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04 Apr 02 - 03:48 AM (#682600) Subject: May Interest The Pooka/Na gCopaleen fans From: Paddy Plastique Seems another one of those lost manuscripts by everyone's favourite grouch from Strabane has been fished up by a fella from UCG. Here's an article about it by his former employers: An Sgian Get in there quick before the mane gets start charging for access to their site. |
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06 Apr 02 - 03:18 PM (#684609) Subject: RE: BS: May Interest The Pooka/Na gCopaleen fans From: *#1 PEASANT* how did I miss that! Many Thaks! Conrad |
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07 Apr 02 - 07:14 AM (#684903) Subject: RE: BS: May Interest The Pooka/Na gCopaleen fans From: MartinRyan The article mentions a/the brother as the editor of an Irish language paper called Inniu As a schoolkid in the early sixties, our Irish class evey Friday was spent doing the crossword in that paper! The incentive was the prize of 10 shillings - which we won every so often. Not surprisingly, the puzzle had a large number of tri-lingual puns! Regards |
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08 Apr 02 - 12:35 AM (#685314) Subject: RE: BS: May Interest The Pooka/Na gCopaleen fans From: GUEST What is Pooka...I might be a fan if I knew what it was. |
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08 Apr 02 - 11:22 AM (#685494) Subject: RE: BS: May Interest The Pooka/Na gCopaleen fans From: Paddy Plastique Sorry Guest, badly punctuated title line... 'The Pooka' is a Mudcat contributor who, so I've noticed from his posts, shares a liking for Myles na gCopaleen/Flann O'Brien with meself. What's more, he has taken his Mudcat name from a character in O'Brien's novel 'At Swim-Two-Birds'. Digressing, as usual, the name 'Pooka' is related to a Gaelic word used for 'fairy' which always amuses my French other half when it comes to the meaning of Poulaphooka (sic), a beauty spot in the Dublin Mountains I'm always forced to concede my fears that the place refers to some little person's orifice or other. I think the brother in question is Ciarán... glad to hear the money was going to finance Woodbines and pool games, then... :-> |
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08 Apr 02 - 08:35 PM (#685809) Subject: RE: BS: May Interest The Pooka/Na gCopaleen fans From: *#1 PEASANT* 5.The Pooka-A horse ass etc... takes rider on a wild ride and shakes him off in the grey of morning especially drunkards-a drunkards sleep is his kingdom.When it rains with sun shining that means he will be out that night. When berries are killed by frost it is the Pooka's spit which is upon them and they should not be eaten. Source: clickhere The Grand Fusion O'Brien Chapter 1 Having placed in my mouth sufficient bead for three minutes' chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression. I reflected on the subject of my spare-time literary activities. One beginning and one ending for a book was a thing I did not agree with. A good book may have three openings entirely dissimilar and inter-related only in the presence of the author, or for that matter one hundred times as many endings. Examples of three separate openings-the first: The Pooka MacPhellimey, a member of the devil class, sat in his hut in the middle of a fir-wood meditating on the nature of the numerals and segregating in his mind the odd ones from the even. He was seated at his diptych or ancient two-leaved hinged writing-table with inner sides waxed. His rough long-nailed fingers toyed with a snuff –box of perfect rotundity and through a gap in his teeth he whistled a civil cavatina. He was a courtly man and received honour by reason of the generous treatment he gave his wife, one of the Corrigans of Carlow. …..Relate further for us, said Conán. It is true that I will not, said Finn. With that he rose to a full tree-high standing, the sable cat-guts which held his bog-cloth drawers to the hems of his jacket of pleated fustian clanging together in melodious discourse. Too great was he for standing. The neck to him was as the bole of a great oak, knotted and seized together with muscle-humps and carbuncles of tangled sinew, the better for good feasting and contending with the bards. The chest to him was wider than the poles of a good chariot, coming now out, now in, and pastured from chin to navel with meadows of black man-hair and meated with layers of fine man-meat- the better to hide his bones and fashion the semblance of his twin bubs. The arms to him were like the necks of beasts, ball-swollen with their bunched-up brawnstrings and blood-veins, the better for harping and hunting and contending with the bards. Each thigh to him was to the thickness of a horse's belly, narrowing to a green-veined calf to the thickness of a foal. Three fifties of Fosterlings could engage with handball against the wideness of his backside, which was wide enough to halt the march of warriors through a mountain-pass. I am a bark for buffeting, said Finn, I am a hound for thorny paws. I am a doe for swiftness I am a tree for wind – siege I am a windmill I am a hole in a wall I am the breast of a young queen, said Finn, I am a thatching against rains I am a dark castle against bat-flutters I am A connachtman's ear. I am a harpstring I am a gnat -Flan O' Brien At Swim Two Birds Source: Click here Conrad |