52 Poems, Week 28: Not Waving but Drowning (Stevie Smith)
52 Poems, Week 29: Naming of Parts (Henry Reed)

Sunday Night Journal, July 15, 2018

(This post is mostly photos and may be slow to load. I hope it's worth it.)

I mentioned last week that I was traveling. Where I was traveling to was Belfast. Why I was there is a longish story. It was a family get-together, and I have this odd reticence about saying anything very specific on the public web about my children and their children, so never mind the details. Suffice to say that my wife and I were hosted by a native couple, were treated royally, and had a great time. The weather was beautiful, and apparently atypical: it was either sunny or partly cloudy, and I heard people use the term "heat wave," which meant temperatures that almost touched 80F. Really.

And I took some pictures. It's an idiosyncratic travelogue, featuring not necessarily what was best or most important, but what I happened to have the inclination and opportunity to take a snapshot of.

This is a view from the front porch (I think--and I doubt that's the right word) of Castle Ward. I'm not sure how far the domain extends--at minimum to the water's edge, behind and below the trees. I think that promontory in the left middle distance is also part of it. 

CastleWardViewWe got there too late to tour the house itself. I would not have called it a castle, at least not the main house, which was built in the 18th century, and looks it. But the estate as a whole includes structures, too many and too large to be adequately described as outbuildings, which look medieval. Some of these are used as sets for Game of Thrones (which I have not seen). Surely the Clock Tower is one of them.


If you deduce that I did not take this picture, you're correct.

Walking down to the water from the house I saw this very impressive and perhaps just a bit creepy old tree. Does anybody know what kind it is? I don't recognize the leaves at all, and have never seen such a gnarled trunk. I think it was a good four feet in diameter.

CastleWardGnarledTreeWhite Park Bay is on the northern coast, maybe 40 miles or so north of Belfast. It's at the foot of a hill which I'm going to guess is 150 feet high. That is just a guess, though. This is a view from the top of the path leading down to the beach.

WhiteParkBayNot too far away is the famous Giant's Causeway, with its strange basalt columns.

GiantsCausewayWaves GiantsCausewayCloseup

You can walk out on a sort of promontory comprised of these columns. (Actually I think the formation goes on for a mile or more along the shoreline--we only saw one part of it.) This is a view from the tip of that promontory looking back toward the mainland. There's something kind of intriguingly ominous about this image.

GiantsCausewayPilgrimsI suppose it happens at least once a week or so on a certain Belfast street  that a car stops abruptly and a tourist jumps out to take a picture like this. I am leaving the finger in as indicative of the excitement of the moment. 


For many years when I listened to Van Morrison's Astral Weeks I thought he was singing about "Cypress Avenue," and never noticed that the title of the song is actually "Cyprus Avenue." It was fairly recently that I discovered this ("fairly recently" for me meaning "in the last ten or fifteen years"), and I was disappointed. Cypress Avenue sounds like a beautiful place; Cyprus Avenue does not. But actually it looks like a lovely place.

CyprusAvenueAnd I'm caught one more time

And speaking of Van, I spotted this mural on the side of a building:

BelfastMuralThat's him in the upper left, of course. Below him is Garry Moore, who is not all that well known in the U.S. I'm guessing that the soccer ("football") player in the upper right is George Best, for whom the airport is named. I don't recognize anyone else, though no doubt I would recognize the name of the guitarist at the bottom.

One day we drove south from Belfast along Strangford Lough ("Loch"), crossed its southern end at Portaferry, and drove back up the northeastern coast. Those little coastal farms and towns are about as close to an idyllic and ideal landscape as I can imagine. Unfortunately I didn't take any good photos on that drive. What I found especially captivating (and my wife felt the same) was the way the farmlands run right down almost to the water's edge. 

And yet: no place on earth is idyllic, really. The shadow of the Troubles still falls on Belfast and the little towns round about. One of the beautiful little towns we drove through on our northward outing was Ballymoney. Leafing through a newspaper on Sunday morning, I read a story about the current doings of a man who had been involved in the incendiary bombing of a home there which took the lives of three little boys. You don't have to look very hard for signs that tensions still simmer, in spite of the peace agreement of 1998. We left on the morning of July 12, not realizing when we planned the trip that "The Twelfth" is a very significant day and a frequent occasion of violence. That night there was some--burning of cars and the like--though happily it was relatively minor.

Being the alarmist and pessimist that I am, I couldn't help thinking about the relevance of Northern Ireland's conflict to the current one in the U.S. I hear more and more talk about the possibility of civil war here, of the culture war turning into actual war, or of an attempt to divide the country, which could certainly lead to violence. It's not serious, in that no one except for perhaps a very very few fanatics is really preparing for violence. And our antagonisms don't have the historical causes and intensity of Ireland's. But it would be foolish to deny that it's possible. After all, as some '60s radical said, violence is as American as apple pie. It's not as if we haven't already demonstrated that we're capable of civil war. 

