Armagh Project 2015

I remember sitting quietly amongst the chatter.

I remember the swing of my pink booted feet to the rhythm of my new uncle’s cackling accent. I kept my fingers busy by making boxes around the stray liquid that sloshed from his cup onto the bar, sometimes the stool, twice my leg.

I remember the talks in the kitchen between Momma, Poppa, and Auntie Eshe before we left; they fit like my old jean jacket – too small and too tight.

I remember the quick flash of victory in Auntie Eshe’s eyes when my Poppa pushed himself back from the table and left the decision to Momma.

I remember the sisters sitting opposite a table speaking without saying a word.

I first met Adam after the flight attendant

and the pilot

and the plump woman at baggage claim.

I remember being seen before I saw, the sound of Auntie Eshe always gave others eyes the advantage. The first time I stepped outside the airport, onto the proper Irish Isle, he was there filling the space, to greet us.
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As I looked up at the saints that guard the entrance to St. Patrick’s cathedral, I noticed the name of St. Paulus (or Saul of Tarsus), engraved upon this armed man here. I suppose that, in terms of difference and adjustment, his was brought about by utter chance.

On his way to Damascus in the early first century, he was struck by the image of Christ, resurrected and beckoning to him. The sight was so puncturing that he fell from his horse and was rendered blind for some time. When he was found by a passing Syrian, he was led to the city by hand, where he would spend the next few days in prayer. Upon regaining his sight, he was immediately baptized and spent the rest of his days in devotion to the Christian faith. He went on to contribute many books to the Holy Bible and is modernly recognized as one of the most important figures in early Christianity.

Some have speculated that he possibly suffered from an epileptic seizure when he fell from his horse. Imagine that.

Here is the casting for our reading on Thursday.  Please read the play and review your roles.  Look up any terms or words you do not understand.

Michael Older – Jeffrey

Boy/Michael Younger – Carolyn

Chris – Bryonna

Maggie – Allie

Agnes – Dominique

Rose – Caitlin

Kate – Sharea

Gerry – Charles

Father Jack – Robert

Stage Directions – me or her

Three dozen yokes smashed,
boiled, scrambled, poached,
the afters neatly stacked
like layer cake in card rows,
albumen glistening with the dew
in the soon to be storm.

No rumbles yet, the hill
has yet to be climbed,
the tree not yet paused at,
the brief history given
of rags: the colours, hopes
tied to the branches.

I fumble; the tissue worn
but unused will have to suffice.
I think of you as I tie the knot
as neat as I can manage.

 

Malachi noted yesterday that creativity springs from chaos. Today Kimberley told us about this quote from The Third Man, which seemed extremely apt:

Don’t be so gloomy. After all it’s not that awful. Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love—they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock. So long Holly.

Source: IMDB

During the Irish Famine, British Prime Minister Lord Russell asked French Victorian celebrity chef Alexis Soyer to implement his idea of a soup kitchen in Dublin. He did and fed over 5,000 famine victims daily, but he charged the rich ex-pats four shillings to watch the victims eat his celebrated soup. In the adjacent zoo in Phoenix Park, it cost five shillings to watch the monkeys eat.

This fact so intrigued and appalled me that I wrote a play about it. Did Soyer ever realize how demeaning that must have been to the victims? Theoretically, the money raised funded a nearby workhouse, but Soyer also sold his cookbooks and famous Sultana’s Sauce to his customers at a wide profit.

We’ve learned a lot of Irish history over our first few days here, but the fact that has most stuck out to me is that since the early ages, women have been able to do everything that men can. Women in some of the first settlements in Ireland could learn to fight and be warriors, hunt, and marry the same way that men did. If a woman was unhappy in a marriage, she had the same options for divorce.

This is quite unusual compared to the history of other countries. More often than not, women were considered lesser than men and many times their property. I find it quite interesting that Ireland was an exception to this, and encouraged equality from the beginning.

Source: The actors at Navan Fort

Vikings are a nomadic people, and of course any European nation anywhere near Scandinavia would had at least felt it, so Ireland was due for an obligatory Viking raid. What is surprising, though, is how, after they sacked a few cities, they liked it there. So much in fact, that they integrated themselves into Irish culture. Usually, it’s the other way around; the invaders force the population to become like them, but no, the Normans became Irish, and it seemed the Irish were okay with that as it let them continue on with their lives.

We were assigned to eavesdrop on the citizens of Armagh, procuring conversations to inform our brain organs on the distinctive vocal landscape of Northern Irish society. For your pleasure, here is my entry:

“Hello?… Hello?… Hello?…… Hello? Think she’s hung up.”
“Eh?”
“Think she’s hung up. Hello?”
“Eh.”
“No helping it.”