Eavan Boland, "My Country in Darkness"

[seasight.livejournal.com]

After the wolves and before the elms
the bardic order ended in Ireland.

Only a few remained to continue
a dead art in a dying land:

This is a man
on the road from Youghal to Cahirmoyle.
He has no comfort, no food and no future.
He has no fire to recite his friendless measures by.
His riddles and flatteries will have no reward.
His patrons sheath their swords in Flanders and Madrid.

Reader of poems, lover of poetry—
in case you thought this was a gentle art
follow this man on a moonless night
to the wretched bed he will have to make:

The Gaelic world stretches out under a hawthorn tree
and burns in the rain. This is its home,
its last frail shelter. All of it—
Limerick, the Wild Geese and what went before—
falters into cadence before he sleeps:
He shuts his eyes. Darkness falls on it.


*


Found my original poem. New request! Anything about royalty!

Comments

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Haunting; thank you.

[orange-fell.livejournal.com]

(Sorry again about the notification emails you may be getting. The spam filters are ferocious!)

I tried and I tried but I couldn't get this one out of my head: (delete space) poetryfoundation .org/poem/241532

Maybe now that it's out there I'll be able to think of something else!