Yeats can be seen walking
Sligo’s green pastures.
On the Derry soggy peat bogs
sits the ghost of Heaney.
Mahon is riding free over
the beauty of the Ulster landscape,
while Wilde is wandering Dublin
in his best fedora hat and cape.
MacNiece is climbing fjords again
with his old friend Auden.
Eavan Boland is knitting words
onto bohemian stationery paper
MacDonagh would be still patrolling
the Jacob's biscuit factory,
as Mangan is sitting with MacGowan
sharing a bottle of Uisce Beatha poitin.
What literary writer can now rise like a giant?
Who will be led by Cú Chulainn’s hand?
Who will wear the Poet’s Crown
for modern day Ireland?
Uisce Beatha poitin = water of life in Gaelic
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Author:
Daniel McDonagh (
Offline) - Published: April 15th, 2024 15:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments2
Ireland has a fine tradition of producing memorable poets. I am familiar with Yeats, Heaney, Auden and MacNeice. You have mentioned others. I feel an urge to explore further. Pleased I stopped by to read you today Danniel.
Mayhap you? This was a lovely lesson chockfull, seemingly to the brim, with invocations fit to make me swoon. Grandly rendered with marvelously excellent imagery and a haunting poignancy, thank you so very much for sharing.
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