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In "Mearing Stones: Leaves from My Note-Book on Tramp in Donegal," Joseph Campbell intricately weaves his poetic reflections and vivid observations while exploring the rugged landscapes of Donegal, Ireland. The work manifests a lyrical style that blends prose and poetry, capturing the interplay of myth, nature, and the human experience. Set against the backdrop of early 20th-century Ireland, Campbell's narrative is steeped in regional folklore and resonant imagery, showcasing a deep appreciation for the land and its stories, revealing a vivid tapestry of life intertwined with the natural world. Joseph Campbell, a prominent mythologist and writer, was profoundly influenced by his travels and the Celtic heritage that shaped his childhood. His fascination with mythology and archetypal patterns in human culture shines through as he navigates the essence of his surroundings. Campbell's erudition in comparative mythology, combined with his passionate exploration of the Irish landscape, allows him to reflect on broader themes of identity, belonging, and the metaphysical connections between humanity and nature in this poignant work. I highly recommend "Mearing Stones" to readers who seek not only to explore enchanting landscapes but also to delve into the rich interplay of myth, memory, and introspection. Campbell's evocative prose provides a unique lens through which to understand both the external world and the internal landscapes of the human spirit.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
The Wall of Slieve League
Frontispiece
Clady River, near Gweedore
Facing Page
2
Pass of Glengesh
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6
Lochros Beag
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8
Muckish, with a ‘Cap’ on
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12
On the Road to Doon Well
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16
Near Alton Loch
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20
A Street in Ardara
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22
Falling Water
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26
Bog and Sky
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30
Mountainy Folk
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34
A Wayfarer
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38
The Horn
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42
A Clachan of Houses
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48
A Gap between the Hills
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50
Loch Nacung—Moonrise
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54
MEARING STONES
“In the mountains,” says Nietzsche, “the shortest way is from summit to summit.” That is the way I covered Donegal. Instead of descending into the valleys (a tedious and destroying process at all times), I crossed, like the king of the fairies, on a bridge of wonder:
What seems in places in this book a fathomless madhm is in reality bridged over with wonder—dark to the senses here and there, I grant you, but steady and treadable in proportion to the amount of vision one brings to the passage of it. All, I know, will not follow me (the fairies withhold knowledge from the many and bestow it on the few), but if blame is to be given let the fairies get it, and not me. And I may as well warn the reader here that it is unlucky to curse the fairies. Rosses is but a storm’s cry, and—the curse always comes home to roost!