Michael Hartnett

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