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The Playboy of the Western World

Preface
In writing THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD, as in my other plays, I have
used one or two words only that I have not heard among the country people of Ireland, or
spoken in my own nursery before I could read the newspapers. A certain number of the
phrases I employ I have heard also from herds and fishermen along the coast from Kerry
to Mayo, or from beggar-women and balladsingers nearer Dublin; and I am glad to
acknowledge how much I owe to the folk imagination of these fine people. Anyone who
has lived in real intimacy with the Irish peasantry will know that the wildest sayings and
ideas in this play are tame indeed, compared with the fancies one may hear in any little
hillside cabin in Geesala, or Carraroe, or Dingle Bay. All art is a collaboration; and there
is little doubt that in the happy ages of literature, striking and beautiful phrases were as
ready to the story-teller's or the playwright's hand, as the rich cloaks and dresses of his
time. It is probable that when the Elizabethan dramatist took his ink-horn and sat down to
his work he used many phrases that he had just heard, as he sat at dinner, from his mother
or his children. In Ireland, those of us who know the people have the same privilege.
When I was writing "The Shadow of the Glen," some years ago, I got more aid than any
learning could have given me from a chink in the floor of the old Wicklow house where I
was staying, that let me hear what was being said by the servant girls in the kitchen. This
matter, I think, is of importance, for in countries where the imagination of the people, and
the language they use, is rich and living, it is possible for a writer to be rich and copious
in his words, and at the same time to give the reality, which is the root of all poetry, in a
comprehensive and natural form. In the modern literature of towns, however, richness is
found only in sonnets, or prose poems, or in one or two elaborate books that are far away
from the profound and common interests of life. One has, on one side, Mallarme and
Huysmans producing this literature; and on the other, Ibsen and Zola dealing with the
reality of life in joyless and pallid words. On the stage one must have reality, and one
must have joy; and that is why the intellectual modern drama has failed, and people have
grown sick of the false joy of the musical comedy, that has been given them in place of
the rich joy found only in what is superb and wild in reality. In a good play every speech
should be as fully flavoured as a nut or apple, and such speeches cannot be written by
anyone who works among people who have shut their lips on poetry. In Ireland, for a few
years more, we have a popular imagination that is fiery and magnificent, and tender; so
that those of us who wish to write start with a chance that is not given to writers in places
where the springtime of the local life has been forgotten, and the harvest is a memory
only, and the straw has been turned into bricks.
J. M. S.
January 21st, 1907.
 
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