REALITY'S UNRAVELLER


Charles Luxmoore on Gerard Manley Hopkins...

"...a fearless climber of trees, and would go up very high in the lofty elm tree, standing in our garden...to the the alarm of un-lookers like myself."


I on the other hand climbed trees to escape the world of my young sister's death...here at this great height I could be both in and out of the world...longing to be someone else...somewhere else....anywhere else...anyone else...even a bird if that could be...the map of the world spread below me...high above this bitter grief. I would "vanish" into bay windows and sit for hours whilst aunts and uncle stood a few feet from me and wondered where "the boy has gone" and call my name that didn't seem to be me anymore. I remember sitting between two silver milk churns down in Cork and everyone unseeing of me as if my grief had made me invisible. I was "Of reality the rarest-veined unraveller..."

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The Habit of Perfection


ELECTED Silence, sing to me
And beat upon my whorlèd ear,
Pipe me to pastures still and be
The music that I care to hear.

Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:         5
It is the shut, the curfew sent
From there where all surrenders come
Which only makes you eloquent.

Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark
And find the uncreated light:         10
This ruck and reel which you remark
Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.

Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,
Desire not to be rinsed with wine:
The can must be so sweet, the crust         15
So fresh that come in fasts divine!

Nostrils, your careless breath that spend
Upon the stir and keep of pride,
What relish shall the censers send
Along the sanctuary side!         20

O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet
That want the yield of plushy sward,
But you shall walk the golden street
And you unhouse and house the Lord.

And, Poverty, be thou the bride         25
And now the marriage feast begun,
And lily-coloured clothes provide
Your spouse not laboured-at nor spun.

Walking through Kildare one passes through all the history still hanging in the air...once one has heard the voices of those who have passed before us...it is impossible not to hear them ever again...the air is stained with the history of their times and the soul cannot but soak up all that has happened.
Brighid reappears in various guises in various times and seems part historic, part mythic, part Christian, part pagan. One of her dualities is that she is herself but also an incarnate representative of Mary.
She is the protectress of dairymaids and is associated with February lambing day (one of the four primary Gaelic holy days, Imbolc, meaning "bag of cream" or "butter-womb"). She was born herself by manifesting from a bucket of milk being carried out the door by her mother, a milkmaid. And the Irish Catholic Church, before it came under the aegis of the Roman Catholic Church, baptised in milk rather than water. My Auntie Nelly used to put the sign of the cross on the flanks of our cows by dipping her fingers in the milk.
As the first abbess of Kildare ( Church of the Oak ****-dara ) she was followed by an unbroken line of abbesses who commanded great respect from the people and were responsible through the saint’s order for maintaining by precise ritualistic means a continuous fire ignited by St. Brighid before her death in ca. 522. The abbesses were assisted in this by 19 nuns. With the sack of Kildare the fire of centuries was finally snuffed out.
The **** of the Abbess of Kildare in 1132 destroyed her sanctity and rendering her unfit for her office. MacMurrough imposed in her place a kinswoman of his own.
Her **** paved the way for the Norman occupation of Ireland.
James Joyce was intensely proud of being born on February 02, lambing day, that is on Imbolc, which by the old reckoning shares the claim for being St. Bridgid's Day along with February. The Celtic day was measured in a lunar manner like the extant Semitic calendars so that a calendar day begins at sunset, not midnight). Joyce considered St. Brighid to be his muse and liked to have his works first issued on February 02 to honour her.
She is invoked in all post-Chamber Music work. As St. Bride Brighid continues to maintain her abbey, now a "finishing establishment" for the "The Floras . . . a month's bunch of pretty maidens." She is Maria in "Clay," the moocow in Portrait, the old milk woman in Ulysses, the maid in Exiles, the broken branch in "Tilly," (one means allowed to stoke the sacred fire at Kildare was to wave air over it with a branch), and a thousand references to milk and things bovine in FW.
The Norman-Anglo Conquest of Ireland began in 1169, when a mercenary invasion force from Norman-occupied Wales captured Wexford and Waterford. A year later they took Dublin, and over the next century, 75% of Ireland would fall. Dermot MacMurrough's wily reign of deceit, beginning in 1132, paved the way for the Norman occupation

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Our English teacher’s voice commanding us to open our books at Emily Dickinson. Doing as I was told...I glanced down shyly at her words looking bravely up at me and immediately at once I fell in love!

