Aug 2016
RUNNING THROUGH HISTORY
( for Grandfather Sheedy )
I, a creature of flesh
& mud.
Mostly mud I
train...run...running
across Curragh
Plains...pain. . .pain.
School cross country
running is - not:
my forte.
I, being constantly told I
am not my grandfather.
Obviously.
I plod after grandfather's
famous footsteps
inheriting only his calf muscles
but not...his stamina.
I am all skin & bone
merely my mind keeping me going.
Grandfather Sheedy is
running on into history.
I, the clod forever
running after his fame
into many a Curragh
sunset.
I run back through
time.
"In the year of the world
4608. . "
The Annals of the Four Masters
a running commentary in my mind.
I run through
my mythological past
the ghosts of kings famous
before time began.
Cobhthack Gael is still
killing Laoghaire Lore.
He highfives me as I
stagger past.
St. Brigid casts her cloak
it covers the entire plain.
I greet and thank her
with a wordless nod.
The Curragh Camp of today
coalescing into being
thanks to the Crimean
Campaign.
I recite Tennyson to
startled furze bushes.
"Furze bushes to the left of me
furze bushes to the right of me. . ."
into my mind rides
the 17th Irish Lancers
leading the Balaclava Charge
their mascot terrier Jemmy
following close behind
barking at the Russian guns
surviving it all
to roam around where I am
raoming now.
My Uncle Tossie's
familiar greeting
"How ya...howya...how ya
are ya winning...are ya winning!"
Grandfather and Uncle
Balaclava dog & mythological
kings and saints
all urging me on
claiming I can do it.
I can & I will
...come. . .last.
Me the non-runner runner
driven by
history
( for Grandfather Sheedy )
I, a creature of flesh
& mud.
Mostly mud I
train...run...running
across Curragh
Plains...pain. . .pain.
School cross country
running is - not:
my forte.
I, being constantly told I
am not my grandfather.
Obviously.
I plod after grandfather's
famous footsteps
inheriting only his calf muscles
but not...his stamina.
I am all skin & bone
merely my mind keeping me going.
Grandfather Sheedy is
running on into history.
I, the clod forever
running after his fame
into many a Curragh
sunset.
I run back through
time.
"In the year of the world
4608. . "
The Annals of the Four Masters
a running commentary in my mind.
I run through
my mythological past
the ghosts of kings famous
before time began.
Cobhthack Gael is still
killing Laoghaire Lore.
He highfives me as I
stagger past.
St. Brigid casts her cloak
it covers the entire plain.
I greet and thank her
with a wordless nod.
The Curragh Camp of today
coalescing into being
thanks to the Crimean
Campaign.
I recite Tennyson to
startled furze bushes.
"Furze bushes to the left of me
furze bushes to the right of me. . ."
into my mind rides
the 17th Irish Lancers
leading the Balaclava Charge
their mascot terrier Jemmy
following close behind
barking at the Russian guns
surviving it all
to roam around where I am
raoming now.
My Uncle Tossie's
familiar greeting
"How ya...howya...how ya
are ya winning...are ya winning!"
Grandfather and Uncle
Balaclava dog & mythological
kings and saints
all urging me on
claiming I can do it.
I can & I will
...come. . .last.
Me the non-runner runner
driven by
history
"Ar son Dé...faion spéir cá raibh tú?"
The Academy didn't do art so the only way I could do so was to go to the Convent on a Saturday. I did this for about 6 months before throwing in the paintbrush! I was always told there: "You are not your sister June...are you Donall!"
Alas the mere me I was was good. . . for nothing! So I knew who I was not as good as but - not what I was actually good at. Alas the story of my life!
Brother Laurence our Science teacher for some God forsaken reason introduced cross country running all of a sudden! He was lovely man with an energy that that almost burst out of his body as if he were a human dynamo. He always had a little smile just Mona Lisa'ing on him as if he were constantly amused at something or as if he had just told himself a very good joke in his head.
It was just as if it were an English school and we were good old chaps! It was like being in a boy's own story but it was really "Hard cheese!"
When Brother Laurence got totally exasperated with my lack of prowess he( to not risk swearing )would step into the Irish.
"Ar son Dé...faion spéir cá raibh tú?"
( "For God's sake..in God's name where were you!" )
I not being good at the auld Irish would always answer: "Amuigh faoin spéir!" which was the title of a well known nature programme at the time. It mean out under the sky!
Some time later I answered with: Ag Dia amháin atá a fhios!" which translates at "God only knows!" He laughed at this and said: "Ahhhh Dempsey...at least the running has taught you a bit more Irish than repeating television programme names to me!"
I was more interested in reading LP Hartley's THE GO BETWEEN. It was my mind that was running and covered not in mud but in glorious words. I ran shouting Gerard Manly Hopkins to the skies to comfort the agony of chest and legs and to soothe my poor troubled mind. Or the Wreck of the Deutschland: "Thou mastering me..."
All it did was make me more aware of my own history that was right on my doorstep. And it was the history I was more interested in than being a mud splattered waif. Oh I knew the loneliness of the long distance runner!
I was surrounded by Sheedys....Sheedys to the right of me....Sheedys to the left of me and I had before me that most lovely of men **** Sheedy whose kindness knows no bounds so Grandfather **** Sheedy lived on in our minds. I thought he deserved a poem so this is that...poem!
I adore the Four Masters' phrase: "...in the year of the world..."
The Academy didn't do art so the only way I could do so was to go to the Convent on a Saturday. I did this for about 6 months before throwing in the paintbrush! I was always told there: "You are not your sister June...are you Donall!"
Alas the mere me I was was good. . . for nothing! So I knew who I was not as good as but - not what I was actually good at. Alas the story of my life!
Brother Laurence our Science teacher for some God forsaken reason introduced cross country running all of a sudden! He was lovely man with an energy that that almost burst out of his body as if he were a human dynamo. He always had a little smile just Mona Lisa'ing on him as if he were constantly amused at something or as if he had just told himself a very good joke in his head.
It was just as if it were an English school and we were good old chaps! It was like being in a boy's own story but it was really "Hard cheese!"
When Brother Laurence got totally exasperated with my lack of prowess he( to not risk swearing )would step into the Irish.
"Ar son Dé...faion spéir cá raibh tú?"
( "For God's sake..in God's name where were you!" )
I not being good at the auld Irish would always answer: "Amuigh faoin spéir!" which was the title of a well known nature programme at the time. It mean out under the sky!
Some time later I answered with: Ag Dia amháin atá a fhios!" which translates at "God only knows!" He laughed at this and said: "Ahhhh Dempsey...at least the running has taught you a bit more Irish than repeating television programme names to me!"
I was more interested in reading LP Hartley's THE GO BETWEEN. It was my mind that was running and covered not in mud but in glorious words. I ran shouting Gerard Manly Hopkins to the skies to comfort the agony of chest and legs and to soothe my poor troubled mind. Or the Wreck of the Deutschland: "Thou mastering me..."
All it did was make me more aware of my own history that was right on my doorstep. And it was the history I was more interested in than being a mud splattered waif. Oh I knew the loneliness of the long distance runner!
I was surrounded by Sheedys....Sheedys to the right of me....Sheedys to the left of me and I had before me that most lovely of men **** Sheedy whose kindness knows no bounds so Grandfather **** Sheedy lived on in our minds. I thought he deserved a poem so this is that...poem!
I adore the Four Masters' phrase: "...in the year of the world..."
