"A poet can survive everything but a misprint." - Oscar Wilde

The Planters Daughter
Austin Clarke

When night stirred at sea,
An the fire brought a crowd in
They say that her beauty
Was music in mouth
And few in the candlelight
Thought her too proud,
For the house of the planter
Is known by the trees.

Men that had seen her
Drank deep and were silent,
The women were speaking
Wherever she went
As a bell that is rung
Or a wonder told shyly
And O she was the Sunday
In every week.

I've always loved that poem, it always comes to mind when I hear the Damien Rice song "The Blowers Daughter" they both have a similar simplistic beauty to them. I remember back in the early 90's in school, as our class dismembered Austin Clarke's works with inexpert tools, leaving his poetry hopelessly mutilated and devoid of beauty and meaning. It was years later I began to read those works with renewed passion. Unfortunately the education in literature given to the youth of the Land of Yeats, Wilde, Swift and Joyce is severely lacking in the most important aspect. We never learnt to appreciate the beauty of the pieces we studied. We accepted them as dissembled building blocks, we were thought to block out the woods and see only the trees. What a depressing way to see Art. I wonder if Monet or Van Gogh's works were taught in school would they teach you to dissemble the works and look to see what the paints were made of, what type of canvas was used, and where the frame was crafted, rather than to see the artists vision as he or she intended.

I was taught to see the metaphors and to learn off the Board of Educations view on what Austin Clarke meant by "They say that her beauty, Was music in mouth". That phrase conjures a beauty merely by the flow and sounds as they curl around your mouth, the phonetics are far more beautiful than any amount of metaphors or technical devices.

I watched as my class cavity searched Yeats, 'translated' Shakespeare, and argued over whether Joyce was artistic or merely long winded. It was depressing to be honest. How an amateur with a three year Arts degree could decide she knew what a Poet intended you to see in his poetry, though the said poet could be dead 50 years before she was born and had never written down anywhere what he had meant his poem to be seen as. I sincerely hope at some stage the Dept Of Education here wake up and realise they have pushed an entire generation away from the literature of our Nation by their blundering and ineptitude.

I'm going to drop in a more modern lyrical artists work here, mentioned above, Damien Rice.. the song is repetitive and simple, and I think that is part of what makes it so beautiful. If you've never heard it, go and buy it, download, beg, steal or borrow it. It is well worth listening to.

"The Blowers Daughter"

And so it is
Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me
Most of the time
And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We'll both forget the breeze
Most of the time
And so it is
The colder water
The blower's daughter
The pupil in denial

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

Did I say that I loathe you?
Did I say that I want to
Leave it all behind?

I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind...
My mind...my mind...
'Til I find somebody new



I'm going to leave off writing about my weekend for now, it will be long, though not as long and arduous as the weekend, but I'm tired and my work calls, so for now I will say;

"We part only to meet again
Though mighty boundless waves may sever
Remembrance shall bring thee near
And I shall go with thee forever
And often at midnight's silent hour
When brilliant planets guide the ocean
Thy name shall rise to highest stars
And mingle with my soul's devotion."

That comes from a Story written by Tani Jantsang, it is translated from Arabic. (Some contend that it was written by Edgar Allen Poe - This is unlikely, the author is unknown, See http://www.geocities.com/we_part/index.html for more information).


Till next time,
Concúbhair