Private St.Paddy's celebration
Are you prepared for the whole bunch of strange-sounding, weird-looking words?
Yes? Are you sure?
Well...this entry I've decided to write in English, partly because I have never tried to do it before, partly because the notes, needed for this, I wrote in English too, and partly because it seems to me that it just suits the occasion.
So, apologizes to all who will have problems reading this entry - I can do some translation lessons later :)
This piece of writing will probably be created only by single points, because I don't feel like writing whole sentences. Fang. ( = Tesák :))
PS: Did I say something of not writing the whole sentences? -sigh-
- previously I wanted to visit the Molly Malone's Irish pub, and arrive at James Joyce, where the concert was meant to be, later; since Molly Malone's has been renamed for James Joyce, I put myself in an embarassing situation, trying to find both of them...and asking the passer-by's, of course
- the place, James Joyce, is quite small, but I must say that it's rather pleasant; except the fact that I was forced to sit on the 'bank' beside the hearth, because it was overcrowded
- the prices there are very unpleasant though, for one ginger ale I paid a dirty amount of money...:(
- the staff surprised me quite a lot, because from the amount of five waitors, only one was Czech. paradoxically, it was the only one who looked like an essence of an Irishman :)
- the musicians were great! especially the one who played the Irish drum, I can't remember its proper name. he was always looking at me, and smiling and asking me questions, and at the beginning, he even helped me to find a free place to sit :)
moreover, I really loved the way they played: firstly there were only four of them, in one minute one of them stopped playing and went to the bar, so did the second one in another minute, then the first returned back and started playing again...it was very spontanneous. by the way, this kind of playing is called 'seisiún,' and it's a genuine genre.
another surprise came when they performed an instrumental song, which Asonance performs too. and it wasn't ther only one; during the whole evening, I discoverd five or six more! it seems like there are not so many Irish instrumentals you would think, so the performers have to steal them from each other :D
among the whole amount of instrumentals, though, the musicians performed one or two non-instrumental songs too. I was glad to realize that both of them I knew. and because they were so pleasant and kind, I dared to ask them if the could play The Rocky Road to Dublin for me. they agreed, and when they finished, on of them shaked hands with me and told me that I'm gorgeous -blushing-
- the audience...well, it was the least plesant part of the whole evening. they made so much noise I couldn't hear my own thoughts, and since there was almost no place to move, they were gathering above my head (I was sitting by the table - how I managed to sit there I don't know), pushing with the table and with the chairs, shrieking, laughing loudly...:( and because it's me who's writing this almost-essay, you may not be surprised a bit when I tell you that because of all the loud, gay cheers and calls, joyful atmosphere and everything, I started feeling a bit depressed. so, I found a notebook (like a collection of connected papers, not my computer, of course) and a pen and started writing. you can read it afterwards, since I plan to add the insanities here.
well, of course that some of the guys around asked me what I was doing, and if the writing I did was positive or negative. I lied to them that it was positive, of course, because I didn't want them to ask me why I'm sad or something. one of them complimented me on my handwriting (was he sane? how could anyone possibly like my handwriting??), the other borrowed my notebook for a while, and wrote there a note that I should read The Witch from Portobello by Coelho (did I remind him of the witch?), and the third expressed a wish that I could write something about them. so I did. you may read it later. I'm sure the guys wouldn't like it :D
- so, to sum up, I'm not sure if the impression I expereienced was good or bad. it was sort of mixture, inclining left and right at the same time. maybe that's the reason why I was so discombobulated the whole evening, and even today. I probably liked it there, and it was a good thing to do - to celebrate St.Patrick's day, all clothed in green (only my boots were black), pretending that I don't speak Czech since I'm an Irish girl, being drowned up in the green atmosphere...:) But Paddy did something strange to me, I'm sure...since I feel as if I wasn't myself. and it scares me a bit. what is that supposed to mean, I ask? he probably touched me when I didn't see it, and made something with me I cannot recognize...
Some poetry?
Sorry for the sentiment, I just couldn't help myself.
And I apologize for any misunderstandings you will experience while reading it; I just wanted it to rhyme, and every line to suit each other properly...maybe, some parts of it will sound a bit strange to you.
St.Patrick’s Day
Sitting in the inn,
drinking pint of beer,
thinking of the sin -
- that’s ‚cause you’re not here.
There’s no space to sing,
move around or dance.
if you could only bring
happiness to my trance...
Looking ‘round like fool,
sipping ginger ales.
All guys here look cool.
Shame on them: they’re males.
Laughing like insane,
floating in the sea.
There’s no one-player game.
