John Millington Synge
John Millington Synge
Edmund John Millington Syngewas an Irish playwright, poet, prose writer, travel writer and collector of folklore. He was a key figure in the Irish Literary Revival and was one of the co-founders of the Abbey Theatre. He is best known for his play The Playboy of the Western World, which caused riots in Dublin during its opening run at the Abbey Theatre...
NationalityIrish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth16 April 1871
CountryIreland
moving men race
It gave me a moment of exquisite satisfaction to find myself moving away from civilisation in this rude canvas canoe of a model that has served primitive races since men first went to sea.
play apples nuts
In a good play every speech should be as fully flavored as a nut or apple.
death men forever
No man at all can be living forever and we must be satisfied.
sister giving lord
Lord, confound this surly sister, blight her brow with blotch and blister, cramp her larynx, lung and liver, in her guts a galling give her.
sight fog circles
A low line of shore was visible at first on the right between the movement of the waves and fog, but when we came further it was lost sight of, and nothing could be seen but the mist curling in the rigging, and a small circle of foam.
men islands high-heels
At first I threw my weight upon my heels, as one does naturally in a boot, and was a good deal bruised, but after a few hours I learned the natural walk of man, and could follow my guide in any portion of the island.
men sea going-out
A man who is not afraid of the sea will soon be drowned, for he will be going out on a day when he shouldn't.
strong roots clay
It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.
poetry brutal humans
Before verse can be human again it must learn to be brutal.
names royal
All the rare and royal names Wormy sheepskin yet retains
rocks fog islands
A week of sweeping fogs has passed over and given me a strange sense of exile and desolation. I walk round the island nearly every day, yet I can see nothing anywhere but a mass of wet rock, a strip of surf, and then a tumult of waves.
wind islands enough
The general knowledge of time on the island depends, curiously enough, on the direction of the wind.
horse son thousand
What is the price of a thousand horses against a son where there is one son only?
giving translations
A translation is no translation unless it will give you the music of a poem along with the words of it.