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Monday, Nov 25,
2002
We arrived in Sligo
after dark, and it took us a moment to finally find our
B&B, the Mountain
View B&B, a charming farm house in a
secluded corner with views of Ben Bulben. Of course, when we
arrived it was dark and we couldn't find the mountain. Once
settled, we decided to go down for a pint at the nearby pub.
We knew we were in Yeats' Country--the poet grew up in this
area, and some of his most evocative early poetry has Sligo
for a theme and protagonist--so we expected the area of be
Yeats-centric. The pub was a surprise. The walls were full of
Yeats memorabilia: old photos, newspaper and magazine
clippings, artwork based on his poetry and even some
manuscripts in his own handwriting (it is unmistakable once
you get to know it). Yeats permeated the room like a vapor,
infusing even the beer in your hand with literary greatness.
Tuesday, Nov 26,
2002
Behold
the guardian of Sligo, Ben Bulben.
Nov. 26, 2002
In the morning when
we woke up, we opened the window only to finally see how good
of a view of Ben Bulben our
B&B had: it was right in front of us, looming large and
serene, a crown of clouds on its head. It is said that you
cannot go anywhere in Sligo without seeing Ben
Bulben, and I believe it. It is a cyclopean sentinel
watching over its kingdom, and over its beloved poet.
At breakfast we met
another couple from Boston and dined on "little
soldiers", hard-boiled eggs served with a strip of
toasted bread for a rifle, and some home-made orange
marmalade. It was absolutely delicious. After packing all our
stuff, we headed just some few hundred feet up the road to
Drumcliff Churchyard, the site of Yeats' grave.
Amid ancient
relics--a Norman round tower across the street, and St.
Columbkille's (or St. Columba) Cross--and overlooked by Ben
Bulben, Drumcliff is a solemn place. In winter, the trees
reach skeletal branches to the sky, and the clouds descend
quite low, shrouding the area in mist. In the middle of this otherworldly
setting, we sat to pay our respects to a man who was as much a
patriot of Ireland as any of the martyrs of the Easter
Rebellion (more in Dublin), a man
who sought to better his country by his words, a man who gave
us a legacy in writing that will live for centuries to come.
His true monument, however, is not in Drumcliff, but rather in
our bookshelves, all the bookshelves of the world that still
hold Yeats' words and hope of a new Ireland, a new world.
Yeats himself put it
best in his poem, "Under Ben Bulben":
Under bare Ben Bulben's head
In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid.
An ancestor was rector there
Long years ago, a church stands near,
By the road an ancient cross.
No marble, no conventional phrase;
On limestone quarried near the spot
By his command these words are cut:
Cast a cold eye
On life, on death
Horseman pass by!
The grave
of the great Irish poet William Butler Yeats.
Nov. 26, 2002
From Drumcliff we
decided to check out another Yeatsian location, so we set back
into Sligo in search of Lough Gill and the Lake Isle of
Innisfree. By now it had kind-of become a private joke between
us: you see, Yeats had a very particular way of reading
poetry, where rhythm was heavily marked, and Lake Isle was the
poem Danny had heard a recording of Yeats reading in one of his classes. So
whenever we spoke of Yeats, we would recite Lake Isle in a
mock rendition of Yeats' accent. Yes, we realize its one of
those things you had to be there, but if you can ever hear a
recording of Yeats reading poetry, do so and you'll understand
us perfectly.
"I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade."
-- The Lake Isle of Innisfree
Yvette
& Danny in front of the Lake Isle of Innisfree (back and
left).
Nov. 26, 2002
We made our way back
to the main road, and with Ben Bulben watching over our
departure, we headed north, way north, headed towards our next
destination: Northern Ireland.
Next: Antrim
Coast
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