Showing posts with label Flann O'Brien. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flann O'Brien. Show all posts

Thursday, October 05, 2023

Happy 112th, Flannie!

When health is bad and your heart feels strange,
And your face is pale and wan,
When doctors say that you need a change,
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.
 
Flann O'Brien * 5 October 1911*

* In case anyone should miss a date of death:
No, he did not die on 1 April 1966. Flann fooled you all, folks.

Wednesday, October 05, 2022

Celebrating Flann's 117th Birthday

Yesterday, October 4th, was the 82nd anniversary of his first 'An crúiscín lán' column in The Irish Times.

Today Mr Nolan does celebrate his 117th birthday. I should not tell which pseudonym he does currently prefer, but I may say those few people still taking for granted he died April 1st 1966, can look back on a remarkable long career as April fools.

Happy birthday then, alter Knabe!



Fact is, furthermore, that tonight Flanny, Sergeant Pluck, Tetrapilotomos and I as well as a certain chap who asked to remain incognito met in, at and around Seanhenge, having some pints of plain and at one stage of our vivid conversation Flann would raise his voice and not only enjoy our ears, hearts and grey cells but animate the rami zygomatici and rami buccales of nervus facialis to massively innervate our musculi risorii by once again declaiming following legendary dialogue:

The Plain People of Ireland: Isn't the German very like the Irish? Very guttural and so on?
Myself: Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: People say that the German language and the Irish language is very guttural tongues.
Myself: Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: The sounds is all guttural do you understand.
Myself. Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: Very guttural languages the pair of them the Gaelic and the German.

* * *

But now, before the five of us go on celebrating, and although it ought to be most unlikely they exist - to all those who happen to not being in possession of the birthday boy's complete work: Saddle your ponies, folks, and hurry up. The friendly, most well-educated and -sorted bookseller just round the corner will be happy to fill the gaps of your education and in your bookshelves.

Sláinte!

Thursday, June 16, 2022

Beers & Books CCXXVI – Bloomsday

June 16th, Bloomsday.
But which one?
The 118th!
Well, but had "Ulysses" not been published
in 1922, thus one hundred years ago,
there would not be any.
Therefore rather the 100th.
Whereas Flann O'Brien
after the umpteenth pint of stout
might prattle:
It's the 68th.


James Joyce (2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941)

Ulysses

Leopold Bloom

Bloomsday

Tuesday, October 05, 2021

Beers & Books CXXXVIII – Flann O'Brien

When health is bad and your heart feels strange,
And your face is pale and wan,
When doctors say that you need a change,
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.


Flann O'Brien (5 October 1911 – 1 April 1966)

Monday, March 29, 2021

Jams and The Atomic Theory




In case you wish to read the words: The Englisch text you find here, at the blog of my friend Jams who today would have become 58; the translation into German here.
 
Like eight years ago, I do like thinking of my friend Jams having a pint of plain tonight with Flann O'Brien [and perhaps a second with Father Jack whilst Ted (not Father Ted, obviously) is reciting an episode of The Master and Margarita; discussing with Sergeant Pluck the advantages and disadvantages of becoming a bicycle, whilst feeding Mimi with cheese; taking phantastic photos while strolling around in his new surroundings without feeling any pain in his knees, let alone longing for Garra rufa to nibble skin off his feet; organising a weekly poetry contest the winner of which will be rewarded with a bicycle-esque looking William Topaz McGonagall-statue and ... ah ... oh well ... enjoying his new alltemporaries with what he uses to call drivel, and now and then sending love to his not-wife Shirl, a smile to his Mum and Dad, a twinkle of his eyes to Tim, Li, Elahe and amongst others ... well ... to you and to me.!

Monday, October 05, 2020

Beers & Books XI

Although it is most unlikely they do exist,
to all those who happen to not being
in possession of the master's complete œvre:
Saddle your ponies, folks, and hurry up.
The friendly, most well-educated
and -sorted bookseller just round the corner
will be happy to fill the gaps of your education
and in your bookshelf.


Flann O'Brien (5 October 1911 – 1 April 1966)

Wednesday, April 01, 2020

Flann fooled you all

I'll not tell which pseudonym he does currently prefer, but I may again say those few people still taking for granted Flann O'Brien died April 1st 1966, can look back on a remarkable long career as April fools.



Fact is, furthermore, that only last midnight Flanny, Tetrapilotomos and I as well as a certain chap who asked to remain incognito met in, at and around Seanhenge, having some pints of plain and, of course, at one stage of our vivid conversation Flann would raise his voice and not only enjoy our ears, hearts and grey cells but animate the rami zygomatici and rami buccales of nervus facialis to massively innervate our musculi risorii by declaiming following legendary dialogue:
The Plain People of Ireland: Isn't the German very like the Irish? Very guttural and so on?

Myself: Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: People say that the German language and the Irish language is very guttural tongues.
Myself: Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: The sounds is all guttural do you understand.
Myself. Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: Very guttural languages the pair of them the Gaelic and the German.
* * *

And now - although it is most unlikely they exist - to all those who happen to not being in possession of the master's complete œvre: Saddle your ponies, folks, and hurry up. The friendly, most well-educated and -sorted bookseller just round the corner will be happy to fill the gaps of your education and in your bookshelf.

