Beautiful Irish Poem

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on July 1, 2008 at 8:54pm

For my dear, dear friends who have continued to share great Irish poetry and their love of it . . . I have been remiss in posting anything for a long while. I came across this poem while looking for something to send to my cousin in Dublin. He'll be having surgery in two days and I want him to realize what a treasue he has been to me. Dermot is 73 and if ever there was an Irishman who fit the following poem, it's Him.


The Cry of a Dreamer
John Boyle O Riley 1844-1890

I am tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men;
Heart-weary of building and spoiling,
And spoiling and building again.
And I long for the dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.

I am sick of the showy seeming
Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thoughts' endeavor,
I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a thinker dies in a day.

I can feel no pride, but pity
For the burdens the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
But the patient lives of the poor.
Oh, the little hands too skillful,
And the child-mind choked with weeds!
The daughter's heart grown willful,
And the father's heart that bleeds!

No, no! from the street's rude bustle,
From the trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the woods' low rustle
And the meadows' kindly page.
Let me dream as of old by the river,
And be loved for the dream alway;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.

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Permalink Reply by Deragon Pierre on July 1, 2008 at 10:49pm

Dia dhuit a Frank,
Superb poem of a dreamer Frank,show`s how far a dream can go...!!!
Dreams cannot die..for a dream is beyond the grave,and the same dream
can be held by somebody else,Thank for sharing Frank may summer bring
the sun in your life..........Sith agus Slainte bha mo chara,le gach dea beannacht
Pierre

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Permalink Reply by Felicia on July 5, 2008 at 4:21pm

exquisite poem!

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on July 22, 2008 at 11:09pm

For my LI friends who are lovers of the poem, I've been so long away. So today, I wrote my own verse and dedicate it to all whoare in this house -- of poetry, and who are my FRIENDS.

Friends
by Frank Daub
2008

It was an open door
That without sound called me in.
I stood with hesitation until I realized my sin

Of never trusting.

I reckoned, in the human-only- way,
That such a friendly looking door
Could only be surprise
Of meeting expectations.
I saw only with my eyes
And not my soul.

Yet without entrance through that threshold,
I somehow realized
That never would I be whole

Enough to love.

Outside I waited, long enough
To shake the fear and take the chance
That there are friends inside,
Friends to bring me song and dance,
To bring me dreams
To tell me stories of loving.

I entered then,
And enter every chance that comes,
To meet and sing and dance,

To know that I am home.

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Permalink Reply by Walter on July 23, 2008 at 2:41am

Frank,

Wonderful poem! Be it known that you are indeed ‘home’ . . . the poetry forum is always somewhat empty when you are ‘missing’ for a while. Too often we see ‘only with the eyes’ and not ‘with the soul.’ Great insight!
What prompted you to ‘wait long enough . . . to shake the fear . . . of meeting expectations’? Whose? Not ours I hope - your poetry forum Friends. Without you our poetry forum home is but a house. I know this sentiment will be echoed by your other forum Friends.

This poem speaks from the heart in a sensitive, self-confessing manner with an ease of words that have a ‘Yeats feel’ to them. Great praise indeed . . . and you rhyme as well! Now that’s what I call poetry.

Walter . . .

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on July 23, 2008 at 5:22pm

So good to hear from you, North Man. My fellow literary traveler.

The poem is intended to say nothing more than "We are meant to be called to each other as friends, so come inside. Don't stand without because you fear that you won't be accepted."

I have no fear whatsoever about being part of our Poetry Forum, and my thought is always proven true when I enter the doorway of the home that Lisa made for all of us.

Dia Dhuit!

Frank

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Permalink Reply by Felicia on July 23, 2008 at 2:21pm

Thanks so much for sharing. This is the crossroads to me, whereby we all consult our conscience and decide if we are up totask. Breathtaking imagery and eloquently stated.

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Permalink Reply by Lisa on July 23, 2008 at 7:21pm

I love this. Very well written. Glad to call you all friends!

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Permalink Reply by Colleen Chandler on July 23, 2008 at 3:51am

Lisa, I just found this poem. It is beautiful. I guess I'm a hopeless romantic; but i just love poems like this.

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Permalink Reply by Deragon Pierre on July 23, 2008 at 2:49pm

Acknowlegement is not given to everyone,but it was given to you Frank,and to all your friends on this here site,appreciation of you is what come to my mind,and appreciation of us all surely,your poem is real and down to earth,humble and true.
Always seeking for the next one to find the unknown and be amaze by it
Be comfortable in your home.

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on July 23, 2008 at 5:35pm

Ah, my Irish-French friend. Comment allez-vous?

I treasure your messages and our electronic friendship. As my Irish great grandmother used to say (didn't really understand her until my grandfather translated) -- "It's a wonderment to have friends, and a miracle to keep them."

Thank you for the kind words about the poem. It was sort of bubbling and splashing inside. Visiting the Poetry Forum does that for me. It's like being part of an Irish Literary University, right?

And to you I wish the comfort of home; you bring it to so many on this LI website.

Une seule langue n'est jaime suffisante --

Níl aon tintéan mar do thintéan féin.

Phransais

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on July 23, 2008 at 5:18pm

Colleen

First, I hope that I am not being vain in assuming that you were refering to the poem that I wrote yesterday for all of my LI friends. Thank you for such a grand compliment.

Nothing pleases a poet, at least me, more than the ability of a reader to find the simplicity of the words and the message. There are too few romantics left in the world -- a terrible thing. There are too few "chasers of beauty" -- even more terrible. The Irish -- you, an Irish girl, are part of the legacy of protecting the romantic and the beautiful.

Is maith an scathan suil charad. (A friend's eye is a good mirror.)

Frank Daub

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