| Fáilte don éan is binne ar chraoibh, labhras ar chaoin na dtor le gréin; domhsa is fada tuirse an tsaoil, nach bhfaiceann í le teacht an fhéir. Welcome, sweetest bird on the branch, at the bushes’ edge as the sun grows warm. The world’s long sorrow it is to me I see her not as the grass grows green. ![]() An Duanaire, Poems of the Dispossessed. 1600-1900, le Seán O Tuama and Thomas Kinsella. Foras na Gaeilge 1991. |
Category: Images
-
-
An Duanaire 1600-1690; Poems of the dispossessed
In response to a war in summer 2006 I had published a small piece on Dispossession voiced by Inanna. I remember the veracity of the words for the specific reason that they are often mouthed by others in literary history , often anonymous, often the voices of women (and indeed in the chorus ) ; be it in TS Eliot, Shakespeare or Atwood. (i)
They may be found in the exilic lament in Anglo-Saxon poetry (such as The Wanderer or The Wife’s Lament) through Anitgone or the laments of the Island women, so beautifully written by Mary Lavin in The Green Grave, The Black Grave, or indeed in my own writing of laments, although I consider them inadequate mostly.
One book I return to again and again is An Duanaire ,the poems date 1600-1900 and revolve round the theme of lament and exilic condition, something in this mad technological rush to Lebensraum and democracy (on which mostly the unwilling do not have a chance to dialogue, civil society groups always among the first to be repressed) has led to homelessness , Camps and gentrification : a global hidden exilic condition grounded in greed .
Ochón, A Dhonnacha (excerpted)
‘The moon is dark and I cannot sleep.
All ease has left me.
The candid Gaelic seems harsh and gloomy
– an evil omen.
I hate the time that I pass with friends,
their wit torments me.
Since the day I saw you on the sands so lifeless
no sun has shone. “
and ‘S í Blath na Sméar í‘* S í Bláth Geal na Sméar í ‘
” ‘S í Blath geal na smear í
‘s í bláth deas na sú craobh í
‘s í planda b’fhearr méin mhaith
le hamharc do shúl
‘s í mo chuisle, ‘s í mo rún í
‘s í a bláth na n-úll gcumhra í,
is samhradh ins an fhuacht í
idir Nollaig is Cáisc.”
dedicated to Viola and Christina, two Roma girls who died from drowning , images of their bodies were published in the world press as they lay dead on an italian beach
You’re currently reading “An Dunaire- Poems of the Dispossessed.,” an entry on Poethead
(Published: 09/08/2008 / 09:21 Category: War Tags: 25 pins in a packet )
Notes :
- (i) T.S Eliot ‘Murder in the Cathedral ‘ – the Chorus, Margaret Atwood’s
- ‘The Penelopiad’ -The Chorus.
- (ii). An Duanaire 1600-1690, Poems of the Dispossessed, le Seán ó Tuama is Thomas Kinsella.

Leonard Baskins Man of Peace The Image is Man Of Peace by Leonard Baskin, a man who spent a lifetime drawing and sculpting in the Post-Holocaust period and coming to terms with his identity as a Diaspora Jew.
-
There have been some difficulties with this post, which is companion to Simone Weil‘s Necessity and to Edith Sitwell‘s The Wind’s Bastinado. Both the above poems were transcribed from a small library in Mayo, the original Tula was removed earlier today, this is an edited version.
Leo Tolstoy: Essays from Tula, with an introduction by Nicolas Berdyaev. London, Sheppard Press, 1948.
- Bethink Yourselves.
- The Slavery of our times.
- An Appeal to Social reformers.
- True criticism.
- I Cannot be Silent.
- Thou Shalt Kill No One.
- A Letter to the Peace Conference.
- The End of the Age.
- Love one Another.
Foreword by Nicholas Berdyaev
The book has an interesting tale, it came to me via my favourite wee private book collection in Westport, where the borrowing involves making a note of essay/book/monograph, author and ISBN.