Only you and me.
See? You make me cold,
tough and boring, shy.
My heart is full of mould
made by you, and I.
“Give me pint of beer!”
I shout, and then I cry.
And like on bemused deer
reflectors on me spy.
My tears are full of dust,
my smile is poison sole.
Thinking of the past,
I fall in rabbit’s hole.
No wonders for Alice,
no tea or dinner time.
I sit here in malice,
and yours is world, and mine.
Just give me one last kiss,
say farewell kindly though.
Life with you was a bliss,
and now it’s time to plough.
There is no fairy-tale,
good luck to the cursed.
It’s time for me to wail,
it’s time to turn to dust.
Low emotions
Smoking fags and drinking whisky
looking kind and feeling frisky
singing loud and laughing low
writing fast and thinking slow
standing here and sitting there
men are caring - I don’t care!
Like a lighthouse in the mountain
like non-working, damaged fountain
like a masque upon one’s face
Queen of England without grace
like a fish, thrown on the cliff
I sit here - all stoned and stiff.
The change of mood
Playing out aloud
my favourite tune
of my mind and soul
Playing out aloud
and no inquiring questions
about my lack of
imagination
Singing quietly
and smiling to myself
like the most foolish
of fools
Singing quietly
and shaking hands with the artist
afterwards
Listening to the tune
enjoying familiar words
enjoying myself
finally
Of mice and men
The old men, the weird men,
the unpleasant, the kind -
- there’s the whole bunch of creatures
floating ‘round my mind.
They’re flirting, they’re smiling,
they ask me for the fire,
they’re winking, they’re thinking
that I’m only the squire.
They’re dancing, they’re shouting,
they write me down their notes,
they seem to be drinking
my collection of faults.
They’re calling me pretty -
- For sure they’ve drunk more beer
that should suit them. Truly,
they sneak on me and peer.
I think that I will rather
leave their world alone,
and move to some peaceful place,
where I can cry and moan.
I’m sailing
Slide, slide, my little boat of fate,
move, move forward and do not hesitate
to cross, cross the wide ocean,
over floating with sharks.
Sail, sail, ‘cause the motion
won’t make my poor soul dark.
Sincerely yours,
English-speaking Vika
PS: Dangie? Please, could you just forget all the mistakes you will find here? :)) (ok, you may tell me later, in e-mail, e.g.)
Yes? Are you sure?
Well...this entry I've decided to write in English, partly because I have never tried to do it before, partly because the notes, needed for this, I wrote in English too, and partly because it seems to me that it just suits the occasion.
So, apologizes to all who will have problems reading this entry - I can do some translation lessons later :)
This piece of writing will probably be created only by single points, because I don't feel like writing whole sentences. Fang. ( = Tesák :))
PS: Did I say something of not writing the whole sentences? -sigh-
- previously I wanted to visit the Molly Malone's Irish pub, and arrive at James Joyce, where the concert was meant to be, later; since Molly Malone's has been renamed for James Joyce, I put myself in an embarassing situation, trying to find both of them...and asking the passer-by's, of course
- the place, James Joyce, is quite small, but I must say that it's rather pleasant; except the fact that I was forced to sit on the 'bank' beside the hearth, because it was overcrowded
- the prices there are very unpleasant though, for one ginger ale I paid a dirty amount of money...:(
- the staff surprised me quite a lot, because from the amount of five waitors, only one was Czech. paradoxically, it was the only one who looked like an essence of an Irishman :)
- the musicians were great! especially the one who played the Irish drum, I can't remember its proper name. he was always looking at me, and smiling and asking me questions, and at the beginning, he even helped me to find a free place to sit :)
moreover, I really loved the way they played: firstly there were only four of them, in one minute one of them stopped playing and went to the bar, so did the second one in another minute, then the first returned back and started playing again...it was very spontanneous. by the way, this kind of playing is called 'seisiún,' and it's a genuine genre.
another surprise came when they performed an instrumental song, which Asonance performs too. and it wasn't ther only one; during the whole evening, I discoverd five or six more! it seems like there are not so many Irish instrumentals you would think, so the performers have to steal them from each other :D
among the whole amount of instrumentals, though, the musicians performed one or two non-instrumental songs too. I was glad to realize that both of them I knew. and because they were so pleasant and kind, I dared to ask them if the could play The Rocky Road to Dublin for me. they agreed, and when they finished, on of them shaked hands with me and told me that I'm gorgeous -blushing-
- the audience...well, it was the least plesant part of the whole evening. they made so much noise I couldn't hear my own thoughts, and since there was almost no place to move, they were gathering above my head (I was sitting by the table - how I managed to sit there I don't know), pushing with the table and with the chairs, shrieking, laughing loudly...:( and because it's me who's writing this almost-essay, you may not be surprised a bit when I tell you that because of all the loud, gay cheers and calls, joyful atmosphere and everything, I started feeling a bit depressed. so, I found a notebook (like a collection of connected papers, not my computer, of course) and a pen and started writing. you can read it afterwards, since I plan to add the insanities here.
