Poem in The Dead

Hi Feawyn,

I know you are looking for the movie monologue, but from my memory it is quite close, if not exactly as written in Joyce's work. Personally, I'd recommend reading the whole short story, the movie follows it very closely. At least in my humble opinion, the movie adds something to the book- which is rare. But of course The Dead is often considered the best short story in the English language.

Anyway, here's the whole short story. If you want Gabriel's monologue, read the last 5 paragraphs (from "she was fast asleep"). the part about Greta's loss is just before that.
http://www.classicreader.com/read.php/sid.6/bookid.356/

This is language as good as it gets.

-David

Hi feawyn,

I stand corrected. The movie does not quote Joyce quite as closely as I had thought. Anyway, I have a copy of the audio from the end, it is in MP3 format and I am happy to send you a copy. If interested, send me a PM and I will forward as copy of the monologue to you. For that matter, I will send a copy to anyone interested. It's about 5.5MB.

David

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: 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.

What Michael Collins has posted is as written in the book (and is of course wonderful prose), but the movie does take some liberty with Joyce's words. At this part, the monologue follows the book fairly closely, but then goes back and adds in the "better to go boldly" bit, then once again back to the exquisite description of snow and "shades." OK, I broke down and transcribed:) and it still gives me a chill.

Yes, the newspapers are right: snow is general all over Ireland. Falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves.

One by one we’re all becoming shades. Better to pass boldly into that other world in the full glory of some passion than fade and wither dismally with age.
How long you locked away in your heart the image of your lover’s eyes when he told you that he did not wish to live? I’ve never felt that way myself towards any woman but I know that such a feeling must be love. Think of all those who never were, back to the start of time and me transient as they flickering out as well into their gray world. Like everything around me this solid world itself which they reared and lived in is dwindling and dissolving.

Snow is falling. Falling in that lonely churchyard where Michael Furey lies buried. Falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

I also found a discussion of gaelic speaking singers who were discussing this poem. I liked this analysis, it sums the poem up pretty well:

Donal Og: 'Young Daniel'

This poem combines a keening tone with some wonderful images and the result builds in anxiety, moving from the physical to the metaphysical.
The poem, originally a ballad, begins with a report from the animal world: late last night the dog was speaking of you, the snipe (a wading marsh bird)was speaking of you; nature, both domesticated and wild, knows and tells ofthe absent seducer, who is transformed into a lonely bird. The stanza ends with an imprecation, a spell: may you be without a mate until you find me.

This is followed by series of three stanzas, all of which start with a
statement followed by three lines of elaboration, eg, to paraphrase the econd stanza: you promised, and you lied, and here's what happened; third stanza: you promised me something very hard for you to do, and here's an elaboration of the different promises; stanza four: you promised me a thing not possible, and here's an elaboration of the impossible things. It would be an easy format for a balladeer to remember: opening promise/subsequent elaboration. In the third and fourth stanzas the 'thing' in the first line
of each stanza is singular; the things promised are multiple, and
increasingly surreal, suggesting multiple encounters, each with increasingly outlandish promises. That animals speak, that gloves could be made of the skin of a fish, shoes of the skin of a bird, a ship of gold -- all effectively testify to the credulousness of the young girl betrayed.

In the following three stanzas the girl tells of her life: at the 'Well of Loneliness' she sees the world, but not her boy (whom we know to actually exist, from the 'has' in the following line.) I like to think of this boy as pre-figured by the 'bleating lamb' of the second stanza. The next stanza places the seduction as occurring on Palm Sunday, 'the last before Easter Sunday'. The introduction of Easter complicates the poem somewhat, introducing not just the notion of resurrection, but in the third line, forcing us to ask what the 'myself' opens up: is she to be like Christ, onhis knees suffering; that would affect how we understand the 'you' of the
fourth line: no longer just the absent lover, but now God?

And of course, good advice comes to late, as mother's words (in stanza 7)are like 'shutting the door after the house was robbed.' Stanza 8interrupts the previous three narrative stanzas for an emotional description focussing on the blackness in her heart (and in a homophonic playing on 'sole'/soul, keeping the move to the metaphysical alive).

The poem concludes with four wonderfully balanced lines: you have taken all, is the sense, now on a stage that is timeless and universal. Here the move from the particular -- the many 'me/I/myself's' and 'you's' of the poem -- to something more eternal is completed. The last line echoes the last of
the first stanza, each beginning with 'and', each ending with the similar 'find me'/'from me', and most importantly, each conveying the dialectic of presence and absence (of the lover, of the boy, of God) that equals fear of loss.

Of course, that's just Lady Gregory's translation. The poet's name is unknown. I couldn't find the original Middle Irish text anywhere: does anyone know where it can be sourced?