The borrowing can be long term unlike the public libraries which tend toward a three week limit and a fining system.That collection (in Mayo) is also good for transcribing portions of poetry books, and books that are no longer in circulation and is in the way of a discipline regarding what reading matter one wishes to access. Interestingly, a small group of books that are in my possession have been requested by someone who the owner judged not to be ready to request.
It’s funny that often the books we would disregard at certain stages gather potency and relevance as we get a bit more life-experienced (or indeed world-weary).
‘
” Yet a religion which answers to the demands of our time does exist and is known to all men, and in a latent state lives in the hearts of men of the Christian world. Therefore that this religion should become evident to and binding upon all men it is only necessary firstly that educated men, the leaders of the masses, should understand that religion is necessary to man. That without religion man cannot live a good life, and that what they call science cannot replace religion; and secondly that those in power and support the old empty forms of religion should understand that what they support and preach under the form of religion is not only not religion but is the chief obstacle to men’s appropriating the true religion which they already know, and which alone can deliver men from their calamities”.
I have indeed published this in excerpt before now on this very blog. That’s probably because it is imperative to understanding the concept of evolutionary development in human philosophies and wisdom. Theres a huge apocrypha which goes ignored and unconserved in our drive to modernism which really does leave the best bits of our philosophies out. I am not into theorising on why theocracies indulge the most totalitarian aspects of collectivism or why dogma is anti-intellectual: sure that’s all been done before. I would simply say that each individual will take something different from a book they are reading be it poetry, theology, politics, philosophy and that to have that chance is important to everyone and not to the guardians of dogmatism who in many ways have failed quite simply to engage people at any level of understanding saving the overtly materialistic.
I’d highly recommend the writings of Simone Weil to those who wish study how anti-intellectualism makes many of us outsiders to a shared heritage and how close we come to totalitarianism by arrogantly accepting dogma with blind obedience. I will add in the Weill links at the base of this small post.
- Necessity
- Leo Tolstoy’s Essays from Tula with an introduction by Nicolas Berdyaev London, Sheppard Press 1948.
-
I have just realised that I have never linked this review,
so whilst I twiddle with links and design, I thought
to add it in here. Nagy was a muscular writer of
great expression and symbol, she is illustrated at
link with a Leonard Baskin ‘Hanged man’.I am also adding in the Link to the new Netvibes design
page, which is (not) so cleverly based on ‘The Lady
of Shallot’ , I like the deep colours and they match
the current theme which I hope to live with for
a while anyhow. -
RIP Aoife O Brien ( June 23rd 1970-May 1st 2010)
I.
“Enough! we’re tired my heart and I.
We sit beside the headstone thus,
And wish that the name were carved for us.
The moss reprints more tenderly
The hard types of the Mason’s knife,
As heaven’s sweet life renews earth’s
life,
with which we are tired, my heart and I.II.
You see we’re tired, my heart and I.
We dealt with books, we trusted men,
And in our own blood drenched the
pen,
As if such colours could not fly.
We walked too straight for fortune’s
end,
We loved too true to keep a friend;
At last we’re tired, my heart and I.III.
How tired we feel, my heart and I!
We seem of no use in the world;
Our fancies hang grey and uncurled
About men’s eye’s indifferently;
Our voice which thrilled you so, will
let
You sleep; our tears are only wet:
What do we do here, my heart and I ?IV.
So tired, so tired, my heart and I !
It was not thus in that old time
When Ralph sate with me ‘neath the
lime
To watch the sun set from the sky.
‘dear love you are looking tired’, he
said;
I, smiling at him, shook my head:
‘Tis now we’re tired, my heart and I.V.
So tired, so tired, my heart and I !
Though now none takes me on his arm
to fold me close and kiss me warm
Till each quick breath end in a sigh
of happy langour. Now alone,
We lean upon this graveyard stone,
Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.VI.
Tired out we are my heart and I.
Suppose the world brought diadems
To tempt us, crusted with loose gems
of powers and pleasures? Let it try.
