I, round the brae of Howth in chalky light,
Lamented my lot more spent in sport than play.
There, land appeared disinterested and sight
Was a teary well.  Cold was the shivering day,
And my frame, a ghost of shadow, was erased, 
It receded like the fog.  Just then, overhead
I saw brave birds engaged, a raptor traced
A mourning dove’s faltering flight, how it fed
Its own shining sense of purpose, for not
Wanton sport or lordly state do falcons
So hunt, nor did the bird in peril belabour
His reason, rather he tried avoiding those talons.
A question answered itself within my breadth,
Survival resides in a pageantry of death.

I, round the brae of Howth in chalky light,
Lamented my lot more spent in sport than play.
There, land appeared disinterested and sight
Was a teary well.  Cold was the shivering day,
And my frame, a ghost of shadow, was erased,
It receded like the fog.  Just then, overhead
I saw brave birds engaged, a raptor traced
A mourning dove’s faltering flight, how it fed
Its own shining sense of purpose, for not
Wanton sport or lordly state do falcons
So hunt, nor did the bird in peril belabour
His reason, rather he tried avoiding those talons.
A question answered itself within my breadth,
Survival resides in a pageantry of death.

I, round the brae of Howth in chalky light,
Lamented my lot more spent in sport than play.
There, land appeared disinterested and sight
Was a teary well.  Cold was the shivering day,
And my frame, a ghost of shadow, was erased,
It receded like the fog.  Just then, overhead
I saw brave birds engaged, a raptor traced
A mourning dove’s faltering flight, how it fed
Its own shining sense of purpose, for not
Wanton sport or lordly state do falcons
So hunt, nor did the bird in peril belabour
His reason, rather he tried avoiding those talons.
A question answered itself within my breadth,
Survival resides in a pageantry of death.

I, round the brae of Howth in chalky light,
Lamented my lot more spent in sport than play.
There, land appeared disinterested and sight
Was a teary well.  Cold was the shivering day,
And my frame, a ghost of shadow, was erased,
It receded like the fog.  Just then, overhead
I saw brave birds engaged, a raptor traced
A mourning dove’s faltering flight, how it fed
Its own shining sense of purpose, for not
Wanton sport or lordly state do falcons
So hunt, nor did the bird in peril belabour
His reason, rather he tried avoiding those talons.
A question answered itself within my breadth,
Survival resides in a pageantry of death.

I, round the brae of Howth in chalky light,
Lamented my lot more spent in sport than play.                                                  
There, land appeared disinterested and sight
Was a teary well.  Cold was the shivering day,
And my frame, a ghost of shadow, was erased,
It receded like the fog.  Just then, overhead
I saw brave birds engaged, a raptor traced
A mourning dove’s faltering flight, how it fed
Its own shining sense of purpose, for not
Wanton sport or lordly state do falcons
So hunt, nor did the bird in peril belabour
His reason, rather he tried avoiding those talons.
A question answered itself within my breadth,
Survival resides in a pageantry of death.

The summer's rain starts smashing down,
Battering the seasoned ships.
It wouldn't quite be an Irish town
Without some sodden fish and chips.

She came to me at Calvados,
A single night, without repeat.
The woman of my soul’s love longing,
to consummate with kisses sweet.

She entered in my midnight room
a simple pastel shift she wore
Smiling as she bared her shoulders,
the garment dropping to the floor.

So beautiful, this child of Gonne,
to this poet’s bleary eyes.
How often I had praised, in print,
her auburn hair and hazel eyes.

I was silent, she as well,
neither keen to break the spell.
She kissed me deeply on the lips
just as  the stroke of midnight fell.

Her fingers deeply  in my hair
she brought me to her freckled chest.
I licked and nibbled at one ******
like a baby at her breast.

She mounted me, her Rocinante,
and slowly, we began our quest.
My Willie in warm velvet wetness
wrapped as I returned her thrusts.

In spirit, we belonged together.
In truth,she’d wed another man.
A brute who’d tried to **** her sister.
She, too, had suffered at his hand.

As we played, she bent to kiss me
sweet Celtic sweat was in her hair
In another life she’d been my sister.
In this life’s love war all was fair.


She gave out with a little cry
as she took my Willie deep.
we came in unison so sweetly
but quietly, her child was asleep.

I remember, one time, Maud had asked
what type of bird I’d like to be?
Back upon the hills at Howth
when we were young and both still free.

“I think”, I said,” I’d be a gull,
playing at the shore for free.
Soaring high above the water
taking my living from the sea.”

