Monday is March 17, St. Patrick’s Day, and being of Irish descent those who know my last name and aware as well that some consider me a poet, a lover of words used fully, have started to ask me what my plans were. Who’s party are you going to, what Irish Pub will you be drinking at, what Irish poet will you recite at the Open Reading of Irish Poetry?On The Day itself, many will inquire “Where’s your green?” All these questions on the single topic becomes nagging of a kind, the persistent inquiry into what someone else takes as an imperfection. My imperfection seemed to be that I didn't feel Irish enough. I don’t wear green on any day, it’s not my favorite color, and there’s a deep resentment at others who expect me and any other Irish American to play the shaleighlei -stroking trick monkey with green paper hats, green beads and affecting brogues as bogus as paper forks.

There’s a scene in Woody Allen’s movie “Annie Hall” when his character Alvy Singer berates a woman’s Jewishness with a number of wisecracks at the expense of the ethnic heritage he imagines her identifying with. The woman says nothing and Singer, feeling he’d crossed the line, gives a half-hearted apology for his jokes, to which she replies (and I paraphrase here) “No, it’s alright, I don’t mind being reduced to a cultural stereotype”

This was a “eureka” moment , since it articulated a foul mood I’d been in for years each time St.Patrick’s Day rolled around and Americans, of Irish Lineage and otherwise, rolled out their boxes of stereotypes: green beer, whiskey, green beads, glittered cardboard shamrocks, the whole disgusting offensive lot.St.Patrick's is a day on which those of us with family connections to the Emerald Isle are to relish the contributions of Ireland to the world by way of it;s poets and dramatists and novelists, whether Joyce, Yeats, John Millington Synge or Roddy Doyle and Seamus Heaney, an activity of worth if the proceedings were low key and attentive to what Irish writing sounded like and what cluster of emotions and experience it collectively expressed; it's a literature at war with itself and, as such, conflicts and tensions such as that results in a major poetry. Bombast, bottles and bullshit about all things Irish follow the lip service to the Literature, and St.Patrick's Day becomes no more than respectful of it's cultural name sake than does Cinco de Mayo or Halloween. It's an excuse to drink to excess and behave badly and be a lout. It was assumed that because of my last name and that I made a living both writing and selling books that I would be all over the Holiday and partake in the lugubrious, drunken wallow. I remember yelling at some partying moron with an Italian last name who was doing a miserable Barry Fitzgerald impersonation that I had it in mind to come to his house late at night and do some patently offensive immigrant through a bullhorn if he kept up with what I thought was a cultural slander. Of course he didn’t get what I was getting at, and I never showed up in his driveway to deliver on my promise, but the upshot is that he's never forced his face into mine after that with that wavering brogue.

I resisted the temptation to ask if he did Minstrel Show impersonations for black people on Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday, as the point was both overkill and would be lost on him.Say what you might about me, but I pride myself on the quality of issues I waste my breath on, a perverse pleasure that might reaffirm the cliche of the Irish being masters of futile eloquence. Doubtful; I just love the sound of my own voice and don't compelled to credit cultural determinism for what is either a gift or a curse( depending on circumstance, inspiration, and the quality of the coffee I might have been drinking when inspired to place a few words on the page, in rhythmic order, declaring war on a latest peeve or pestering pustule of aggrevation). But you all know that already and realize this is merely me, again, clearing my throat and making such sounds as might pass from the gaseous confines of Rush Limbaugh's mouth. Oh well, sometimes one merely types after all.It must be said that despite that small country’s amazing contributions to World Literature, I’ve never felt much kinship with Ireland, nor with the native Irish I’ve met. What I've felt like through my life is a middle class white guy, Irish American, emphasis on the American. Irish-American.It's a different tribe.

In its purest, the feast of Saint Patrick is the liturgical observance of the Saint Himself. Just like Saint Valentine's Day, before it lost the 'saint' and donned red satin push-up bras and thongs with fuzzy trim, Saint Patrick's Day, as it's observed in the US, is a bastardization of the thing.

