tumbling out doors.
E ARLY T RAIN
Emerging from the station dimly lit,
The Dublin train confronts the dark;
Cruising comfortably out of Kerry
Before careering headlong onwards
Across the county bounds with Cork.
Then the dawn of everlasting beauty
Waves high her magic wand of light,
Revealing lines of long sensuous hills:
Their dips and curves mysterious,
Black against a deep blue low horizon.
Millstreet silhouetted there beyond,
Still lit up as if by Chinese lanterns.
Banteer bathed in the morning glory-
The far off windows splashed with gold;
Tea is served, the next stop is called,
Awaking sleeping early morning risers.
H EAD OF THE C LAN
About you Mike I could write a book
If I was worthy to put you into words;
Yourself could put it better I believe.
Death has left us at a loss without you.
Going to fairs with seasoned farmers,
To them you were the old lad’s son,
But fully fledged you surprised them:
Dealers now bargained with a man.
You arrived on call when skill was all,
Weather fair or foul the job was done
And you freely gave of what you got-
A farmer who had loyalty to the land.
As time went on they’d take their turn,
Hardworking men came hurrying in
To meadows when the hay was down
Or cattle testing time had come again.
Agile, red haired, in faded blue shirt:
Reins a bandoleer for him in spring
Guiding plough horses by the furrow,
Seagulls following–a storm warning.
Sheep shearing time, greasy fleeces,
Bottled stout for neighbours helping;
Sharing, swearing, telling good ones,
Among friends feeling free and easy.
On a kitchen chair he’d kneel to pray
In the morning as in the old tradition;
After he’d herd the sheep and cattle
And then he tilled in fields till evening.
By night after earning his daily bread
He felt the need of some good libation
And on his high stool he so often said
‘I’m luckier than most’- in celebration.
Head of the clan, how I miss that man.
We had our nights in Lisdoonvarna;
Saved turf together on the mountain,
Mended the fence down by the river.
I write these lines for an absent brother
Buried on a hill up in Kilchreest village;
From here or from heaven overlooking
Forever the beloved land of our fathers.
L ATE N IGHT T AXI
In the still night
I surface
From the dreamy depths;
There is a diesel drone
That plays upon my brain:
A taxi from the town
Bringing home
A small-time punter,
Elegant even at this hour;
Punch drunk from winning
At the races today.
In town tonight
Winners and losers were alright.
Heels in the hall,
A sound so safe:
A welcome noise in the night.
As she beelines to her bed
Her taxi turns and fades away.
M ORNING S TAR
Like a barnacle glued to a rock
She slept in her bed unrelenting,
Unconscious of each early call
After a weekend of merriment.
We drove for the train in Tralee-
Already the engine was throbbing;
A puff and hot tea on the platform
Before boarding to go to Cork city.
Going home on the road to Listowel,
The lights of North Kerry below me
Gave way to brilliance of blue
That grew in the heavens above.
The eastern colours were spreading
Over the back of Stack’s mountains;
I could see silhouettes of the trees,
The morning star shining so brightly.
P UMPKIN S OUP
Seagulls standing in a windswept field
Look exactly like the way I feel
After leaving London on a Sunday afternoon.
Slowly mile by mile the night comes down
With a kind of November melancholy.
On either side we see the country wide
Where the trees still wear their leaves
And sheep their pastures graze on hillsides
Overlooking sweeping fields, some ploughed,
Some showing winter corn freshly sown.
Stansted airport draws near; dear daughter,
The joy of being with you still echoes in us
As we eat the fudge you gave us in Victoria.
Meanwhile you are making pumpkin soup-
At least that’s what you said you’d do
On getting back to Crofton Road in Camberwell.
B ADGERS IN THE W OOD
Stopped in
E ARLY T RAIN
Emerging from the station dimly lit,
The Dublin train confronts the dark;
Cruising comfortably out of Kerry
Before careering headlong onwards
Across the county bounds with Cork.
Then the dawn of everlasting beauty
Waves high her magic wand of light,
Revealing lines of long sensuous hills:
Their dips and curves mysterious,
Black against a deep blue low horizon.
Millstreet silhouetted there beyond,
Still lit up as if by Chinese lanterns.
Banteer bathed in the morning glory-
The far off windows splashed with gold;
Tea is served, the next stop is called,
Awaking sleeping early morning risers.
H EAD OF THE C LAN
About you Mike I could write a book
If I was worthy to put you into words;
Yourself could put it better I believe.
Death has left us at a loss without you.
Going to fairs with seasoned farmers,
To them you were the old lad’s son,
But fully fledged you surprised them:
Dealers now bargained with a man.
You arrived on call when skill was all,
Weather fair or foul the job was done
And you freely gave of what you got-
A farmer who had loyalty to the land.
As time went on they’d take their turn,
Hardworking men came hurrying in
To meadows when the hay was down
Or cattle testing time had come again.
Agile, red haired, in faded blue shirt:
Reins a bandoleer for him in spring
Guiding plough horses by the furrow,
Seagulls following–a storm warning.
Sheep shearing time, greasy fleeces,
Bottled stout for neighbours helping;
Sharing, swearing, telling good ones,
Among friends feeling free and easy.
On a kitchen chair he’d kneel to pray
In the morning as in the old tradition;
After he’d herd the sheep and cattle
And then he tilled in fields till evening.
By night after earning his daily bread
He felt the need of some good libation
And on his high stool he so often said
‘I’m luckier than most’- in celebration.
Head of the clan, how I miss that man.
We had our nights in Lisdoonvarna;
Saved turf together on the mountain,
Mended the fence down by the river.
I write these lines for an absent brother
Buried on a hill up in Kilchreest village;
From here or from heaven overlooking
Forever the beloved land of our fathers.
L ATE N IGHT T AXI
In the still night
I surface
From the dreamy depths;
There is a diesel drone
That plays upon my brain:
A taxi from the town
Bringing home
A small-time punter,
Elegant even at this hour;
Punch drunk from winning
At the races today.
In town tonight
Winners and losers were alright.
Heels in the hall,
A sound so safe:
A welcome noise in the night.
As she beelines to her bed
Her taxi turns and fades away.
M ORNING S TAR
Like a barnacle glued to a rock
She slept in her bed unrelenting,
Unconscious of each early call
After a weekend of merriment.
We drove for the train in Tralee-
Already the engine was throbbing;
A puff and hot tea on the platform
Before boarding to go to Cork city.
Going home on the road to Listowel,
The lights of North Kerry below me
Gave way to brilliance of blue
That grew in the heavens above.
The eastern colours were spreading
Over the back of Stack’s mountains;
I could see silhouettes of the trees,
The morning star shining so brightly.
P UMPKIN S OUP
Seagulls standing in a windswept field
Look exactly like the way I feel
After leaving London on a Sunday afternoon.
Slowly mile by mile the night comes down
With a kind of November melancholy.
On either side we see the country wide
Where the trees still wear their leaves
And sheep their pastures graze on hillsides
Overlooking sweeping fields, some ploughed,
Some showing winter corn freshly sown.
Stansted airport draws near; dear daughter,
The joy of being with you still echoes in us
As we eat the fudge you gave us in Victoria.
Meanwhile you are making pumpkin soup-
At least that’s what you said you’d do
On getting back to Crofton Road in Camberwell.
B ADGERS IN THE W OOD
Stopped in
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