The Wind That Shakes The Barley

Damien: Micheali was killed because he wouldn’t say his name in English. That what you call a martyr, is it Teddy?

Micheail was an Irishmen. There was a raid because he and his friends had played football. A policeman asked him for his name and Micheail called his name in Gaelic. So he was killed by the policeman. This was a very cruel death. If Michaeil had said his name in English, he would not have died. Indeed, the love was bigger to his native country than all other, so he remained loyal to his language. His friends still warned him, however, he stood to Ireland.

So Michaeil is a true martyr, because he had to die because of his conviction.

A Modest Proposal

Ireland, 1729 The famous author Johnathan Swift writes in his work “A Modest Proposal” about the suggestion to eat children. It is a satire, nevertheless, the Irishmen are shocked. Swift complains about the beggars all over Ireland. Most of them are mothers with their children. According to Swift these children are useless, because they keep their mother away from work.

So children are a big problem for Ireland and the person who finds a solution would be a hero. Swift thinks, he could be this hero.

Before he starts to write about his suggestion, he claims to reduce the number of the abortions. After that he assures once again the uselessness of the children. They do not make any profit before they are twelve years old. They cannot go to work and earn some money, they are just expensive, for example you have to buy them food. His suggestion is to sell and to eat the children. They taste delicious and are very nourishing and you have many possibilitys to cook them. Of the 120.000 children in Ireland, he wants 20.000 to reserve for breed. This would be a good solution for the landlords. The landlords can cook the children and can make gloves and shoes out of the skin. Then, in addition, the mothers could go to work again. There will be a less number of papists, because they have many children you can eat. This statement shocked the whole papist population. Swift writes that poor tenants can pay theit taxes by selling their children. They are all saving money which will stay in Ireland. The export of children will be a nice business. Also the cooks can make profit, because they can create new dishes and there will be a new competition. He explains once again the going back number of the abortions. Swift writes also about the positive aspect of the new mothercare. More people want to marry and the fathers would be lovely, they would not hit their wives anymore.

It is clear that Jonathan Swift wants to provoke. He wants to fight against the nation because he thinks that they do nothing to help the beggars. Nevertheless, many Irishmen protest against the spreading of this text. In the end, children are not a source, they are important for the future of Ireland.

On the Empty Shore – Atmosphere

The atmosphere in the short story “On the Empty Shore”, written by Seosamh Mac Grianna, is very gloomy.

The story begins with Cathal O Canann. He runs through the fields in Ireland in search of potatoes. Already here the atmosphere is very depressing and disagreeable, because his search remains fruitless. The ground is barren (l. 1) and Cathal thinks that everything is cold: The air (l. 2), the crags (l. 2), the fields (l. 2) and even himself (l. 3). After his search he goes back to his house, the walls are “green and damp from time” (l. 11). This shows that the miserable situation stops long since and the desperation in Ireland is very high. This is reflected in the atmosphere when he enters the house. He walks “into the gloom” (l. 14), so everything is very dark and mysterious. The atmosphere changes when Cathal discovers that his friend Art has died. He is “cold as a rock” (l. 22). You can feel the loneliness and the sadness. Cathal feels lonely like he never felt before (ll. 25-26). The atmosphere is desperate, even the faith in God, which is very important for the Irishmen, has disappeared (ll. 31-32). You feel a bit disgusted because Cathal decides to carry the corpse to the graveyard. He is very hungry (l. 57). This hunger stretches through the complete atmosphere of the short story. On his way to the graveyard Cathal smells soup and you can feel his hope, because his step quickened (l. 84). However, he gets no soup because a violent looking man forbids it to him (ll. 97-100). The atmosphere becomes even worse than before, “the world was blacker than ever” (ll. 102-103). Cathal arrives the graveyard and when he burys Art, it feels for him, as if he killed Art himself (l. 120). He dedicates himself to the hopelessness and complains the great famine.

So all in all the atmosphere is very dynamic, only the hunger is always perceptible. The Story touches you very much.

Thousands are sailing

The island it is silent now
But the ghosts still haunt the waves
And the torch lights up a famished man
Who fortune could not save

Did you work upon the railroad
Did you rid the streets of crime
Were your dollars from the white house
Were they from the five and dime

Did the old songs taunt or cheer you
And did they still make you cry
Did you count the months and years
Or did your teardrops quickly dry

Ah, no, says he, ‚twas not to be
On a coffin ship I came here
And I never even got so far
That they could change my name

Thousands are sailing
Across the western ocean
To a land of opportunity
That some of them will never see
Fortune prevailing
Across the western ocean
Their bellies full
Their spirits free
They’ll break the chains of poverty
And they’ll dance

In Manhattan’s desert twilight
In the death of afternoon
We stepped hand in hand on Broadway
Like the first man on the moon

And „The Blackbird“ broke the silence
As you whistled it so sweet
And in Brendan Behan’s footsteps
I danced up and down the street

Then we said goodnight to Broadway
Giving it our best regards
Tipped our hats to Mister Cohan
Dear old Times Square’s favorite bard

Then we raised a glass to JFK
And a dozen more besides
When I got back to my empty room
I suppose I must have cried

Thousands are sailing
Again across the ocean
Where the hand of opportunity
Draws tickets in a lottery
Postcards we’re mailing
Of sky-blue skies and oceans
From rooms the daylight never sees
Where lights don’t glow on Christmas trees
But we dance to the music
And we dance

Thousands are sailing
Across the western ocean
Where the hand of opportunity
Draws tickets in a lottery
Where e’er we go, we celebrate
The land that makes us refugees
From fear of Priests with empty plates
From guilt and weeping effigies
And we dance