Now we lay here in Calvados
near the town  Colleville sur Mer
Her villa was named “Les Mouettes”
For one night only, we coupled there.



It is rumored that, in the Summer of 1907, William Butler Yeats and Maud Gonne shared physical intimacy for the one and only time in their lives. He the famous Poet and Playwright, she the famous Irish nationalist.
At the time she was separated from John MacBride, but they had not divorced, being Catholic. Yeats had a belief in reincarnation and both had, at times, dabbled in the occult. See also my poem
" Making Iseult"

The child asleep in the adjoining room would be Sean MacBride, later in life a Nobel peace prize winner.

Les Mouettes is French for "the (Sea)gulls."

I have read that Yeats wrote a love poem about this night, but that it has been lost. This is my attempt to replicate that lost love poem.

I thank Patrick McFarland for helping me revise the original version of the poem. His suggestions improved the flow of the piece.  










.

Beautiful lofty things; O'Leary's noble head;
My father upon the Abbey stage, before him a raging crowd.
"This Land of Saints", and then as the applause died out,
"Of plaster Saints"; his beautiful mischievous head thrown back.
Standish O'Grady supporting himself between the tables
Speaking to a drunken audience high nonsensical words;
Augusta Gregory seated at her great ormolu table
Her eightieth winter approaching; "Yesterday he threatened my life,
I told him that nightly from six to seven I sat at this table
The blinds drawn up"; Maud Gonne at Howth station waiting a train,
Pallas Athena in that straight back and arrogant head;
All the Olympians; a thing never known again.

Well we jumped on the wing
for a good Irish fling
kicked off the week
with a boiler

The banter was high
as we took to the sky
nothing in sight
was a spoiler

And the red eye at night
was a captain’s delight
we spread on the seat
of the liner

Arrived just in time
for a whale of a time
at the Temple Bar
and Diner

Well the Dublin scene
in the Old College Green
was wired and alive
on the corner

Where me and me' mates
paired in at the gates
there were welcoming arms
to us foreigners

And we sang through the night
and grinned in delight
with banjos, pipes
and lasses

Drinking whiskey and beer
in a boatload of cheer
the rooster got lost
in the masses

The **** in the walk
was out on the stalk
a wee little flute
on display

His shoulders were pinned
with a great big grin
they were such
peculiar ways!

Well we found em next day
(in a sauntering way)
got tossed in
all the commotion

What happened to you?
said he hadn’t a clue
or any
baldy notion!

Hit the road to Howth
little east, little south
the seaside town
was groovin

Found the Cobblestone Pub
for a jar and a scrub
the seabird sounds
were soothin

Then we jumped a train
in the lashing rain
the Belfast craic
was mighty

Hit the Thirsty Goat
with a parching throat
some Tullamore Dew
for a nighty

In the Crumlin jail
the spirits set sail
the IRA
was gaffin

There was Bobby Sands
in celestial lands
alive and proud
and laughin

The Griffin dance
was the final chance
the evening closed
in nigh

And we made our way
through the Chelsea lanes
to say our
final good bye

~ ~ ~ ~

Singing
Ay, oh…let it all go
safe haven in the wasteland!

Singing
Slainte’…take me away
to the old Irish sounds
of the band!

My first step to quest, I seek county Clare
identity lost, me feel the sea air
In Ireland I stay, a man with no country
I wonder and wander county to county

From Doolin I sail, isles of Aran
Land full of stone so cold and once barren
The locals invite for coffee and tea
I wander and wonder, life by the sea

Next in my journey, find county Kerry
Crossing the Shannon, a trip on the ferry
In Ireland I stay, a man with no country
I wonder and wander county to county

Boat man gives lesson, ‘cross lake of learning
Dock by the Abby, I find peace of yearning
Grounds of Killarney by horse n carriage
I wander and wonder, great mountains marriage

I sit in The Oar House down by the pier
Howth to host, from far or from near
In Ireland I stay, a man with no country
I wonder and wander county to county

I spy an Irish rose, sit by the sea
I know her name, ne’er for me
Admire her beauty I sit from afar
I wander and wonder, who then we are

County Meath holds the once great Raith na Rig
Where the ancients had once all danced a jig
In Ireland I stay, a man with no country
I wonder and wander county to county

I climb atop hills where kings sat on high
Same place they lay once they say their bye
A place where high kings all came to pass
I wander and wonder whom we’ve lost past

I’ll take the rocky road, the only way to Dublin
Fore long I’m found, set with the pub kin
In Ireland I stay, a man with no country
I wonder and wander county to county

Here I will find the black liquidation
Ruby red pint to wrap up a nation
Feasting we drink and laugh about strife
I wander and wonder the glory of life

In Dublin's mist-kissed streets, we wander,
Two souls entwined, hearts aflame,
Anam cara, whispered by ancient stones,
A love deeper than the Liffey's flow.

