"fergus" poems
{Fergus.} This whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to
shape,
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.
{Druid.} What would you, king of the proud Red Branch
kings?
{Fergus.} This would I Say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, So I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.
{Druid.} What would you, king of the proud Red Branch
kings?
{Fergus.} A king and proud! and that is my despair.
I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head
{Druid.} What would you, Fergus?
{Fergus.} Be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.
{Druid.} Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword,
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.
{Fergus.} A king is but a foolish labourer
Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.
{Druid.} Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;
Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
{Fergus.} I See my life go drifting like a river
From change to change; I have been many things --
A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light
Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,
A king sitting upon a chair of gold --
And all these things were wonderful and great;
But now I have grown nothing, knowing all.
Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow
Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!
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WHO will go drive with Fergus now,
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade,
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, maid,
And brood on hopes and fear no more.
And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery;
For Fergus rules the brazen cars,
And rules the shadows of the wood,
And the white breast of the dim sea
And all dishevelled wandering stars.
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My pulse is slowed by the tide
that sighs twice daily
over the sparkling mud,
a slow scatter of wading birds at its heels.
Inhale and brambles dot the hedgerow,
purpling our mouths -
exhale and the snowdrops are back,
advance guard of a trumpetting spring
as the circling bay holds the circling year
in its silver grey water.
Our house plays host
to dramas and dreams
but they are beautifully small
in the middle of this
and I have never been so at home.
The trees planted themselves decades ago
in preparation for our boys.
The sea rose and fell for shelled and pebbled eons
that there might be the perfect clatter
when Fergus leaps from the rocks and runs
into the waves
and if three cars go by
within an hour
we say, "Christ, it's busy today!"
This, and us, is home.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 2:02 AM UTC
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:
Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed,
Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown old
In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate,
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
Come near, come near, come near-Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-breath to fill!
Lest I no more hear common things that crave;
The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,
The field-mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
But seek alone to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know.
Come near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
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Wine and cigarettes all i have in vain
But nothing comes close to ease my pain
Winter has frozen my pale fingers
As i walk and linger
My father's last words flew through my heart
As he touched my face and i cried to never part
The wood floor creaked as i walked
The walls shattered as i talked
He said the old house is alive
I knew it when it was so quiet at night
Whenever i said my flat prayers to Christ
I did not come back for melancholy of my boyhood friends
As memories have always been in the right places to suspend
Like cold brief kisses shared before goodbyes
Struggling for never ending happines to come by
Autumn came when i was still deep in slumber
Tucked up innocent in his warm chamber
Whenever i opened my eyes again he was there
Watching out the window, looking so fair
There were nights when the ferry docked
And those distinct shapes in the mist outside i could not make out
There he went away
Ferried over so far away
As i did to him likewise now
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 23, 2011 at 10:57 AM UTC
i heard your clear deep
voice (singin’)
last year in
evening san antone
bleeding from truckstop P.A.
where i bought cactus burritos &
1 basket
heavensent peaches &
thanked you
for ev’ry one b/c only
someone like you could send a gift
so humble
.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
THE CAMINO CHRONICLES
OISIN’S LAMENT
I CANNOT BEAR TO SAY FAREWELL
IF FAREWELL IS ALL THAT REMAINS TO BE SAID
THE FINAL SONG OF OUR LOVES DAY
1 CANNOT BEAR TO FOREVER HERE STAY
ALONE ADRIFT IN TIMES ETERNAL TIDE
ALONE, SO ALONE WITHOUT YOU BY MY SIDE
I CANNOT BEAR TO SAY FAREWELL
WHEN IN EVERY CANDLES FLAME I LIGHT
I SEE YOUR LAUGHING EYES YET SHINE BRIGHT
1 CANNOT BEAR TO FOREVER HERE STAY
WHEN IN EVERY TWINKLING STAR I SEE
YOUR MISCHEIFS SMILE SPARKLING AMID THE COSMIC SEA
I CANNOT BEAR TO SAY FAREWELL
FOR WITH EVERY SINGLE BREATH I TAKE
YOUR SCENT FILLS MY CHEST WITH FRESH HEARTACHE
I CANNOT BEAR TO SAY FAREWELL. .
I CANNOT BEAR . . .
SIDHE NO BAS
(SPIRIT NO DIE, WAR CRY OF THE CELTSIDHE)
SOUL ******
ALL DESIRE FLED
FROM HATE
I CUCHULAINN, MURDERER
THRICE CURSED HOUND
I SOAKED THE SOIL OF ERIN
WITH MY GREIF
I CUCHULAINN, ONCE SETENTA
PROUD WEARER OF LAURELS
FIANNA OF THE RED BRANCH
WARRIORS OF EIRIU IMMORTAL
I CUCHULAINN, ONCE GEATHA-I-MUIR
MAKER OF PEACE, HEALER OF ALL WOUNDS
COMPASSIONS SHEILD AND SWORD
AMERGHAIN-GLENNA-GLUN
I CUCHULAINN, THE THRICE ACCURSED
SON OF THE FATHER
WHO SACRIFICED HIS SON CAANAICELT
WHO SACRIFICED HIS DAUGHTER, AINE
I SLEW MY BROTHER, FERGUS-MAC-ALBA
I CUCHULAINN, THE BROTHER-KILLER
BROTHER OF THE SWORD, OF MY BLOOD
LITTLE PAIRSIDHE, TO MY HECTOR ONCE
I CUCHULAINN, THE LOST
MINION TO THE BEASTS LUST
WHO COULD NOT DIE
WHO SO WANTED TO DIE
I CUCHULAINN, OF THE ****** HAND NO MORE
FERGUS MY BROTHER FORGIVE ME
MY BEAUTIFULL BROTHER
I THANK YOU, SAORSIDHE
SAORSIDHE. . SAORSIDHE. .SAORSIDHE
(SAORSIDHE – LIT. FREE SPIRIT)
MEMORIES CANDLE
I GO
BE A MAN TODAY
THE ENEMY COME
FATHER
BROTHERS COUSINS ALL
CLANN, CHILDREN OF EIRIU
I GO
BE A SHEILD THIS NIGHT
FOR WANS WEE
FALLEN! SO MANY. .
HOLD! HOLD!
FOR LOVE OF EIRIU
HOLD! HOLD!
AIEEEE! WANS WEE
SIDHE NO BAS!
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
By the night-light's orange glow
I hold you,
Long after you have settled
Jealous of the years which wait
to take you from my arms
To schools and shorelines,
to woods,
to streets,
to parties, parks and pubs
While here and now, all you need
is my heartbeat
in your ear.
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 9:58 AM UTC
For I can snore like a bullhorn
or play loud music
or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman
and Fergus will only sink deeper
into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash,
but let there be that heavy breathing
or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house
and he will wrench himself awake
and make for it on the run—as now, we lie together,
after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies,
familiar touch of the long-married,
and he appears—in his baseball pajamas, it happens,
the neck opening so small he has to ***** them on—
and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep,
his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child.
In the half darkness we look at each other
and smile
and touch arms across this little, startlingly muscled body—
this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making,
sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake,
this blessing love gives again into our arms.
Galway Kinnell, “After Making Love We Hear Footsteps” from Three Books. Copyright © 2002 by Galway Kinnell.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC