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!

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.

Laughing Lhursday*

Blogger eaten by panther

Victim's last photo: his killer

Relics of a blogger:
Camera, right shoe, three bones.
photo © Sergeant Pluck

As he would not have liked to see such headlines in the mass media the owner of this blog, before going on his obviously last quest left a notice for me with both the password for Omnium and the request to discretely inform his friends in case something mysterious would happen to him.

Despite being busy with proof-reading my 1669 pages short opus magnum "Pre-Assyrian Philately in a Nutshell" I consider it my duty to fulfill my quixotic friend's wish.

Quixotic? you may ask. Well, wasn't it quixotic an idea to go photo hunting just to provide a Scottish brother in spirit the evidence of a panther "on this side of the bars"?

Did anyone recently see this panther?
Not only some bones and one shoe:
The killer also spit out his own mugshot.
photo © Sergeant Pluck

It may in these hours of grief and mourning not be the time for finger pointing and assignments of guilt, but – yes! – I tend to agree with Sergeant Pluck, the chief investigator in this mysterious case, that my sometimes a bit hot tempered friend might have let provoke himself by a certain Don QuiScottie who commented on one of Sean's  latest posts: "Eh... The Panther would not be bothered about the little bird... he'd be too busy eating you mate, and spitting out the camera as he ate... Obviously. [see post and comment section here];

That 'obviously', obviously oozing with mockery, seems to have sent my friend to where he is now. Obviously.

"So, what did that Don Qui Scottie know in advance?" asks Sergeant Pluck. "How could he know that the panther would be so stupid to spit out the camera while eating his victim, and thus delivering his mugshot to the investigating authority?"  

Well, all this and more will be part of the investigation.
Fact is: At this point it can neither be excluded that Don QuiScottie kens the panther, nor that he is deeper involved into the case.

Apart from this, according to Sergeant Pluck, there might be hope, as at this point it is not clear: How many percent panther has Sean become? Or vice versa. Is it possible the panther has or will become 100 percent Sean?

We shall see. For now let's not cry but try to think that amongst everything else it is part of Omnium that nothing is impossible.

Tetrapilotomos
[after dictation out of town]

* Typo in the title? Nah. It's just that Sean [peace be upon him] would not (have) let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

Laughing Lhursday

Ominous pursuer.
It took a while to shake him off.

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.