“When I die Dublin will be written in my heart”

Well said by James Joyce

American students don't really fancy James Joyce much, because he was a poliglot that lived in France and other European countries as such. 

Great Irish patriot no other than done but with heartedly good thoughts! 

                                                

James Joyce was aiming at Ireland, always into a revolution as it still is to the present time.

It wasn't James Joyce or William Butler Yeats - it was Ernest Miller Hemingway, (born in the US) he was their rival and an ex-patriot and the enfant-terrible of literature! !

Hemingway’s best-known for his analogy of an iceberg: “The dignity of movement of it (an iceberg) is due to only one-eighth of it being above water.”

IRISH  WRITERS AND POETS 

Joyce, Yeats and Wilde

23 Feb 2018 Jason Laurvick

Table of Contents:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xG2vTbERE4g
00:35 INTRO

02:02 Introduction to Richard Ellmann

03:41 Irish "sense of place" -- Benaider to Howth Head

06:45 Irish thought structure, "Men on a secret errand

07:57 Yeats on Sandymount Ave

14:37 Yeats "new words" and "Autumn Poem" comparison

17:22 Wilde at Trinity College

21:41 Wilde's "perfectly formed sentences"

25:04 Joyce at Forty Foot Swimming Place

28:04 Joyce at Martello Tower

34:55 About Irish writers at Dublin Bay

                                                                                           

Trust me, most Irish reckon literature is litter.   Poetry does not spring to mind when people have a chat.

Sandymount Avenue is just part of an industrial estate.   Trinity College has an ugly library, except for the ancient book of Kells in a glass cabinet.  Some mad people swim in the cold Atlantic every day, even in winter.  I think the Martello Tower is around Dun Laoghaire or Dalkey.  It is not so fantastic.  There are much taller towers at Glendalough and other places. Whatever inspiration radiated from such places remains a mystery.

There are dozens of Martello towers around Ireland, which is only one of the many mistakes in your apprehension of Ireland. They were not meant to be a tall tower because an artillery piece was mounted on the roof. They are found just about everywhere the British spent any time under attack.

Relax, I have no misapprehensions whatsoever.   Learning poetry is a waste of time just like learning Latin which is only spoken at the Vatican.  Latin was used in a Vatican document named "Crimen sollicitationis" dated 1962-03-16 to advise bishops how to cover-up the scandal of child abuse.  80% was how to cover-up the crimes (eg transfers and sabaticals and  not reporting to the police).  Only 20% mentioned helping the victims.  I have a copy in English if you need it.

I cannot imagine soldiers dragging a cannon up the windy staircase to the top of such towers.  I could take you to a risky castle where a cow got stuck on the roof and was afraid to come down.  It had to be rescued via helicopter.  It had a passageway with a trap-door covered with grass or hay.  the enemy would fall down into a chimney and get sliced by a horizontal blade halfway down.  There are no martello towers in Africa, just block-houses overlooking strategic railway bridges.  South West Africa was blessed with castles galore built during its 21 year golden age of German civilization.

Some of those tall towers are over a thousand years old and still in mint condition. 
Maybe you know how the tall towers managed to preserve their wooden (non-foldable) ladders reaching the 3 levels.  The lowest ladder would be pulled up during a siege.  The entrance doorways were small so obeast jumbo slobs could not get in.  Likewise, the alleged moon-landing module had inward opening doors due to a lack of space in space.  There is no way the ballooned-up Michelin actornauts could get out.  Obviously the moon-landings were hoaxed, just like the alleged current health crisis.

Kids in school only learn naughty poems.  I wrote a poem to get revenge on a nasty teacher who wacked a small child.  It was based upon the style of Chaucer's Canterbury tales - specifically "The Miller's tale".  I posted it on the notice-board at the teacher's coffee room.  Next day, another teacher recognized my beautiful handwriting and asked me to write a poem saying something pleasant about someone.  Alas, I lacked inspiration.  I am only a stirrer.

Poem - Teacher

The teacher is a brute of 13 stone.

A tall skinny gitt made of flesh and bone.

His hair, like the Ace of Spades is black.

Short, no sideburns, but thick at the back.

Below a tiny fringe, a suspicious stare,

He's ugly as s..t but he don't care.

His back is perpendicular to the ground.

His ears detect every whispered sound.

His brolly is protection from rain.

Inside of which, he hides a cane.

Wicked and cruel, he'd boast and shout.

He'd cane a kid, day in, day out.

He checked your homework, and thus he knew,

It's quality and graded it below it's due.

If not satisfied, you'd scream and wail.

His face is miserable and very pale.

He marches upright, fast and straight.

Head shaking in rhythm with his pulse-rate.

His shoulders twist from side to side.

His loud mouth opens very wide.

He breathes in heavily, he exhales slow.

He paces the room, to and fro.

He must bend down low to unlock the door,

A monster and a sadist, he has a store.

Of history stories, boring in the main.

A bastard well-known for inflicting pain.

He likes to wave his hands round and round.

And punish all the messers he found.

he admires Calvin and Erasmus.

But most of all, he adores John Huss.

He looks about 40, but is 20 years old.

In his palm, the chalk he rolls.

He rubs his nervous itchy jaw.

A black SS coat he often wore.

Over a faded suit of brown.

He slithers along with a wrinkled frown.

The teacher is one we all did see.

The question is who is he ?

Harold27Z said:

Kids in school only learn naughty poems. I wrote a poem to get revenge on a nasty teacher who wacked a small child. It was based upon the style of Chaucer's Canterbury tales - specifically "The Miller's tale". I posted it on the notice-board at the teacher's coffee room. Next day, another teacher recognized my beautiful handwriting and asked me to write a poem saying something pleasant about someone. Alas, I lacked inspiration. I am only a stirrer.

Young kids don't fully understand poetry anyhow, no matter how  you put it into their sight.