Coincidance - Principia Discordia

Joyce contemplated unpaid bills;
Yeats, the realist, wrote in fire
The alchemical heart's desire;
Joyce, the mystic, kept his head
Concerned with coin, and booze, and bread, 20
Finding a thousand epiphanies
In each day's banalities;
He wrote what each man thinks who sits
And reads the tabloid as he shits.
Yet in the style of each there lurks 25
Civility like Edmund Burke's.
I, who grew as corn is grown,
In Hanrahan's mad song
And saw the river Liffey dance
In Brooklyn, in a kind of trance, 30
When I was only seventeen,
And yet believed what I had seen,
I was damned by Yeats and Joyce:
I swear I never had a choice.
At the age of fifty, then, I came 35
As any moth to any flame
Back to the land of Finn Mac Cool.
I know I was a proper fool.
Now twice a year, at standard rates,
I go and lecture in the States 40
And the one remark I always hear
Is "You grow more Irish every year."
Back in Dublin, every street
Once was walked by Grandad's feet
But this is the nails that pierce my hands: 45
1 am alien, exiled, in both lands.
Romantic Ireland's all around me
To perplex me and confound me.
Rational Ireland we may see
In, perhaps, a century: 50
Joyce was often seen quite pissed;
O'Casey died a communist;
O'Brien drowned his brain in stout;
COINCIDANCE