well, of course that some of the guys around asked me what I was doing, and if the writing I did was positive or negative. I lied to them that it was positive, of course, because I didn't want them to ask me why I'm sad or something. one of them complimented me on my handwriting (was he sane? how could anyone possibly like my handwriting??), the other borrowed my notebook for a while, and wrote there a note that I should read The Witch from Portobello by Coelho (did I remind him of the witch?), and the third expressed a wish that I could write something about them. so I did. you may read it later. I'm sure the guys wouldn't like it :D
- so, to sum up, I'm not sure if the impression I expereienced was good or bad. it was sort of mixture, inclining left and right at the same time. maybe that's the reason why I was so discombobulated the whole evening, and even today. I probably liked it there, and it was a good thing to do - to celebrate St.Patrick's day, all clothed in green (only my boots were black), pretending that I don't speak Czech since I'm an Irish girl, being drowned up in the green atmosphere...:) But Paddy did something strange to me, I'm sure...since I feel as if I wasn't myself. and it scares me a bit. what is that supposed to mean, I ask? he probably touched me when I didn't see it, and made something with me I cannot recognize...
Some poetry?
Sorry for the sentiment, I just couldn't help myself.
And I apologize for any misunderstandings you will experience while reading it; I just wanted it to rhyme, and every line to suit each other properly...maybe, some parts of it will sound a bit strange to you.
St.Patrick’s Day
Sitting in the inn,
drinking pint of beer,
thinking of the sin -
- that’s ‚cause you’re not here.
There’s no space to sing,
move around or dance.
if you could only bring
happiness to my trance...
Looking ‘round like fool,
sipping ginger ales.
All guys here look cool.
Shame on them: they’re males.
Laughing like insane,
floating in the sea.
There’s no one-player game.
Only you and me.
See? You make me cold,
tough and boring, shy.
My heart is full of mould
made by you, and I.
“Give me pint of beer!”
I shout, and then I cry.
And like on bemused deer
reflectors on me spy.
My tears are full of dust,
my smile is poison sole.
Thinking of the past,
I fall in rabbit’s hole.
No wonders for Alice,
no tea or dinner time.
I sit here in malice,
and yours is world, and mine.
Just give me one last kiss,
say farewell kindly though.
Life with you was a bliss,
and now it’s time to plough.
There is no fairy-tale,
good luck to the cursed.
It’s time for me to wail,
it’s time to turn to dust.
Low emotions
Smoking fags and drinking whisky
looking kind and feeling frisky
singing loud and laughing low
writing fast and thinking slow
standing here and sitting there
men are caring - I don’t care!
Like a lighthouse in the mountain
like non-working, damaged fountain
like a masque upon one’s face
Queen of England without grace
like a fish, thrown on the cliff
I sit here - all stoned and stiff.
The change of mood
Playing out aloud
my favourite tune
of my mind and soul
Playing out aloud
and no inquiring questions
about my lack of
imagination
Singing quietly
and smiling to myself
like the most foolish
of fools
Singing quietly
and shaking hands with the artist
afterwards
Listening to the tune
enjoying familiar words
enjoying myself
finally
Of mice and men
The old men, the weird men,
the unpleasant, the kind -
- there’s the whole bunch of creatures
floating ‘round my mind.
They’re flirting, they’re smiling,
they ask me for the fire,
they’re winking, they’re thinking
that I’m only the squire.
They’re dancing, they’re shouting,
they write me down their notes,
they seem to be drinking
my collection of faults.
They’re calling me pretty -
- For sure they’ve drunk more beer
that should suit them. Truly,
they sneak on me and peer.
I think that I will rather
leave their world alone,
and move to some peaceful place,
where I can cry and moan.
I’m sailing
Slide, slide, my little boat of fate,
move, move forward and do not hesitate
to cross, cross the wide ocean,
over floating with sharks.
Sail, sail, ‘cause the motion
won’t make my poor soul dark.
Sincerely yours,
English-speaking Vika
PS: Dangie? Please, could you just forget all the mistakes you will find here? :)) (ok, you may tell me later, in e-mail, e.g.)