The feasts of many Saints are low holidays (holy-days) observed by the Church, celebrated in different cultures, for different patron saints, in varrying ways. Saints' feasts that are on the Roman calender are honored in the Liturgy of the Mass for that day.

In my childhood home,my father was Irish and my mother was Puerto Rican and Italian. March 17 is Saint Patrick's Day and March 19 is the feast of Saint Joseph, foster father of Jesus. "A just and upright man..." Many Italians celebrate the feast of Saint Joseph with large meals, traditional foods and special prayers for his intercession. During the week of those Saints' feasts, we ate well and went to Mass a lot.

This year, as Saint Patrick's feast day falls on the Monday of Holy Week, and as the Holy Week Liturgy supercedes all other Luturgy, the liturgical feast of Saint Patrick was set to the Friday before (yesterday.)

People will still be drunk all over the place on Monday. Insipid Leprechaun's are still selling washing machines and printer ink cartridges.

Several years ago, I'd been invited back to participate in a local cable poetry TV show. (it was the poetry version of Wayne's World, I think) filmed in an Irish bar. After a couple of years of suffering poems read in fake brogues, crap about shamrocks and some poems about "how bad are those Brits" and Irish death ships, I arrived with a small stack of poems and explained St. Patrick was an Irish Catholic priest circa 5th century. I read a poem/ prayer by him. Then another by another Irish priest/ bard, St. Columba (Columcil). Then a couple by Daniel Berrigan (somewhat less devotional, to be sure.)

I was never invited back again. Seems though almost everyone likes Saint Patrick's Day, not too many people like Saint Patrick, Himself.

But what to expect? Christmas isn't faring too well, either. Ash Wednesday was swallowed up by Fat Tuesday and fellows in feathers and thongs. All Saints Day, once ushered in by All Hallows Eve, has long been dismembered by Halloween. Even a national observance, as Martin Greene aptly complained last month, the observance of George Washington's birth, has been diluted to a President's Day department store white sale.

Although, as waltz rightly points out, many American holidays, both religious and patriotic, have become bastardized over the years, I disagree with your suggestion that we do away with St. Patrick’s Day. Particularly now, as our country struggles with immigration problems, I think we ought to keep reminding ourselves of our multicultural background.

No, I am not in favor of dual-language kindergartens, nor do I think the basic canon of Western literature needs to be replaced by world literature anthologies. Immigrants need to become assimilated into our American culture if we are to remain a strong united country. However, I think our lives are enriched by remembering the customs and traditions of the “old country.” Others may see these customs in stereotypical ways, but that’s an annoyance I can live with.

It took a long time for my school district to get around to officially acknowledging (i.e., granting days off for) Jewish holidays. Now we are struggling with the idea of acknowledging Ramadan. And the Martin Luther King, jr. holiday acknowledging our black heritage was a long time in coming.

Even the bastardized holidays do remind some people of their original purpose – Labor Day, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Veterans’ Day, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Independence Day, and Easter.

I imagine St. Patrick’s Day remains because of green beer and parades and long-ago powerful Irish politicians. But those who celebrate the day are, I hope, more likely to remember that others have the right to celebrate Cinco de Mayo or Ramadan or Passover or Kwanzaa or the Chinese New Year.

Mary Ann

I disagree with your suggestion that we do away with St. Patrick’s Day

Hmmm. I didn't suggest that and that wasn't what I wasn't talking about. Sorry. The point of holidays ostensibly established to celebrate ethnic origins and culture shouldn't be occasions to slip into stereotypes, which is largely what St.P's Day has become. I've met more than a few Irish natives who are offended by what we consider "Irish".

The point of holidays ostensibly established to celebrate ethnic origins and culture shouldn't be occasions to slip into stereotypes, which is largely what St.P's Day has become.

As I'd written, the holy-day was not established to celebrate ethnic origins, rather it has for centuries been a liturgically observed feast day.

I've met more than a few Irish natives who are offended by what we consider "Irish".

I've had the same experience. I share their disdain.

The point of holidays ostensibly established to celebrate ethnic origins and culture shouldn't be occasions to slip into stereotypes, which is largely what St.P's Day has become. I've met more than a few Irish natives who are offended by what we consider "Irish".