I. Dawn's Embrace

At sunrise, we meet by Ha'penny Bridge,
Where copper pennies shimmer on water,
Your eyes, twin pools of mossy green,
Hold secrets only Dublin's cobbles know.

II. Whispers in Temple Bar

In Temple Bar's lively hum, we dance,
Fiddles and laughter weave our tale,
Your laughter, a melody of joy,
Echoes through centuries of poets' dreams.

III. Trinity's Library of Love

Beneath Trinity's ancient arches,
We read love letters etched in oak,
Your touch, a parchment of longing,
Pages turned by winds from distant shores.

IV. Stolen Kisses on Grafton Street

Grafton Street, where buskers serenade,
Our stolen kisses taste of rain and tea,
Your lips, like Dublin's cobblestone alleys,
Hold the promise of forevermore.

V. Cliffs of Howth, Our Sacred Cliff

On Howth's cliffs, we stand as one,
Wind-whipped and salt-kissed,
Your heartbeat, a rhythm of tides,
Pulls me closer to the edge of eternity.

VI. Guinness Pints and Shared Dreams

In snug pubs, we raise our Guinness pints,
To love, to laughter, to Dublin's magic,
Your whispers, like foam on stout,
Intoxicate my senses, leave me spellbound.

I walk along
A rainy nova street
Beneath a lilac umbrella

And through the trees
I see shimmers of cool grey
Through the mist

And I have
A familiar feeling

And suddenly
I'm not in nova
The land of traffic jams and crazy schools and swampy heat

I am walking down a street in Howth
A castle behind me
In the cobbles to the street

And in that moment
I am thirteen
And running along
With my sister and grandma and grandad
Hoping we get to the DART station on time

In that moment
I hear birds chirping
Cars running
And the soft, lovable patter
Of rain on leaves

The magic of a flashback

WHAT THIS ENTIRE WORLDSPIDERWEB IS ABOUT...

The day of the funeral
an intense cold.

The lions roaring
in the zoo beyond

Fluntern Cemetery.

The confluence of
the rivers he loved

obscured from view
as if forever.

The sun too
a milky misty light.

The silence of the necropolis
broken only by an old deaf man

asking all the time:
"Who...is to be...buried here?"

And when he hears, repeats:
"But who is James Joyce?"

Grave No. 1449 is
meant to be temporary

but even in death
he is Ireland's outcast.

His daughter's madness flickers:
"Cet imbécile...what is he.."

Again a roar of lions.

""...doing under the ground
when will he decide to leave!"

Again the deaf man's question.

"He's watching us
all the time."

As indeed he is.
Life but a Work in Progress.

The author leaves
his death

walks abroad
in all his words.

"bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnth­­unntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk"



The last word is the first "thunder-word" of Finnegans Wake as the babble of launguage falls like the Tower of Babel to...begin again.

From page 3…paragraph 3….third word…of Joyce's WAKE.  The first of the ten. . . one-hundred-word “THUNDER-WORDS.”

It is merely a composite word of different languages proclaiming THUNDER!



The last word is the first "thunder-word" of Finnegans Wake as the babble of language falls like the Tower of Babel to...begin again.

*

When he told me about wanting to read The Wake we were passing as it happens the church mentioned at the beginning of the  Wake...or rather...not passing as we were caught in a traffic jam and so were standing still and the church laughing at us in the Dublin sunshine and delighted to be recognised for its prime position in the book.
So I chanted it like a magic spell( the only bit of the book I knew)and joked that the traffic hated Joyce and would do anything it could to escape both church and words.

“riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.”

And like a charm it worked and the traffic flowed fluently onward to my homecoming. It was like cutting the Gordian knot with a sword of words.

The next time he picked me up from the airport we were once again stuck in a knot of traffic at the exact same spot and nothing moving...not even the air.

So he smiles at me and says in a great declaiming voice( he of the so soft voice)and the words hung in the air for a moment,,,

“riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.”

And sure enough the traffic snarled and flowed under the magic words and let us continue on to home and our hugs and kisses.