While getting shit-faced hammered today while dressed up like some Lucky Charms version of a New Year's Eve drunk is well within your rights, let's consider a few alternatives to celebrating Gaelic Pride Day. Shout the twilight haunted poems of Yeats from the rooftops and the alleyways. Don't just blast the Pogues or Chieftans from your stereo... dance to the Pogues and the Chieftans (even if only in your own clumsy way). Read sonorously and loud from the works of Joyce while strolling across the miracle that is the world around you. Spray paint love letters and poems in the Ogham alphabet. Ladies, invoke the spirit of Maud Gonne and revel fierce in sweet liberty. Let us celebrate archetypes rather than stereotypes today and perhaps take a moment to enjoy a culture as rich and misunderstood as probably your own.
If I should fall from grace with God
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sand
Where the angels won't receive me
Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
This land was always ours
Was the proud land of our fathers
It belongs to us and them
Not to any of the others
Let them go, boys
Let them go, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
Bury me at sea
Where no murdered ghost can haunt me
If I rock upon the waves
No corpse shall lie upon me
It's coming up three, boys
Keeps coming up three, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
If I should fall from grace with God
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sod
Where the angels won't receive me
Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

If I should fall from grace with God
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sand
Where the angels won't receive me
Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
This land was always ours
Was the proud land of our fathers
It belongs to us and them
Not to any of the others
Let them go, boys
Let them go, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
Bury me at sea
Where no murdered ghost can haunt me
If I rock upon the waves
No corpse shall lie upon me
It's coming up three, boys
Keeps coming up three, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
If I should fall from grace with God
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sod
Where the angels won't receive me
Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

no subject
on 2010-03-19 01:24 am (UTC)Funny how certain 'peoples' are made the repository of certain ideas, good and bad, and then they live it out, sure enough, it's been in place longer than them.
no subject
on 2010-03-19 08:23 pm (UTC)