Time hardly mattered in the village of Mucker, the birthplace of poet and writer Patrick Kavanagh. Full of wry humour, Kavanagh's unsentimental and evocative account of his Irish rural upbringing describes a patriarchal society surviving on the edge of poverty, sustained by the land and an insatiable love of gossip. There are tales of schoolboy skirmishes, blackberrying and night-time salmon-poaching; of country-weddings and fairs, of political banditry and religious pilgrimages; and of farm-work in the fields and kicking mares.
Patrick Kavanagh was an Irish poet and novelist. Regarded as one of the foremost poets of the 20th century, his best known works include the novel Tarry Flynn and the poems "On Raglan Road" and "The Great Hunger". He is known for accounts of Irish life through reference to the everyday and commonplace.
When the Irish Times compiled a list of favourite Irish poems in 2000, ten of his poems were in the top fifty, and Kavanagh was rated the second favourite poet behind WB Yeats. The Patrick Kavanagh Poetry Award is presented each year for an unpublished collection of poems. The annual Patrick Kavanagh Weekend takes place on the last weekend in September in Inniskeen, County Monaghan, Ireland. The Patrick Kavanagh Centre, an interpretative centre set up to commemorate the poet, is located in Inniskeen. [wikipedia]
I loved this book. It has captured a moment in time that Ireland has lost for ever, for better or worse. The age of the romantic poet; the mystic of the little hills is gone now and for ever. The first 200 pages or so are a semi fictionalised account of his youth, while the remainder of the book is more like an autobiography, telling how he drifted into the literary world (With some difficulty) and how he literally forced himself off of his 20 acre farm. Kavanagh is a remarkable figure, having great abilities with the English language (All the more remarkable considering he left school at 12 ) I loved how he described the mannerisms and saying of the people of South Monaghan. The townland of Mucker is now firmly edged into my pysche. The long gone class of travelling beggars - journeymen tradesmen like cobblers or weavers - is remembered with romantic reverence. Kavanagh is both an advocate of all that is good and bad of rural Irish life. Warts and all. If I could ever write a book, Kavanagh would be my biggest influence.
I fucking love this book. It's a funny, witty read and it gives a fascinating insight into what life was like in rural Ireland during the early 1900s. I mean, if you were gonna write a book about rural Ireland in that time then this should be on your research list, but it's by no means some academic borefest. For example, there's a bit about some builders coming round to build a house or a shed, or something, and they have to be supplied with drink for the duration of the job! Awesome! Fuck you Health and Safety executive! I read it twice. Pure escapism, especially if you're the type of person who refuses to get a Smartphone.
This book is full of charm and humour. Kavanagh writes about his early life on the farm in Monaghan, and his anecdotes and characters are well chosen, wonderfully drawn. It's the story of a writer's journey, the creation of a writer, and there are lovely, artful phrases salted throughout. His bond to his home place is developed patiently and convincingly, as he tells stories of market days, school years, seasonal work, and neighbour folk. He makes excellent use of the few times he goes a journey, to Dublin, to Connemara, and to London. He always goes home. I was familiar with Kavanagh's poetry, which made me want to know his life story. The Green Fool is a very pleasurable read and worth reading even for those with no background in Irish writing.
P130. The Black and Tans were gentlemen when compared with the Free Staters.
P168. A graveyard is a good history-book and family album combined.
P199. My father died in autumn. It is a fine thing to die when the leaves are falling and not when the cry of spring is among the hills.
It is interesting to read in the introduction to his Selected Poems that Patrick Kavanagh later repudiated this book. “To falsify one’s parish in order to make it conform with the expectations of a metropolitan audience or a powerful literary establishment was to be ‘provincial’ according to Kavanagh’s redefinition of that term: ‘The provincial has no mind of his own; he does not trust what his eyes see until he has heard what the metropolis - towards which his eyes are turned - has to say on any subject. He himself had been a ‘provincial’ in The Green Fool whereas his mellow, comic realist novel Tarry Flynn (1948) was a ‘parochial’ fiction.”
For myself, this was a superbly interesting insight into my grandparents' generation.
In Kavanagh, I heard my father's expressions and turns of phrase explained. I, therefore, got a greater understanding of his upbringing and my history.
This is worth its weight in gold for me as a consequence.
I understand the value of mysticism more. I understand the meaning of "cow roads" more. I understand Irish poverty more. I know where the origin of the word "tosser" comes from now!
This is a book I will revisit. What a delight!
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
If you're looking for an account of everyday life in rural Ireland in the 1910-20s this is pretty good. However I found the pace slow and no real direction to the narrative. After a chapter solely about a day picking turnips i gave up.
Early on there is some reference about sexual abuse at the hands of the clergy dealt with in a very off-the-cuff way, almost accepting way. Different times.
