Easter 1916 : A Terrible Beauty Is Born

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse - MacDonagh and MacBride And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.

William Butler Yeats » Easter, 1916

The Pogues in New York City !

The Pogues Reunion Tour
St. Patrick's Weekend
At the Roseland Ballroom, NY, NY - Thursday March 15th 2007

I had never seen The Pogues with the whole band together, and even though I had seen Shane MacGowan and the Popes a few years back at the same venue, there really is nothing like seeing the entire band live on stage: Shane MacGowan with his trademark drunken crooning, sitting in his mystical wheelchair with a large bottle of whiskey close at hand, Spider Stacy playing his tin whistle and with additional vocal accompaniment (as well as lead singer for some memorable classics such as "Tuesday Morning") , Terry Woods (of Steel Eye Span and Sweeny's Men fame) on the mandolin, James Fearnely (The Low & Sweet Orchestra) on the accordion, Darryl Hunt on bass guitar, Jem Finer on the Banjo (whose new band, Junkman's Choir, I play on Radio Rebel Gael pretty often ) Andrew Ranken with his well known bombastic drumming with hammer and sickle boldly painted on the drumset, and Philip Chevron on lead guitar and vocals, whose Radiators from Space was the first Punkrock band to come out of Ireland, beating even the Stiff Little Fingers by a few years....




The show began with the whole band with hands on shoulders pushing wheelchair bound Shane MacGowan onto the stage to a rousing cheer from the audience. They began the night with "Streams of Whiskey", with Shane slurring every word of the song, but to give the man proper credit, he didn't sing off-key despite his drunkeness....

You gotta give the man credit for showing up for the concert despite his injuries, incurred at the Orpheus Theatre at the Pogues show in Boston...Word has it that Shane was hit by a taxi in London and never gave time for these injuries to properly heal so that the injury he received in Boston only worsened his condition...

Next, they got the crowd movin' & a groovin' with "Turkish Song of the Damned", one of my personal faves, with my favorite verse at the end of the song:

As I sit and talk to you I see your face go white
This shadow hanging over me
Is no trick of the light
The spectre on my back will soon be free
The dead have come to claim
A debt from Thee

The crowd at this point had really swollen and rocked to and fro like an Irish tidal wave, as the band launched into old classics like:

"The Broad Majestic Shannon"
"Boys from the County Hell"
"Dark Streets of London"
"The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn"
"A Pair of Brown Eyes"
"Misty Morning, Albert Bridge"
"If I Should Fall From Grace With God"
"Bottle of Smoke"
"Whiskey You're The Devil"
"The Body of An American"
"The Lullaby of London"


I have to admit, although it was sad in some ways, to see Shane wheelchair-bound during the entire concert, despite his alcoholic over-indulgence, and his memorable hissing at the audience, it was great to see and hear the old crooner in full effect, once again ;-)

And when he had to take a siesta from the stage for a bit, Spider Stacy took the helm, singing old favorites like "Tuesday Morning" and "Top of the World" (from the "Waiting For Herb" album), "Sunnyside of the Street" and "Sayonara" (from "Hell's Ditch"), "Girl from the Wadi Hammamat", and even "Waxie's Dargle".... And then Terry Woods took the helm, as he and Philip Chevron sung his popular Irish rebel anthem, "Young Ned of the Hill" :

Since Cromwell pushed us westward

To live our lowly lives

There's some of us have deemed to fight

From Tipperary mountains high

Noble men with wills of iron

Who are not afraid to die

Who'll fight with gaelic honour held on high

A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell

You who raped our Motherland

I hope you're rotting down in hell

For the horrors that you sent

To our misfortunate forefathers

Whom you robbed of their birthright

"To hell or Connaught" may you burn in hell tonight

Of one such man I'd like to speak

A rapparee by name and deed

His family dispossessed and slaughtered

They put a price upon his head

His name is known in song and story

His deeds are legends still

And murdered for blood money

Was young Ned of the hill

I had never seen an audience get so riled up until then inspirational song was played, and it was easy to see that people of all ages were present, from teenagers with their parents to college coeds to Thirty-somethings to middle aged people and a few grandparents.....And when the Pogues called it a night, a very raucous and rowdy crowd encouraged them to do a few encores, which brought back Shane on stage to sing old classics like "Irish Rover", "Sally MacLennane", "Dirty Old Town", "Kitty" , "Misty Morning, Albert Bridge", and concluding with that old love song "You're The One", with Shane pouring out his heart like a lovesick schoolboy lost on the isle of Man, fall from home.... Definitely a fantastic show and pure craic ......

Thanks to mo chara, Pauline, for all the great photos taken at this show ;-)

Rory Dubhdara, Radio Rebel Gael