The Wee Book of Irish Wit & Malarkey E-Book

Sean McCann

• Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

The Irish mix wit and wisdom the way they do whiskey and water, and to the same intoxicating effect. Irish wit is an art form that can be sage, silly, insulting, or profound, but it's always entertaining. The Wee Book of Irish Wit & Malarkey is a pint-sized draft of potent mirth and malarkey from Oscar Wilde, Jonathan Swift, Brendan Behan, and many other wags, including 'yer man' – your everyday son of the sod – on everything from love and marriage to death and dying and everything in between.

Leseprobe

Contents

Introduction

  1 Men and Women

  2 Friends and Enemies

  3 Youth and Aging

  4 Family

  5 Rags to Riches

  6 Fights and Wars

  7 Love and Marriage

  8 On Beauty

  9 Intelligence and Stupidity

10 Nations Around the World

11 Writers and Literature

12 Art and Artists

13 Life and Living

14 Sports and Hobbies

15 Justice and the Law

16 The Hard Stuff

17 Food

18 Religion

19 Politics and Government

20 Motivation and Ambition

21 Death and Dying

About the Contributors

The greatest wit in Ireland is ‘yer man’. He is also the E nest humorist as well as being the leading authority on everything that grows, breeds, breathes, walks, thinks, or computes in the land. No one doubts the authenticity of the word of ‘yer man’. He is Yeats, De Valera, Wilde, Behan, Dublin Opinion, and Paddy the Irishman rolled into one. He is the greatest asset to a land that is notorious for its tender toes because he has the magnificent advantage of never being held responsible for anything he says or does.

Among the Irish ‘yer man’ is the maker of laughs, the man O’Casey had in mind when he said that the Irish thinking is as sober as the English except that it is always ‘given the halo of a laugh’. ‘Yer man’ is the halo-maker. Side by side with him are men whose witticisms have stuck and will forever be linked with their names. These—plus ‘yer man’—present a happily malicious collection, immense enough to scarify anyone who looks deeply at Irish wit.

For century after century the Irish have mixed wit with wisdom, porter with whiskey, all to practically the same intoxicating effect although still retaining a clarity that allows them to tell the truth about life and people. And nothing is funnier than the truth—when you hear it between drinks. For a brief sentence or two, read the list a compiler has to contend with: AE, Barrington, Behan, Father Healy, Kettle, Joyce, Moore, O’Casey, O’Connell, Roche, Swift, Shaw, Stephens, Wilde, Yeats…and just to complete the A to Z there was Zozimus. But never mind, that’s enough names for now.

The width of wit has an obesity that would defy any slimming diet. There is everything from the traditional Bull to the scorpion sting, from soft blatherings to verbal karate.

Dean Jonathan Swift could be most un-Christian with his cruel and often repellent wit, once even suggesting that a cure for famine was to fatten surplus babies for food. Scorpion-like was Susan Mitchell’s suggestion that the reason a Catholic wife could not be buried in her Protestant husband’s grave was that ‘it might mar the perfection of a Protestant resurrection’.

Oscar Wilde is in his own category with the amount of wit and wisdom that came from his pen and mouth. You will notice a plethora of his quotes in this volume, as the man had something witty to say about practically everything. He left a legacy that is unlikely ever to be forgotten; a legacy of plays, poetry, criticism—but none more so than his ability as a wit.

The wit of ‘yer man’ is generally the good-humoured kind; saying serious things in a way that seem funny when you see how serious they are. An English tourist asked ‘yer man’ what the road from Ballina to Belmullet was like because he had heard it was very rough. ‘Well, sir’, he said after a few seconds contemplation, ‘it’s the sort of road I wouldn’t like to have to praise.’ And again the soft wit carried off an awkward situation when ‘yer man’ was asked to recommend one of the two hotels in a southern town. ‘Well, it’s like this’, he said, ‘whichever one ye stay at ye’ll wish it had been the other’.

This is the softness that takes the edge off the epithets and sarcasm that seldom give a man a chance to reply. Certainly there has been enough of them all in Ireland through the years. James Stephens said that during his time—the early 1900s—Dublin functioned in a state of verbal excitement for everyone was using prose instead of grammar.

On the other hand there is the Bull—a supposedly Irish form of unconscious humour—one man defined it as the saying that contradicts itself, in a manner palpably absurd to listeners but unperceived by the person who makes it. Less word-locked was the definition the late Richard Hayeard gave to me:

I look across the hedge—twelve cows I see,The night is clear, the moon is at the full,

The twelve are laying silent round a treeAnd one is standing; one—an Irish Bull.

But the most famous definition, attributed to Professor Mahaffy, was that an ‘Irish Bull is always pregnant’. A definition that has a lot of truth in it, if you see what I mean.

It is often the way things are said that makes Irish wit, and makes it so embracing. There is no restriction on subject matter. In England the new arrival is warned not to get into any arguments or to make jokes about religion or politics. In Ireland it is the very opposite. No good conversation would be complete without one—or both—of them. And where’s the man who would omit the other Irish ‘topics’? An English judge, recently reducing an Irishman’s sentence for house breaking and larceny from five years to three, justified his decision by saying: ‘Most of his previous con victions were for ordinary Irish offences: drunk and dis orderly and assaulting the police.’ But, of course, Irish offences in England are very different from Irish offences in Ireland. Change the phraseology from ‘drunk and disorderly and assaulting the police’ to ‘a drop of the hard stuff, a bit of devilment, and a logical argument’ and the whole affair assumes different proportions.

Anyway, whatever your views about the Irish, their Bulls or their malapropisms, their howlers or their distortions, you just cannot get away from the fact that from the mythical Cuchulainn to the far from mythical Behan they have left a treasury of wit. Any collection must, of course, be a very personal affair, which will mean that there will always be the fellow who will say: ‘Sure he left the best ones out… come here till I tell you…’ And to prove his point he will whisper his own collection that, with Dublin’s fine acoustics, will send everyone home asking: ‘Did you hear “yer man”?’

—Sean McCann

Men become old, but they never become good.

—Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere’s Fan

Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.

—Oscar Wilde

If a woman really repents, she never wishes to return to the society that has made or seen her ruin.

—Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere’s Fan

By persistently remaining single, a man converts himself into a permanent public temptation.

—Oscar Wilde

She who hesitates is won.

—Oscar Wilde

Donegal girls have the permission of the Pope to wear the thick end of their legs below the knee.

—Anonymous

A man who can dominate a London dinner-table can dominate the world. The future belongs to the dandy. It is the exquisites who are going to rule.

—Oscar Wilde, A Woman of No Importance