An enjoyable insight into the upbringing of Patrick Kavanagh. Each chapter dealt with perhaps overly simple things but from these Kavanagh brightens the pages with a host of characters and conflicts whether his own or others. You get a good feel of what life would be like as a poor Irish farmer at the begining of the 20th century. The difference of a century is astounding with how his father was the only person in possession of a decent clock for miles with a 'good' accuracy of half an hour. This clock was was set by a daily train that due to its connecting trips had to be on time. This was in contrast to when I was reading this story as I looked around me at everyone with clocks accurate by the satellites above and often taken for granted as they unlock there phones. He was a man plagued by self-doubt and poverty which results in a rawness of tone. This leads to a bleak view of things and his prospects as a poet (which today he is very highly regarded so it was certainly unfounded!). Due to this it may not be to everyones taste and there is a particular irishness to it that perhaps only people from this island will get.
Amazing book, like taking a trip back in time to a world long gone. Beautiful lyrical prose, full of humour and packed with details of how life was lived in the days before electricity, modern plumbing and petrol engines. I was fascinated and inspired by the author's description of his development from cobbler / small farmer who had left formal schooling at the age of 12 to acclaimed poet and writer.
A truly pleasant surprise - gentle, humorous and one of the best literary memoirs I’ve read from Ireland, avoiding as it does a lot of the usual cliches and presenting a genuinely unique artistic coming-of-age story. Even if you’re not particularly interested in the period Kavanagh’s strange and late journey towards poetic fame is fascinating
A wonderful read: Kavanagh's control of language gives a real sense of place, time and culture, feels as though he is reminiscing with you over a pint, and his unforced poetic idiom enchants and brings many a smile.
It's hard to put into words how much I enjoyed reading this book. The descriptions of Ireland back in the day made me long for a simpler time and some of the traditions we have lost (bar the patriarchy and grip of the catholic church). When not yearning a simple life on a rural farm in 1910, I was laughing at the mischievous things Kavangh got up to. By far the best book I have read this year.
a true poet who beautifully captured life in ireland in a time that was somewhat simpler, though in many ways more complicated, than what’s there now. enough to make me nostalgic for what we’ve missed
Loved it from start to finish. The Green Fool is a wonderful articulation of rural life and culture in Ireland which is at times painfully familiar to me. Brilliant fun.
"Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone, It’s with O’Leary in the grave." - WB Yeats, September 1913
Kavanagh was not a fan of Yeats or romanticism, favouring the ordinariness of life in his proses and poetry. Yet this book captures many nostalgic and romantic notions of an Ireland that is all but dead and gone. Many its just me, but while he recounts the beauty, charm and simplicity of his life and the people that made it, I couldn't help but fall in love with an Ireland I have never saw or ever will see as I watched the very last remnants of it die.
"Green Fool", Kavanagh's first narrative effort was conceived and written in the London slums just before the WWII outburst, spanning the first half of his own life, predominantly coloured by the sweet rural shade of County Monaghan.
Patrick landed up in the West End with the long awaited aim of leaving behind the holy soil and the worldly life of the common country folk. Boldly determined to wander about in search of his own lay Parnassus, vaporous land where his innate daydreaming would pour into drops of poetic wizardry.
Instead, he found himself among crowds of all kind of foragers, worshippers of new gods, a few bob and scarce honest patrons. But encouraged by a London based poetise, Helen Waddell,the Monaghan cobbler and farmer would not quit the City without putting down a detailed account of his personal experiences as a young peasant -poet.
Myriads of country folk characters are vividly drawn and exhibited throughout the pages.
A great deal of them, indeed, for Kavanagh took in his first breath in a rough traditional cabin and was raised in a hearth-kitchen , being itself dad's cobbler shop actually. After Miss Cassidy advised him of his own literary abilities ,the very same day he gave up at school, Patrick became a renegade but decent cobbler, a cattle drover, farmer, flawed ploughman and he even flirted with "the Organisation" in his teens. Deep inside a poet's heart kept beating though.
The rawest Naturalism, dreamy landscapes, unforgettable folks and portraits and the everyday roar of the townland fill the sheets written by Patrick in a unique humorous way. "Green Fool" is none of those great John McGahern's perfect and symmetric novels and sounds kind of dated at times, but it works out the same anyway. It was a baby born in hard and uncertain times and needless to mention that it was written by a complete beginner .
Later on, Kavanagh would settle down in Dublin, where he made a name of himself in the Irish poetry and produced his second novel "Tarry Flynn", a more polished opus, basically the same skeleton but this time an accesible, shorter and straightforward story likewise scented by these, his own country experiences. Before long, Patrick would become a high respected Dubliner, panellist, storyteller and a regular in the route of the most bohemian counters up to his death in 1967.
I had foolishly never read Patrick Kavanagh until now. He is a wonderful writer - he gives us a great view of what it was like to grow up in rural Ireland in the early 20th century. Unlike many of the great Irish writers, Kavanagh has a rural background, and his perceptions of life are great