From Bóithre Bána
in the loneliness of my mind
I listen to a snipe's harsh shriek
in the silence of the marsh
disturb the dreams of the deceased
back again along the roadways
branches topped by melting gold
sweet intoxicating evening
the spell of birdsong throughout the world
Sent from my iPhone
From "Enniscorthy and an aspect of history"
but the ugly sins of history must be pardoned
Sent from my iPhone
I walk West Limerick where I still
find Irish spoken in my native hills:
I abandoned English - for good or ill?
I avoid the living, don't like the dead,
my friends don't agree with me, nor I with them.
With today's poetry I find no link,
I laugh forests of pens,
I cry tears of ink.
translation by Gabriel Fifzmaurice
Sent from my iPhone