We scarcely care to look at even
A pretty child, or God’s blue heaven,
We feel so tired, my heart and I.VII.
Yet who complains ? My heart and I?
In this abundant earth no doubt
Is little room for things worn out:
Disdain them, break them, throw them by.
And if before the days grew rough
We once were loved, used- well
enough,
I think, we’ve fared, my heart and I. ”E.B.B
Aoife O Brien, June 23rd 1970- May 1st 2010 -
I have not decided what to do with this small almanac yet, its publication date is noted as : 1926 (re-print 1983).
It’s a gem, with images Stanley Spencer later converted into quasi-religious subject-matter and it is sitting on my desk awaiting my writing! Maybe it’s because the thing has no evident calendrical structure and is just the names of months and dates that gives it a slight sparseness.. thus its enjoyment comes from admiring the images, I am unsure… It feels vaguely sacrilegious to attempt my scrawl in it, thus I am in two minds on how to proceed.
One of the things about the Google Book Settlement which was largely undiscussed was the prohibition on pictorials. I have discussed here before the charm of illustration, collaboration and artistic focus in books, most especially in relation to two singular texts,
René Crevel‘s , ‘Babylon’ and ‘Mark my Words’, by Eilis Ní Dhuibhne, with Alice Maher , (I also like Kitaj’s ‘The First Diasporist Manifesto’ ) Excerpt from ‘The First Diasporist Manifesto’ R B Kitaj.
-

Bonnard’s little tree. Two Songs of Spring Wandering
I.
” The silken willow wands arching the loitering river,
unfold into smoky strings of leaves;
The ice in the cold ravine melts into the warm air.
When the glory of spring has been born again along
the flower-laden paths,
We shall already have heard people playing gay tunes
from the inspiring Yun and Shao.
II.Wandering along the willow-bordered trail and over
Peach-Blossom Stream,
Hungering for the brightness of Spring – everywhere
beauty enchants me !
Flying birds dart now and then to scatter the
willow catkins;
Boughs, overburdened, bend beneath whorls of blossom”. 
Publ. Poems of Wang Wei Trans, Chang Yin-nan
and Lewis C Walmsley. Charles E Tuttle Company, Tokyo , Japan. 1958. -
Abandoned Graveyard : The Blasphemer’s Banquet, Part the IV’
” Where some of Bradford’s past already lies
life flowers in these already bright affirming eyes,
though her forehead rests on some old grave
she thinks that time stays still, and never flies.It won’t be long before she knows
that everything vanishes with the rose
and then she’ll either love life more because it’s fleeting
or hate the flower and life because it goes”from : The Shadow of Hiroshima and Other Film/ Poems, FF, 1995. By Tony Harrison (0ne of a series).
-
‘Oh, I love this fleeting life.’
‘The Koran denounces unbelievers who
quote ‘love this fleeting life’ unquote. I do.
I’m an unbeliever.I love this life.
I don’t believe their paradise is true.The afterlife for which that chilled corpse prayed
was a paradise of fountains and green shade
and dark-eyed houris and a garden
whose roses bloom forever and don’t fadeunlike this world of ours where things fade fast.
In a place where nothing changes and things last
the fatwa fascist lolls in paradise
and waters full of stars go flowing past.[Superimposed quotation, Ayatollah Khomeini]
‘These are things which are impure : urine, excrement, sperm,
blood, dogs, unbelievers, wine, beer and the sweat of the
excrement-eating camel’.The superimposed quotation mark is a film direction, because essentially the book , The Shadow of Hiroshima and other Film Poems is a collection of Harrison’s films/poems. The Blasphemer’s Banquet is taken from the Faber edition, publ, 1995. Tony Harrison.
-
Dawning on the Square
burnt ochre to umber liquefies the dark
indigo and charcoal quicken,
they bleeda capillary of sorts —
the colours ground, establish a sky
my opaques, ochre from the dirtthe blues, a stone.
©
Dawning on the Square by C Murray is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at poethead.wordpress.com.