Our English teacher’s voice proclaiming “I don’t like teaching this woman…I don’t understand her! ”

Oh Emily, I knew you as you knew me and had already eloped with your mind leaving only the empty shell of a schoolboy for the teacher to shout at! Us laughing...running away together...running through the wild woods of words...gathering words and turning them into the daisy chain of poems.

Bacon( façon) never likes being cooked by naked humans whether they be French or not...it hisses and spits and fights back. The male member especially is in danger of being attacked.

"Isti mirantvr stellam"( "These marvel at the star.")

In the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Eilmer of Malmesbury may have seen Halley previously in 989, as he wrote of it in 1066:

"You've come, have you? ... You've come, you source of tears to many mothers, you evil. I hate you! It is long since I saw you; but as I see you now you are much more terrible, for I see you brandishing the downfall of my country. I hate you!"

"Hic Harold rex interfectus est!"( "Here King Harold has been killed." )

One can guess what had been killed in our protagonist's trousers...the King of his anatomy laid low with all this talk of history.


The Toffees or Everton got to the final by not conceding a single goal but alas went 2 nill down to the Owls or Sheffield Wednesday. But made an amazing comeback and won the FA Cup of 1966  by three goals to two.

"Stand up if you won the war!" was the chant of the English only a few weeks later won the World Cup by beating Germany 4-2.

Me dealing with( or not dealing with)a friend's suicide...I was amazed at the intense sadness and immense anger released in me and the poem reflects both those conflicting emotions. The anger I had not expected to feel...it was anger at the circumstances that brought her to this point and anger for her depriving us of her presence. Her absence was like a paper cut to the soul...sheer animal grief. I guess we all cry for ourselves as well as the person who has left us forever and left us stranded in the here of this now.

Ogham is an alphabet that appears on monumental inscriptions dating from the 4th to the 6th century AD, and in manuscripts dating from the 6th to the 9th century. It was used mainly to write Primitive and Old Irish, and also to write Old Welsh, Pictish and Latin. It was inscribed on stone monuments throughout Ireland, particuarly Kerry, Cork and Waterford, and in England, Scotland, the Isle of Man and Wales, particularly in Pembrokeshire in south Wales.

The name Ogham is pronounced [ˈoːm] or [ˈoːəm] in Modern Irish, and it was spelt ogam and pronounced [ˈɔɣam] in Old Irish. Its origins are uncertain: it might be named after the Irish god Ogma, or after the Irish phrase og-úaim (point-seam), which refers to the seam made by the point of a sharp weapon. Ogham is also known as or ogham craobh (tree ogham) beth luis fearn or beth luis nion, after the first few letters.

Ogham probably pre-dates the earliest inscriptions - some scholars believe it dates back to the 1st century AD - as the language used shows pre-4th century elements. It is thought to have been modelled on or inspired by the Roman, Greek or Runic scripts. It was designed to write Primitive Irish and was possibly intended as a secret form of communication.

While all surviving Ogham inscriptions are on stone, it was probably more commonly inscribed on sticks, stakes and trees. Inscriptions are mostly people's names and were probably used to mark ownership, territories and graves. Some inscriptions in primitive Irish and Pictish have not been deciphered, there are also a number of bilingual inscriptions in Ogham and Latin, and Ogham and Old Norse written with the Runic alphabet.

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Chatting to Paul Kearney on facebook and tripping down memory lane...he remembering me from a time I couldn't even remember myself! The Marian Shrine beside the church somehow came up and we both had memories of playing amongst a myriad of leaves. I used to hide under them...so many...so many and call out things to make a statue of the ****** say: "Oh sweet Jaysus!"It was great fun to see people startled out of themselves trying to figure out where on earth( not even thinking of an invisible boy drowning under lots of leaves)the voice was coming from.

My Godmother Breda Ryan passed by and was given the treatment only to say: "Those leaves have the voice of a boy I know...how strange! I hope those leaves go to confession!"

So it was I was given 10 Holy Marys and three How's yer Fathers and advised not to startle the good folk of the Curragh with my leafy voice.Oh I was a bad leaf when I was small. But I have since turned over a new leaf.  I never did it again or since...though now I am sorely tempted!