Flann O'Brien: "The Workingman's Friend," and Word of Mouth tonight in Athens, GA

Yesterday, October 5, was the birthday of Irish poet and playwright Flann O'Brien, born Brian Ó Nualláin, who published At Swim-Two-Birds in 1939. It should not go unremarked that he also wrote "The Workingman's Friend," about the consolations of porter, the drink that sees all men through their times of triumph as well as tribulation. In honor of the occasion, let all raise a glass to the memory of the good Irishman, who had the humor to die on April Fool's Day, 1966.

“When things go wrong and will not come right,

Though you do the best you can,

When life looks black as the hour of night -

A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

“When money's tight and hard to get

And your horse has also ran,

When all you have is a heap of debt -

A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

“When health is bad and your heart feels strange,

And your face is pale and wan,

When doctors say you need a change,

A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

“When food is scarce and your larder bare

And no rashers grease your pan,

When hunger grows as your meals are rare -

A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

“In time of trouble and lousy strife,

You have still got a darlint plan

You still can turn to a brighter life -

A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.”

"About her zebraic arcane," by Ralph La Charity

Ralph La Charity at tonight's Word of Mouth, Athens GA

As if any proof is needed that poetry and a pint make good company, there's the Word of Mouth poetry read at The Globe in Athens. Tonight will feature a reading by Cincinnati poet/artist Ralph La Charity, as well as local Athens-area wordsmiths. The once-a-month meet is getting popular in the upstairs space, and the open reading list fills up quickly, so poets and listeners are advised to show up early. Pints and other libations liberally served, and the word-sling begins at 8 p.m.

"Aloud Allowed"

by Ralph La Charity

Do the old ones who are gone

hear us when we ring in, singing?

I believe they do. It is all & precisely

what they do. When I'm dead,

I'll listen, too.

The old ones who are still here

have vivid dreams of those they knew

who now inhabit silence.

Death, overpopulated ear

cocked & rotting & never not

filled with such promise . . .

Since what the dead do is listen

it is crucial not to address them:

every uttered word is already overheard

& their overwhelming promise,

as last mute magicians cocked & rotting,

is that the word alive

go elsewhere always,

antic & aloud