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Tag: snow

When snowfalls were a thing of the past

Sunday, 13 January, 2019

On Friday, the BBC reported: “Snow brings parts of Europe to standstill.” The item was replete with images and video of the horror. If we are to believe the media now, snow is very much a thing of the present, but back in March 2000, the same industry was telling us a very different story: “Snowfalls are now just a thing of the past.” That’s what The Independent declared in a piece authored by one Charles Onians.

Why is there no link to the story? Because The Independnt removed it from its website due to the persistent gaiety that resulted from this classic example of #FakeNews. Still, the internet never forgets and here’s a PDF (2.78MB) of the infamous prediction. And what became of Charles Onians? Why, he’s the Rome correspondent @AFP. Which proves once more that there’s no business like snow business, eh?

Snow scam

Meanwhile, from our own correspondent in Munich, snow lodging on tables.

Snow in Munich 2019


Dublin Airport locked in frost

Saturday, 3 March, 2018 0 Comments

This is from Audenesque (in memory of Joseph Brodsky) by Seamus Heaney, Nobel Laureate in Literature. The great airport “unlocking” may take place later today.

“Repetition, too, of cold
In the poet and the world,
Dublin Airport locked in frost,
Rigor mortis in your breast.
Ice no axe or book will break,
No Horatian ode unlock”

Dublin Airport


The soft silence of a Winter’s Day

Friday, 2 March, 2018 0 Comments

Victor Hugo once said: “Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.” And while that may be true, all that is wintry is not necessarily cold and those wintertide winds often evoke warmth and memories of kindness. In this newly-composed poem, published exclusively on Rainy Day, Liam Murray of Lucan reflects on what lies beneath the drifts and beyond the icicles.

Musings on a Winter Day

Occasionally there is a soft silence,
On a Winter’s Day
Nature’s elements agree a moment’s truce
Unwanted sounds harmonise in silence
Tranquillity becomes the overriding presence

Nature stands still
We embrace the serenity of the moment
Like soundless snow flakes
Descending from the heavens
The landscape embracing each one.

Is there is such a thing as time?
We remember our yesterdays
So it’s not an illusion of nature
Yet closed eyes can feel an eternal presence
If the beating heart is ignored.

We see the flowers come and go
The flow of time seems real
Does all this happen in the eternal now?
That apparent change can occur within
A never changing present.

Liam Murray

Lucan Village


Dublin snow

Thursday, 1 March, 2018 0 Comments

The Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh found peace beside Dublin’s Grand Canal and he often sat on its bank-side seats to contemplate life and compose verse. John Coll’s statue of Kavanagh was unveiled by President Mary Robinson in 1991 and was inspired by Lines written on a Seat on the Grand Canal, Dublin. Today, Patrick Kavanagh is contemplating the snow that is general all over Dublin and Ireland.

Daisy Snow

Delicate daisy-snow
Like dream-drifts of
Unspoken love.

I shall not touch it with
My sin-soiled hands,
Nor barter for the glow
Of high exotic lands.

Patrick Kavanagh (1904 – 1967)

Kavanagh


Snow was general all over Ireland

Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 0 Comments

“Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, further westwards, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling too upon every part of the lonely churchyard where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.”
The Dead, James Joyce

Snow in Ireland


Going to the grocery in snow

Sunday, 15 January, 2017 0 Comments

“It snowed all week. Wheels and footsteps moved soundlessly on the street, as if the business of living continued secretly behind a pale but impenetrable curtain. In the falling quiet there was no sky or earth, only snow lifting in the wind, frosting the window glass, chilling the rooms, deadening and hushing the city. At all hours it was necessary to keep a lamp lighted, and Mrs. Miller lost track of the days: Friday was no different from Saturday and on Sunday she went to the grocery: closed, of course.” — Truman Capote

snow


Blood and violence in Turkey

Saturday, 16 July, 2016 0 Comments

Snow Orhan Pamuk’s brilliant novel Snow is recommended reading for those trying to understand the forces at work in Turkey these days. Early in the book, the central character, Ka, is sitting in the New Life Pastry Shop in the east Anatolian city of Kars when an Islamic extremist kills the director of The Education Institute, who had barred headscarf-wearing girls from attending class. Because the victim was carrying a concealed tape-recorder, Ka is later able to get the transcript of the fatal conversation from his widow. In this excerpt, the killer pours forth his murderous ideology:

“Headscarves protect women from harassment, rape and degradation. It’s the headscarf that gives women respect and a comfortable place in society. We’ve heard this from so many women who’ve chosen later in life to cover themselves. Women like the old belly-dancer Melahat Sandra. The veil saves women from the animal instincts of men in the street. It saves them from the ordeal of entering beauty contests to compete with other women. They don’t have to live like sex objects, they don’t have to wear make-up all the day. As professor Marvin King has already noted, if the celebrated film star Elizabeth Taylor had spent the last twenty years covered, she would not have had to worry about being fat. She would not have ended up in a mental hospital. She might have known some happiness.”

Upon hearing this nonsense, the director of the Education Institute bursts out laughing. Pamuk describes the end of the transcript thus:

“Calm down my child. Stop. Sit down. Think it over one more time. Don’t pull that trigger. Stop.”
(The sound of a gunshot. The sound of a chair pushed out.)
“Don’t my son!”
(Two more gunshots. Silence. A groan. The sound of a television. One more gunshot. Silence.)

Talking of Turkey and fanaticism, of blood and violence, From Russia, with Love, the fifth 007 novel to feature the British Secret Service agent James Bond, might not be where one expects to find insights relating to last night’s coup, but it’s full of surprises. Ian Fleming wrote the book in 1956 at his Goldeneye estate in Jamaica, and the story was inspired by the author’s visit to Turkey on behalf of The Sunday Times to report on an Interpol conference. Fleming returned to London via the Orient Express, but found the experience drab, partly because the restaurant car was closed. Bond observes:

“From the first, Istanbul had given him the impression of a town where, with the night, horror creeps out of the stones. It seemed to him a town the centuries had so drenched in blood and violence that, when daylight went out, the ghosts of its dead were its only population.” — Ian Fleming, From Russia, With Love


The snow did not show

Sunday, 10 January, 2016 0 Comments

The snow that’s been missing all winter might arrive on Thursday. Then again, it might not. So far, it has not showed, the snow, and that’s upset lots of people and plans.

Red Bull


He heard the snow falling through the uni­verse

Wednesday, 14 January, 2015 0 Comments

Snow on the Galtees

“Snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.” The Dead, James Joyce


It powders all the Wood

Sunday, 20 January, 2013 0 Comments

It sifts from Leaden Sieves — It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road — It makes an Even Face Of Mountain, and of Plain — Unbroken Forehead from the East Unto the East again — It reaches to the Fence — It wraps it Rail by Rail […]

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Blue sky, blue snowstorm

Sunday, 16 December, 2012 0 Comments

“It snowed all week. Wheels and footsteps moved soundlessly on the street, as if the business of living continued secretly behind a pale but impenetrable curtain. In the falling quiet there was no sky or earth, only snow lifting in the wind, frosting the window glass, chilling the rooms, deadening and hushing the city. At […]

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