By one the gulls go window-shipping
And an old wolfhound dozes in the sun.

While I sit with my paper and prawn chow mein
Under a framed photograph of Hong Kong
The proprietor of the Chinese restaurant
Stands at the door as if the world were young,
Watching the first yacht hoist a sail
- An ideogram on sea-cloud - and the light
Of heaven upon the hills of Donegal;
And whistles a little tune, dreaming of home.

The Cliffs of Moher from Wikipedia

Posted by Monoceros at June 1, 2007 6:25 PM