Failte!

I'm excited to share my adventures with all of you! I want your first taste of my life in Ireland to be this poem that I wrote very late one night when I was a Junior in College. Its meaning seems eerily prophetic now. More than anything, I've created this blog to make the actualization of this life-long dream of mine visible to those I love: my friends who are my foundation, my endlessly supportive family, my mentors and co-workers who inspire me, and my former students who have given me enough satisfaction and fulfillment to last two lifetimes... Have the courage to believe that your wildest dreams can come true.

Is fhearr fheuchainn na bhith san duil, (It is better to try than to hope)

e
Mourn (A Seaside Peak in Southern Ireland)

The dark, earthen sod saturates her fair feet,
but briefly since she frolics fast in knee high
blades of greenest grass that blow dizzily in the Celtic-sea air.

Her wool skirt, stiffened by ware of evenings past
is splashed by cresting waves that break
against a beach blacker than her hair.
Those once stiffer fibers were loosed by nights upon nights
of hanging perfectly on his line before being wildly blown dry
by the crisp Hibernian salt air.

The pair sits to rest a while instead of dodging
breakers or skipping paler stones.

"Indian summer's here," he says softly,
but all of summer here feels like the edge
of autumn to her, even though she grins in agreement
as she dangles her pale, soft feet off Achilles' peak,
where Erin's vermillion-gold sky meets
an ocean that is grey with years.

She sleeps with her eyes closed tight most nights.
He asks her if she believes in Tier-Nan-Og,
and she asks him if he believes in anything eternal.
Outside the tide is rising, or it's receding—
She never can tell but for the strengthened smell of
salty freshness strained through his light, lace curtains.
She thinks to herself that he is like trying to hold the sea 
and she imagines the water running between her fingers--
clenched so tight.

And so, the night calls her out of her sleeping,
like daytime chides her into dreaming.
She slips her white fingers through the holes of an old loose scarf
that affords her more company than warmth
on these newborn autumn evenings. She is off-- 
Night clouds reflect emerald from land to sea,
And the tara that she never eyes from long hours of
staring too far into star blanketed skies,
feels cool against the thickening pads of her pallid feet.

Elisabeth Lewis (2005)

01 October 2011

Music Video Saturday

So my plan today for walking around the city was thwarted by the first heavy rainfall since I've been here... So I'm reading my thesis advisor, Muiris O'Sullivan's, Megalithic Art in Ireland, a cool article on charcoal analysis at an Iron Age ritual site, and Deepak Chopra's  The Path to Love at my new favorite spot--the 2nd floor Starbucks on Grafton Street, overlooking Bewley's Cafe. I infamously listen to music while I read and  here's a snippet of what I'm listening to today...


Beyonce's voice is undeniably amazing, but there's something alluring about the Florence + The Machine version to me. Which do you like better?
Also, very different, but equally powerful versions of Run by, Leona Lewis  and Snow Patrol
This will always remind me of Jefferson because of how often 
I listened to it to calm myself after 8th period in Boston :)

Everyone knows that Jeff Buckley sings the best version of Hallelujah, 
but I like the ladies a bit more lately...

Ok, some European tourists who don't understand personal space just joined my tiny table with their lattes and little ones, so I'm done :) Want a postcard shipped on Monday with the rest? Post YOUR favorite song that's been covered and let me know which you think is best and why!

<3, e
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