Word: connemara
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...where it belongs, on the subject, and almost none on the technique. At its best, this gives his pictures a marvellously laconic poetry, as in the shot of an Afghan tribesman washing his cups by the side of a lake in the Hindu Kush. Or a deserted cottage in Connemara, hemmed and compressed to the edge of survival between two gray bands of sky and tumbled rocks...
Behind the many roles was a man solid and roughhewn. The son of an Irish-born blacksmith, Cushing had a face like a Connemara bogman and a voice like coal rattling down a chute into a South Boston basement. He seemed not so much to live life as to wage it, suggesting that the years were too short for what he had to do. Only his huge energy obscured the truth about how long, and how seriously he had been ill. For years he fought off migraine headaches, ulcers, asthma and emphysema-the latter two so debilitating that...
...Connemara, on the Atlantic coast of Ireland's County Galway, is bleak in winter, but in summer has a dreamy, romantic beauty. Its heather-covered hills and mountains are dotted with trout-filled lakes and riverlets. The hotels are scattered but substantial, and some are notable, such as Ballynahinch Castle, where the fishing is famous. And the food is delicious: trout and salmon, lobsters and crayfish, clams, mussels and-come September-the famous Galway oysters. Not to mention the small Connemara sheep, which range the hills where wild herbs give their meat a rare, delicate taste...
Tinkers' carts still creak along country roads; city air is as pure as Connemara spring water. Off the Aran Islands, fishermen still go out in currachs, their ancient coracles, and never learn to swim because they know death takes longer if they do. Ireland has in abundance the qualities that often seem to be dis appearing elsewhere: kindliness, an unruly individualism, lack of snobbery, ease, style and, above all, sly humor. Though the Irish have lived much of their lives with bloodshed and privation, their tales of the bad times are recounted with as little rancor as if they...
...father was a bookie in Connemara who moved to Leeds when Peter was one. Young Peter hated school. "I was far more brilliant than anyone else," he explains. He quit when he was 14 and did amateur theatricals and odd jobs until he was called into the navy. After he was demobbed, he spent his service pay wandering around England, and 23 of his last 30 shillings went for a ticket to see Sir Michael Redgrave impersonate King Lear at Stratford. He hitchhiked to London the next day, walked into the Royal Academy unshaven, and demanded an audition...