Dear waltz and Ted,

As someone who has heard more than her fair share of Polish jokes, I have no sympathy for you two. At least your guy has a day, whereas neither St. Stanislaus nor St. Casmir does.

However, on Monday (or before), I shall post a fine poem that pays homage to the Irish language.

MA-ski

St. Stanislaus Kostka's feast day is May 8 or 9. I will have a cupcake in his honor!! <link>

The linked article says his feast day is April 11, so have cupcakes -- better yet, babka -- on all three days. And, not to indulge in stereotypes, be sure to wash them down with Irish whiskey or Polish vodka.

MA-ski

As someone who has heard more than her fair share of Polish jokes, I have no sympathy for you two.

Oh, please MA. "As someone who has heard than her fair share of Polish jokes" you cannot seriously expect me to believe that you haven't ranted a time or two about your ethnic heritage being an automatic punchline.

--Theodore Joseph Navin O'Burke

TedBurke:

"I just love the sound of my own voice and don't compelled [SIC] to credit cultural determinism for what is either a gift or a curse( depending on circumstance, inspiration, and the quality of the coffee I might have been drinking when inspired to place a few words on the page, in rhythmic order, declaring war on a latest peeve or pestering pustule of aggrevation). [SIC] But you all know that already and realize this is merely me, again, clearing my throat and making such sounds as might pass from the gaseous confines of Rush Limbaugh's mouth."

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CaliforniaDreamin responds:

:::::sigh::::: On your other thread, I was just bragging about how much better you have been spelling of late, and then you go and do this "aggrevation" business and "don't compelled."

And HEY, isn't BUSH "stupid" when HE makes a gaffe!

But you? NEVER. Different standard, bien sur.

Not EVERYONE "loves the sound" of your voice, Teddy. But as to you making "such sounds" as clearing your throat, I believe it would often be an improvement on what you write here.

Oh, please MA. "As someone who has heard than her fair share of Polish jokes" you cannot seriously expect me to believe that you haven't ranted a time or two about your ethnic heritage being an automatic punchline.

I can't remember ever ranting, just rolling my eyes jokingly and getting a bit embarrassed. Even before I heard my first Polish joke, I sort of felt we Polish-Americans were, indeed, slightly inferior -- all those references to Slavs, peasants, accordions, heavy drinking, polka dancing.

When I was in elementary school, my family was poor, and I knew it. When we moved to the suburbs between my 6th and 7th grade, I was one of those whose last names the teachers had a hard time pronouncing. And when I won a scholarship to an expensive college, I was in the minority even more.

Learning what role many Catholic Poles played during the Holocaust didn't help. Neither did Czeslaw Milosz's disdainful comment wondering why there were no great Polish-American writers.

Yeah, having a Pole in the Popemobile helped, but he wasn't Polish-American. And now, I have learned, Poles emigrate to Ireland to do the dirty jobs Irish won't do.

Time for a boilermaker and a kielbasa sandwich. Where is Stanley Kowalski when I need him?

MA-ski

Burke is a French name isn't it? De Bourg means "from town" in French, I think.

Your people created one of the world's greatest cultures and the French language is like music.

Happy Bastille Day mon ami!

You got the colours right. Ted Burke is an American. Can't you tell from his poetry, and point of view etc?

"You got the colours right. Ted Burke is an American. Can't you tell from his poetry, and point of view etc?"

I know, I know, Ted says he's an American right in his post. And you are correct that red, white and blue are colours associated with the U.S. It's my opinion that the U.S. created one of the world's greatest cultures. I also think French is a beautiful language. Just my opinions mind you.

Speaking of French, the name Burke is from the Norman French for "from town" isn't it?

Happy Bastille Day Zeus-Boy!

O that woeful day of infamy. Speaking of which, didn't another ex-patriated Burke have a great deal to jabber about that event -- "dauphiness never lighting on orbs" 'n all that good jazz?

But aren't we all just mongrels when it gets right down to it? My own name owes its arrival into the Irish gene pool to the Viking invasions, or so an irascible Christian Brother kept beating into me as a boy. But you are correct, Burke is indeed Anglo-Norman.