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

Bye bye, Bicycle

What a bicycle!
Sergeant Pluck would be delighted
(to confiscate it)
as would the magnificent Jams O'Donnell.
To Seanso Pansa it looks like an iron donkey.
And, indeed, we met not far from La Mancha.
Don Quijote's country, that is,
not Don QuiScottie's.
If the sky doesn't drop on my head,
I shall be there from January till April
for a long-desired quest within the realm of the letters.


Thursday, March 29, 2018

Laughing Lhursday* – The Atomic Theory



In case you wish to read the words: The Englisch text you find here, at the blog of my friend Jams who today would have become 55; the translation into German here. 
Like five years ago, I do like thinking of my friend Jams having a pint of plain tonight with Flann O'Brien [and perhaps a second with Father Jack whilst Ted (not Father Ted, obviously) is reciting an episode of The Master and Margarita; discussing with Sergeant Pluck the advantages and disadvantages of becoming a bicycle, whilst feeding Mimi with cheese; taking phantastic photos while strolling around in his new surroundings without feeling any pain in his knees, let alone longing for Garra rufa to nibble skin off his feet; organising a weekly poetry contest the winner of which will be rewarded with a bicycle-esque looking William Topaz McGonagall-statue and ... ah ... oh well ... enjoying his new alltemporaries with what he uses to call drivel, and now and then sending love to his not-wife Shirl, a smile to his Mum and Dad, a twinkle of his eyes to Tim, Li, Elahe and amongst others ... well ... to you and to me.


* [For first time visitors]:
Typo in the title?
Nah.
It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

 

Thursday, October 05, 2017

Laughing Lhursday*



Flann O'Brien (5 October 1911 – 1 April 1966)

Eamon Morrissey

* [For first time visitors]:
Typo in the title?
Nah.
It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

101, Flann, eh? :)



Flann O'Brien (5 October 1911 – 1 April 1966)

Sunday, September 10, 2017

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Flying Dead Flies

There have so far about 1.000 human disease genes been found.
77 % of those have been found in drosophila melanogaster, too.
Following the 'logic' of 'intelligently designed primates'
humans are 77% fly.
... And now let us not start speaking about bicycles.
 

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Sergeant Pluck on the Theory of Atomics

"Haben Sie denn als junger Bursche nie die Atomphysik studiert?" fragte der Sergeant und betrachtete mich forschend und erstaunt.

"Nein", antwortete ich.

"Das ist eine schwerwiegende Unterlassung", sagte er. "ich werde Ihnen trotzdem eine Ahnung davon vermitteln. Alles besteht aus kleinen Partikeln seiner selbst, und diese fliegen in konzentrischen Kreisen herum und im Bogen und in Segmenten und in unzähligen geometrischen Figuren, die so zahlreich sind, daß man sie gar nicht kollektiv erwähnen kann, und diese stehen nie still oder ruhen sich mal aus, nein, sie trudeln vor sich hin und flitzen mal hier-, mal dahin und gleich wieder zurück, immer auf Achse. Diese kleinwinzigen Herrschaften nennt man Atome. Können Sie mir scharfsinnig folgen?"

"Sie sind so lebhaft wie zwanzig Kobolde, die auf einem Grabstein Reigen tanzen."

"Die Atomik ist ein sehr verzwicktes Theorem, und man kann ihr mit Hilfe der Algebra beikommen, man muß dabei aber graduell vorgehen, denn sonst kann es passieren, daß man die ganze Nacht damit verbringt, einen kleinen Teil davon mit Rechenschiebern und Kosinen und anderen ähnlichen Instrumenten zu beweisen, ohne zum Schluß an das zu glauben, was man bewiesen hat ...

"Daher und infolgedessen", fuhr er fort, "können Sie getrost folgern, daß auch Sie aus Atomen hergestellt sind, und dasselbe gilt auch für Ihre Hosentasche und den Schoß Ihres Hemdes und das Instrument, das Sie zur Entfernung von Speiseresten aus der Krümmung Ihres hohlen Zahnes verwenden ...

"Das Brutto- und Nettoresultat davon ist, daß die Persönlichkeit von Menschen, die die meiste Zeit ihres natürlichen Lebens damit verbringen, die steinigen Feldwege dieser Gemeinde mit eisernen Fahrrädern zu befahren, sich mit der Persönlichkeit ihrer Fahrräder vermischt – ein Resultat des wechselseitigen Austausches von Atomen –, und Sie würden sich über die hohe Anzahl von Leuten in dieser Gegend wundern, die halb Mensch und halb Fahrrad sind ...


Sergeant Pluck's Atomic Theory rates not only as one of Jams O'Donnell's favourite literary creations. Thus, as the Esquire thought it was high time he shared it with both of his readers in the hope of getting them on to buy the Third Policeman, on Omnium – with thanks to Harry Rowohlt who congenially translated The Third Policeman / Der dritte Polizist – the Sergeant does speak German.

Thursday, April 01, 2010

Friday, November 27, 2009

Chapeau, Monsieur Aznavour

Well, from a 70 year young lady to an 85 year young man: Charles Aznavour. Today a new album of Armenia's Ambassador to Switzerland was released.
Apart from that I shall prefer listening to his old chansons: What an artist; the more when comparing him to the many tiny squallers who think they were stars, not knowing they are at least 86 per cent bicycle*.



* Those few - although it is most unlikely they exist - who would not understand what I am refering to, as they happen to not being in possession of the master's complete œvre: Saddle your ponies, folks, and hurry up. The friendly, most well-educated and -sorted bookseller just round the corner will be happy to fill the gaps of your education and in your bookshelf.