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Donall Dempsey
Poems
Aug 9
SINGING THE RIVER
SINGING THE RIVER
Walking with my uncle was never
the ordinary process of perambulation.
in order to get from pt. A to
pt. Z.
We would sing our way west into
the field as if to
tame it
soothe it with sound.
"On Carrigdhoun the heath is brown..."
we'd sing to it
"...the clouds are dark o'er Ard-na-Lee."
The grass listening with its thousand ears.
And the field would swoon
and fall down
to the river at its border
( which as it happened )
was the real life river
of the song
"...to kiss the slumbering Own na Buidhe."
As if we had sung it
into existence.
And we would roll ourselves down
over and over until
we arrived at its dizzy waters
dangling our toes
in pure song.
And now( with a quick uncle wink )
"Let's walk home....backwards!"
And backwards home we'd go
just for the laugh of it.
The yes of it!
Confusing cows
and a few scattered clouds.
Trees and hedges tiptoeing
away from us.
The five-bar gate with
the sweetest wildest strawberries at its feet
proclaiming: "Is it mad...
...y'are or....wot?"
And the next day off we'd go walking eyes closed
in a darkness of our own making
to sing its song
to the river
the river chuckling
over stones to itself.
And the next next day would be
backwards with eyes closed
led along by our own laughter
and the odd mystified moo.
"Farewell..." we'd tell
the sleepy river "...farewell!"
leaving it dreaming
in a sunset.
"Shhhhhh..." shushed our footsteps
shhhhhhs walking backwards,
"When Donal swore, aye o'er and o'er,
We'd part no more a stΓ³r mo chroidhe."
"shhhhhhhhhhhh.....shhhhhhhhhhhh!"
"shhhhhhhhhhhh.....shhhhhhhhhhhh!"
"....shhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Written by
Donall Dempsey
Guildford
(Guildford)
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Nick Moore
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