Beautiful Irish Poem

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Permalink Reply by Dabhoch on March 4, 2008 at 3:17pm

Lisa, methinks ye have "an old soul", for loving poetry the way you so obviously do..!! Here is one of my favorites...

Never Give All the Heart

W. B. Yeats

Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

Slán go fhoill, mo chara..!!

Dabh

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Permalink Reply by erin o'connor on March 4, 2008 at 3:30pm

Dabh....you are for certain al ole softie...This poem for me is a favourite...I recall my Granny reading it to me years ago........She told me one Erin there are 2 most importnat things in life....#1 is LOve and #2 is your next breath , nothing else matters..She was a wise ole soould like yourself.

Do I ache for love? what a beauitful poem...so simply and true..........Beannacht de leat....Erin

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Permalink Reply by Lisa on March 4, 2008 at 5:58pm

Dabh...You are an ole softie...I do love poetry so much. There is so much meaning and depth. I don't think people reach far enough inside to actually bring out all they can to express themselves. I am trying to do that...I've been inspired lately to start writing my own poetry again. I hope to post some soon. Thank you for sharing. It's been awhile since we have chatted...need to catch up. So many new faces around here....seems us that the "regs" are in hiding. Glad to have brought you out...LOL

Slán go fhoill

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 4, 2008 at 6:24pm

Lisa

We lovers of the metered (and unmetered) word owe you much for having started this discussion.

I've been posting Yeats prolifically. Yet there is sort of a new Yates (tho Walter may not agree).

Here is a poem by Seamus Heaney -- still writing (and walt, he's a Northman like you, I believe).

This is especially in tribute to those two great Bogmen, Pat and Greg.

Enjoy.


We have no prairies
To slice a big sun at evening--
Everywhere the eye concedes to
Encrouching horizon,

Is wooed into the cyclops' eye
Of a tarn. Our unfenced country
Is bog that keeps crusting
Between the sights of the sun.

They've taken the skeleton
Of the Great Irish Elk
Out of the peat, set it up
An astounding crate full of air.

Butter sunk under
More than a hundred years
Was recovered salty and white.
The ground itself is kind, black butter

Melting and opening underfoot,
Missing its last definition
By millions of years.
They'll never dig coal here,

Only the waterlogged trunks
Of great firs, soft as pulp.
Our pioneers keep striking
Inwards and downwards,

Every layer they strip
Seems camped on before.
The bogholes might be Atlantic seepage.
The wet centre is bottomless.

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Permalink Reply by Deragon Pierre on March 4, 2008 at 7:32pm

Well describe nature in turf bogs,with the salt and smell
Action of speading,view it and dream about it,imagine.......Thank`s for sharing Frank.
Pierre D Slan go fhoill!.......SUPER NICE POEM

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 4, 2008 at 7:33pm

You are most welcome. Isn't life beautiful, if you search beauty that is always everywhere.

Slan agat!

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Permalink Reply by Dabhoch on March 4, 2008 at 7:51pm

..and if you listen to LiveIreland channel one, you may hear that one recited by Seamus himself - the title of the poem is "Bogland" - http://www.ibiblio.org/ipa/poems/heaney/bogland.php

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Permalink Reply by Lisa on March 5, 2008 at 1:53pm

I have to agree with you. If you search...you can find.

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Permalink Reply by Deragon Pierre on March 5, 2008 at 4:08pm

Let me if you please put a small poem by W.B.Yeats

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE

I will arise and go now,and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there,of clayand wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there,a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade

And I shallhave some peace there,for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
And evening full of linnet`s wings.

I will arise and go now,for alwaysnight and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway,or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart`s core.

Pierre D.Slan go fhoill!

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 5, 2008 at 6:27pm

Deragon

This is one of those "essential" Irish poems about what it means to be Irish, to possess the freedom of being irish, to connect to all that is Celtic and Irish. It also speaks to humanity's need for "home", for belonging, for touching the face of nature, or, as I would prefer to say, living before the Face of God. See how the speaker of the poem almost makes heaven out of Innisfree and all the beauty that abounds there. And he finished the message by telling the listener that even within the modernity and confines of the city (pavements grey) Innisfree's natural beauty wells up from his very heart, calling him "home."

I love the traditional song, not madefrom this poem, but speaking of going home to Innisfree. Thanks for recalling this to all of us.

Your friend in St. Louis
Frank Daub

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Permalink Reply by Deragon Pierre on March 5, 2008 at 6:36pm

It is a pleasure to share with everybody, like you do Frank
Describing it the way you do, make`s it like you`ve said ,essential
Pardon me for the missing spaces.....Pierre D Slan agus beannacht

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Permalink Reply by Dabhoch on March 5, 2008 at 7:29pm

Ah - The Isle of Innisfree - the song captivated me from the first I heard it, with its plaintive, haunting, longing melody -

I've met some folks who say that I'm a dreamer,
And I've no doubt there's truth in what they say,
But sure a body's bound to be a dreamer
When all the things he loves are far away.

And precious things are dreams unto an exile.
They take him o'er the land across the sea --
Especially when it happens he's an exile
From that dear lovely Isle of Inisfree.

And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops
Of this great city, wondrous though it be,
I scarcely feel its wonder or its laughter.
I'm once again back home in Inisfree.

I wander o'er green hills through dreamy valleys
And find a peace no other land could know.
I hear the birds make music fit for angels
And watch the rivers laughing as they flow.

And then into a humble shack I wander --
My dear old home -- and tenderly behold
The folks I love around the turf fire gathered.
On bended knees, their rosary is told.

But dreams don't last --
Though dreams are not forgotten --
And soon I'm back to stern reality.
But though they pave the footways here with gold dust,
I still would choose the Isle of Inisfree.

- Dick Farrelly

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