"WHAT A WONDERFUL LITTLE BOY!"
The view
gazes at him.
The landscape gathers
itself about him
as if he were a piece of pigment
in a painting a blob or blur
of blue or green or
something in between.
"What a wonderful little boy!"
a passing cloud, pauses...muses
and says once more in case the hill
hadn't heard.
"What a wonderful little boy indeed!"
a tree agrees...winking...its leaves.
A river runs through him
alive in his senses.
The grass runs all over
the field tickling his naked toes.
Sunlight throws
itself at his feet
bows before him in all
its glory.
A breeze throws his hat high
up in the sky and
returns it to his hand
as if by command.
The clouds grazing now
upon a hill top
fascinated by his presence
how he has come to be.
"He makes us feel
so very much alive!"
One cloud nods
to another.
"Oh, there's a poet in him
to be sure to be sure!"
the river remarks
its voice clamouring over stones.
Time that sheep dog barks
but the clouds only laugh
"See how he lends us
his voice
in order that we may think
and speak.
Look I'm talking
in human words."
"Ballea...Ballea...Ballea!"
the farm shouts its name.
Again and again and again
the river exclaims
" Own na Buidhe... Own na Buidhe... Own na Buidhe"
sunlight dancing in its voice.
A bird stands stock still
upon the air
neither coming or going
just standing on nothing
as if it were a punctuation mark
typed upon the sky.
Time returns now
in policeman mood.
"Move along now...nothing to see here
move along now!"
And the landscape loses a voice
the sky its ability to see
the cloud has no words
the bird become a dot
only the sunset
whispers to an horizon
"What a wonderful
wonderful little boy!"
*
Still that one field in my childhood that I keep returning to and the song that contains both river and me in it. My Aunt Peggy the once little time I spent with her when she came over from America always called me the title!
Carrigdhoun
(Denny Lane)
The heath was green on Carrigdhoun.
Bright shone the sun o'er Ard-na-Lee
The dark green trees bent trembling down
To kiss the slumbering Own na Buidhe.
That happy day -- 'twas but last May --
'Tis like a dream to me,
When Donal swore, aye o'er and o'er,
We'd part no more a st�r mo chroidhe.
On Carrigdhoun the heath is brown.
The clouds are dark o'er Ard-na-Lee,
And many a stream comes rushing down
To swell the angry Owen na Buidhe.
The moaning blast is sweeping past
Through many a leafless tree,
And I'm alone, for he is gone,
My hawk has flown, ochone mo chroidhe.
Soft April showers and bright May flowers
Will bring the summer back again,
But will they bring me back the hours
I spent with my brave Donal then?
There's but a chance. he's gone to France
To wear the Fleur-de-Lis.
But I'll follow you, my Donal Dhu,
For still I'm true to you mo chroidhe.
The song was originally called "The Lament of the Irish Maiden" and was written by Denny Lane from Cork. It is a political song telling of the flight from Ireland of Sarsfield's "Wild Geese" in 1691. The air for Carrigdhoun was the inspiration for the music to the Percy French song "The Mountains of Mourne."