Krunchie with Yachts

Krunchie with Yachts

Proinnsias - Krunchie As

"Proinnsias" sounds the same as "Krunchie as," except with a P instead of a K. Christened "Francis Killeen," he adopted the Irish form of this name "Proinnsias Ó Cillín." ("Cillín," which means "treasure," sounds exactly the same as "Killeen"). Some people have difficulty pronouncing "Proinnsias," and some children called him "Krunchie," a nickname that stuck.

I Hate Thee, Djann Bool





Not a stone's throw from John Bull's Grave that I showed in a previous post is the grave of James Clarence Mangan, who wrote the famous invective on "Djann Bool Djenkinson." Since this is apparently not already available on the web, I reproduce it here (from "1000 Years of Irish Poetry," edited by Kathleen Hoagland).




TO THE INGLESEE KHAFIR CALLING HIMSELF DJANN BOOL DJENKINSON

(From the Persian)
 Thus writeth Meer Djafrit --
I hate thee Djann Bool,
Worse than Marid or Afrit,
Or corpse-eating Ghool.
I hate thee like Sin,
For thy mop-head of hair,
Thy snub nose and bald chin,
And thy turkey-cock air.
Thou vile Ferindjeer!
That thou thus should disturb an
Old Moslim like me,
With my Khizzilbash turban!
Old fogy like me,
With my Khizzilbash turban!

I spit on thy clothing,
That garb for baboons!
I eye with deep loathing
Thy tight pantaloons!
I curse the cravat
That encircles thy throat,
And thy cooking-pot hat,
And thy swallow-tailed coat!
Go, hide thy thick sconce
In some hovel suburban.
Thou dog, don at once
The grand Khizzilbash turban!

It is doubtful if Jimmy Mangan (he added "Clarence" to his pen-name give it some class) knew Persian, or, indeed, actually sourced a Persian author with some views on John Bull. He learned Latin and French at school, and mastered German by self-tutoring afterwards. He was also familiar with the Orientalism that swept over the literary world at that time (he lived from 1803 to 1849) and, mixing with scholars in Trinity College, where he was an assistant librarian, he was fascinated with the apparent common heritage of the Irish Language and the languages of the Middle East, manifested, for example in the Ologoans (keenings) of both traditions. There was a theory afloat in academic circles at that time that the Irish Milesians were the Lost Tribe of Israel.

While his knowledge of Orientalism might seem facile, we find, however, the following comment on the "PoemFinder" site on the Web:
Yasar Atakam(3/1/2018 8:46:00 PM)He is an extraordinary poet. Some believe that he lived in Turkey during Ottoman times and reincarnated in Ireland. Some of his poems can only be understood fully if you know Turks and Turkey.

I have included Wikipedia links to some Arab terminology in these verses (viz., Marid, Afrit, and Kizzilbash), and find that, though spelt oddly, these are genuine Arabic terms. In many places in his writings, however, the words are made up, and, like a precursor to James Joyce, contain hidden witticisms and private jokes. An example might be "Ferindjeer," in the above sample. This might be a corruption of "Fear ón Tír,"  or "Countryman." Poems in the Irish language in this period often refer to English big-shots as "Bodairí," or "Bodachaí" which literally translates as "Pricksters," meaning "Boors," i.e., these wealthy, arrogant, Anglo-Irish landlords were un-educated  and crude, as well as arrogant.
                                                                                   
Jimmy was unfortunate to receive a Jesuit education in Primary School, which filled his head with philosophy and poetry. Had he been educated by the Christian Brothers, he would have been delighted to get a job as a copyist in a solicitor's firm, and maybe would have risen to the rank of Solicitor's Clerk before he finished. (The Christian Brothers educated us to become wage-slaves, not philosophers). But, Jimmy, taken out of school at 15 years of age to support his family, impoverished, like James Joyce's, by his father's improvidence, detested the slavery of scrivener and the low-brow conversations of his fellow copyists (remember typewriters were not yet invented, not to mention copying machines, and everything was written by hand). Nonetheless, he would often stay up all night writing verse!

He chucked in his scrivener job and submitted his poems to penny journals and tried to make a living out of that, the poor fool. He took to opium smoking (some say it was to drinking) and lived a miserable life. His acquaintances, in his literary years, including professors and Young Irelanders, never saw or heard of his dependants (he was supposed to support his brother and two sisters and his parents), for he always lived alone in a small flat at different locations. But this would be the way of a drug addict. He was unhappy in love, but this was not due to a lack of affection by women, but by the fact that he was so totally unreliable that no girl could form a relationship with him.

He wrote almost a thousand poems, which is quite a lot, contained in two large volumes collected and published in the 1990s, as well as two equally large volumes of prose.




James Joyce was not aware of this massive output when, while an undergraduate, he gave a talk on Mangan in Trinity College in 1902, (where he referred to him as a minor poet and his work as displaying a narrow nationalism), because Mangan's earlier poems had not been collected then, and Joyce only knew of his patriotic output (in "The Nation" newspaper) in the last few years of his life sparked by the administration's neglect of the people suffering from the Great Famine (1845 to 1850).

Most of these Collected Poems are expressed to be translations, but often they are from imaginary originals, or, when from real originals, are elaborations and explorations of the themes rather than word-for-word. He genuinely studied and vindicated the rising poetry generation of Germany, and reflects German culture as well as Irish and Oriental. From 1845, he wrote a poem a week for the nationalist newspaper The Nation, for which he got paid well but not sufficiently for his habit.

For Jimmy Mangan, the unemployed solicitor's scrivener, to publish an invective against John Bull would have been trivial, but he might get a penny for a "translation" from some, presumably famous and distinguished Persian writer, even if imaginary.

It is timely to remember Mangan at this time, for he died during an epidemic of the cholera, in 1849. He came out of his flat  in Bride Street and fell into a trench that road workers had made nearby. He was taken on a cart by Health Board workers to the Cholera Sheds, but when he was examined, the doctor found that he was not, in fact, suffering from  Cholera, but from starvation and exposure. He was taken to the Meath Hospital, where the best efforts were not enough to save him.




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