Beautiful Irish Poem

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Permalink Reply by Dabhoch on March 6, 2008 at 15:06

I might take issue with your statement that "Wee Davy" is not a poem, as it it rhymes beautifully, but that is not what struck me about it. It reminded me of a piece done years ago by Ed Bradley, veteran CBS reporter, now dead of leukemia (RIP) on the politico-religious strife in NI. He was talking to some kids on the street, and asked one about some other kids he could see down the street.
"We don't play with them..!" the youngster said.
"Why not..??" said Ed.
"because they're Catholic..!!" the boy said, incredulously.
"How can you know that..?? To me they look just like you."
"You can just tell..!!" the boy said, as though he couldn't believe that it was not obvious...
The words may not be the exact ones, but that was the point of the story, and it struck me deeply. The tragedy of the children, who cannot understand why they hate, but are taught that they must, saddened me utterly. I am encouraged by recent progress, all the while knowing that such prejudices die slow, agonizing deaths. Speaking from personal experience, I believe that one who claims no prejudice deludes himself, but if he can recognize his own prejudices and strive to correct them, then healing can begin...
So good to hear your voice, Walter..!! Go raibh maith agat..!!

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Permalink Reply by Walter on March 6, 2008 at 21:57

Dabhoch, Pierre,

It is always heart-warming to read your comments and rich contributions to this forum. We learn so much from each other.

Sad to note, Dabhoch, had the boy in your story been from another street in a ‘Catholic area’ and asked the same question, his reply would have been similar . . . “because they're Protestant...!"

I too was once a boy on those very same streets (albeit, light years ago) and know very well the two solitudes in which children are raised. Through ‘accident of birth’, call it what you will, we are all very much creatures of our environment. Happily, change can and does take place. In the midst of darkness we must always search for light.

Well you may wonder, on what street I traversed. Yours to ponder!


Walter . . .

P.S. Thanks for taking the time to include the Ed Bradley story. It highlights the responsibility that we the parents have, to raise our children in a manner tolerant of others. As my mother (long since gone) never tired of saying, ‘Walter, it’s not where you live that’s important, it’s how you live.’

P.S.S. I concede your point graciously . . . ‘Wee Davy’ qualifies as a poem.

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Permalink Reply by Walter on March 17, 2008 at 20:52

JC,

Thank you for your kind comments re. my poem. Yes, I have often thought of ‘putting it to song’. However, you know what they say . . . ‘the way to he## is paved with good intentions’. One day perhaps!

Walter . . .

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 13, 2008 at 17:56

She's not Irish. an american of English descent, but one of the most perceptive yet simple poets who ever lived. I've studied, written about, and taught Emily Dickinson for over 17 years. Her poetry is as fresh and exciting as the day when she put pen to paper.

I wanted to share two of her wonderful poems with my LI family. the first is about love; the second about hope. Two of life's most essential values.



LOVE

You left me, sweet, two legacies,—
A legacy of love
A Heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;

You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me.


HOPE

HOPE is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I ’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

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Permalink Reply by Walter on March 20, 2008 at 16:52

Thirty-six years ago to the day - the hour was noon - one Spring day in Belfast. History recants the story. In all conflicts the innocent suffer. Bombs do not discriminate – they kill and maim with equal resolution regardless of class, creed, age, gender or colour. None are immune. To a lasting peace for all.


ONE SPRING DAY IN BELFAST - Donegall Street, March 20, 1972
(A poem by Walter Magill © Copyright 2008)


I was there that day
When day was turned to night.
When acrid plumes of the bomber’s loom
Wrought ruthless in the fight.

I was there that day
Coincidence of chance.
Robbed in a flash
Of ignorance – Of innocence.

I was there that day
I and the instant dead.
I and the bits of burning flesh
Laid blackened, bloodied, bled.

I was there that day
In shrouds the crack from hell.
The silenced bloody aftermath
The pall on wounded fell.

I was there that day
Caught victim in the fray.
Bloodied, bruised, bewildered
In midnight of the day.

I was there that day
And left to echo why?
Of Shadowed Men
Their cause for us to die.

I was there that day
My mantra drums to beat.
Lest we forget again
And God forbid - repeat.

I was there that day
A day of shame - vainglory.
One Spring day in Belfast
The dead can’t write the story.

R.I.P.

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 20, 2008 at 17:02

Of all the violence in this world, the violence on "God's behalf" is the most horrible. Not only the people of Ireland, but the people of the Middle East.

This blunt-lined poem with its frightened meter demonstrates the life-changing experience of seeing the innocent die without cause.

What are the words, Walter, from the song "Christmas in the Trenches"?

My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I, I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same

God bless, my Friend. Were the people to allow it, poets could save this world.

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Permalink Reply by Walter on March 20, 2008 at 17:20

Frank,

I am always humbled and awestruck by your quick and insightful response. Your breadth of knowledge and quick recall of comparative verse is truly remarkable. Lucky are we to have your talent on LI.

Thanks . . . Walter

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 20, 2008 at 17:22

I see you in the same light, Man of the North.

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Permalink Reply by Walter on March 20, 2008 at 23:02

Frank,

‘Christmas in the Trenches’

I think you will enjoy this version sung by John McDermott. John is a Canadian singer, originally from Glasgow, and the CD is ‘Remembrance’.

Sorry, didn’t know how to upload it directly to your page.

Walter . . .

P.S. Pierre . . . You may know this singer - I know you too will enjoy the song.

Attachments:

• 11 Christmas in the Trenches (2).wma, 5.6 MB

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 20, 2008 at 17:48

To Deragon and Walter -- poets and lovers of poetry, I dedicate this O'Shaughnessy poem (which, by the way, became a song in the movie Willy Wonka).

WE are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

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Permalink Reply by Walter on March 21, 2008 at 19:18

Frank,

Great posting! Love O’Shaughnessy‘s poem . . . speaks to my heart. Oh that we all could truly be ’music makers’ and ‘dreamer(s) of dreams’ and ‘shake the world with deathless ditties’. Wonderful to have a forum like this - I continue to be informed. Thanks. Hope springs eternal!

Walter . . .

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Permalink Reply by Walter on March 25, 2008 at 13:44

Pierre,

Thanks for the post of Derek Mahon’s poem . . . my education continues.

I was prompted to do a little further research and was surprised to learn the extent of Mahon's academic background and comprehensive resume. Given that he is a compatriot from Belfast my interest is significantly heightened.

Great talent – interesting study.

Walter . . .

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