The possibility is sometimes dismissed because the opposing sides in our culture war are not clearly separable by geography, as in the War Between the States, or easily identifiable by ethnicity. But the Troubles demonstrate that those are not necessary. All you need is a pair of enemies and the belief on each side that the other is a serious threat to its welfare and perhaps to its existence. There are still "peace walls" separating Protestant and Catholic neighborhoods in parts of Belfast. (It's always seemed to me that it's misleading to think of this as a religious conflict: religion serves as a differentiating mark, certainly, but it's not about religion; they aren't fighting about doctrine.) We ought to be uneasy when we hear our fellow citizens declare that they don't want their political opponents as neighbors. We ought to be downright frightened at the level of political and cultural hate that is so frequently on display. If you think this kind of fury can go on indefinitely without expressing itself in deeds you don't know much about mankind.

Ok, enough of that. There is a place on the northern coast called Corrymeela which is an ecumenical Christian community devoted to peace and reconciliation. These peaceful waters are seen from there. 



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I think the guitarist is Eric Bell from Thin Lizzy, Mac.

It occurred to me that you might know. :-) Thin Lizzy occurred to me as a possibility, actually, I guess just because Garry Moore was with them at one point.

Those hexagonal columns at Giant's Causeway also extend under the water to the north. I've seen them on the island of Staffa in the Scottish Hebrides, and I was told that they were part of the same geological formation as is seen on the northern Irish coast. I think they're pretty terrific.

It looks like you had a great trip.

That last picture is stunningly beautiful.

I have not been at all jealous of your trip; however, now I am a bit because ever since I saw a picture of those hexagonal stones, I have really wanted to see them. The first picture I saw was the opening page of Windows one day, so I guess that is something in Microsoft's favor. ;-)

Good thing about the heatwave. It hadn't been so hot, you might have been too cold.


I concur that Eric Bell from the first three Litzy records is the other guitarist. Very good player.

Glad you like that picture. Of course the real sight was even more rich and silvery but this isn't too far off.

It actually was chilly at night--down in the mid 50s.

Microsoft has a lot of good desktop photos.

I did, Craig. And it hadn't occurred to me that the formation extended out into the sea, but of course it makes perfect sense--why would it stop at the shoreline?

Something about this bit of the Giant's Causeway that isn't very apparent in these pictures: where the exposed formation blends into the soil-covered hills, it's quite high and steep--30 feet at least, maybe more. and almost vertical in places--more or less a cliff. And of course the footing is treacherous. It occurred to me that in the U.S. fear of lawsuits would probably mean much of it was fenced off with dire warnings and threats. But people are allowed to clamber all over it. Only in a couple of places they have guards with whistles warning people off the most dangerous climbs.

Might have known you would know that, Fr. Matt. :-)


Assuming that those leaves belong to that tree, I think it is a Beech. I can see so many things in it! A sad-sack dog in the dark part on the top left, a mer-child with its head hidden behind a burl near the top on the right, a sort of malevolent little head just to the left of the middle of the picture, and a tiny penguin, middle bottom.


I was about to say I wasn't aware that you take drugs, but by golly I see some of them, too.

Beech was my one guess, actually. Those leaves do belong to it. First reason for the guess is that I often see beech mentioned along with oak as a grand tree in British Isles lore. And this is certainly a grand one. Second is that there's a tree in my yard which I think is some kind of beech, and which has similar but smaller leaves. So if both are beeches they must be different varieties. Or else *extremely* slow growers, because I haven't noticed much growth in mine over 25 years. Nothing like our sycamore or our live oak. The former went from three-foot stick to forty-foot shade tree over that time.

For a second I thought that Max Schreck was peeking over Van's shoulder -- "Wait a minute...he's not Irish!"

In or out of his Nosferatu makeup? (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Max_Schreck)

I don't see anybody peeking over Van's shoulder, actually. But I did notice for the first time just now that there's a lion at the top center. That would be Aslan, I guess. There is a C.S. Lewis Square which has a somewhat strange but I think effective Aslan statue.


List of everyone on the mural.


Thanks. I never would have gone to that much trouble. So the lion is not Aslan but Lewis himself? I'm trying to see Lewis's face in it but it's just not working.

I don't recognize the names of anyone of the writers.

Nah. It's Aslan.

By the way, I have no trouble loading this, and I have trouble loading everything.


Good. I noticed that it wasn't slow for me but didn't know if that would be generally true.

Schreck as Nosferatu: it's actually Van's fist in the air, but on a small screen it looks like the top of Nosferatu's head with his eyebrows and right ear peeking over Van's shoulder.

One of those visual oddities, I guess. I can't see it as that at all.

Yeah, when I look at the pic in a bigger version it immediately becomes Van's hand. Must have to do with the size/tone of the image on my monitor.

Great photos of the trip, by the way. Looks like it was great fun.

It was indeed, thanks.

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