Réimse Beag Glas (the little green field)

[dedalus]

Five thousand feckin years if it’s a day
and would yeh look at them cows, shitting,
bedamn, on the same old lumpy grass.

They do be your fields now, Donal Óg,
and your dear departed father’s before you
although the oul granddad wouldn’t have had

tuppence three farthing to rub together,
God between us and harm, and the wife
with a tongue on her that could slice lemons.

You’ll be speaking of me Daddy’s mam?
Ahh, sure, what if I am, Donal my dear,
and she the pride of all five counties?

You’ll be careful now in your choice of words.
I will of course. I will indeed. Would you
look over beyond now at Tim Daly’s tree

where the rooks, unclean birds, do be rising
with the harsh rattling call of their kind,
it’s as though they remember the day.

They were there themselves on the day
or their grandsires surely, swooping down
on the men in the boots and red coats

as young Timmy Daly swung from the bough
with the blessings and thanks of Farmer George,
that fat bloated king of the English.

That day is long gone, Donal Óg,
as we live in the comfort of a difficult peace.
There should be some thought of our children.

Boy children grow up to be men
and the girls grow up to give birth to men:
I fear this business will never be finished.

It is anger and memory that disturbs your soul,
mo chara, mo fear álainn. Sit thee down. Turn
away from this strange and bitter mystery.

There is peace in the land, mo buachaill ghile,
where the cows are patriotic Irish cows,
dropping their Irish dung on Irish fields.

But there are caves and caverns beneath
where the unsung dead cry out for vengeance
and you can hear them in your dreams!

I can hear them clearly, Donal mo chara,
had I a mind to listen, which I do not advise,
for they would lead us on to fear and madness.

This is a green and lovely land
carried to the brink of its own destruction
by sióga dona, by the ghosts of history.

Donal, Donal, put your eyes
on the field . Good man yerself.
Put your eyes on the cows. Put your

mind in their minds, was it five thousand
years you said? Aye, that was the figure,
with five thousand more on the way.

-----------------------------------------------
Glossary of Irish terms:

Donal Óg -- young Donal, lit. Donal the Young.
mo chara, mo fear álainn -- my friend, my lovely man.
mo buachaill ghile -- my gallant boy.
sióga dona -- evil spirits.

[Thoth]

Hi Dedalus

YES! I really enjoyed this. I'm not so close to the Irish as I am the Scots so I cant really say how the good the "Voice" was but it sounded pretty authentic to me. Well done, and an interesting story as well, bringing some evil spirits right at the end. Nice touch.

Thanks for something completely different!

Cheers,

Wally

[David]

Philosophical cows. I like that. I like the whole thing. Why do I think "this strange and bitter mystery" sounds like Yeats?

Cheers

David

[dedalus]

Why do I think "this strange and bitter mystery" sounds like Yeats?

Because it is!
"And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery
For Fergus rules the brazen cars."

[Marc]

Enjoyed this very much. Skilfuly written to be sure (sorry, I had to say that, just couldn't help myself..)
Well done,
Marc

[Antcliff]

Hi Brendan.
It would I think be better if the stanza third from the end were dropped. "Ghosts of history" and "brink of destruction" are cliches surely? IMHO it would better anyway to go from the madness point (preceding stanza) to eyes on the field..that is even if the stanza in between were not so cliche heavy. Otherwise enjoyed it.

Though the unsung dead crying out for vengeance in dreams was a bit too melodramatic for me. Frantic fiddle playing at that point. And where else would they be crying out? On the Fishguard ferry? Do you need him to say dreams? To my ears it makes the speaker sound perhaps a bit too ridiculous, but you may have intended that? Not sure.

Like the ending.

Best wishes,
Ant

[dedalus]

Everything was intentional, including the clichés.
I am a poet, if I can be called such, of recorded/ reported speech.
This is the way people talk, ergo this is the way
things are. Of course we would all like to change things,
to create a world of beauty, of compassion and wine on demand,
not just supermarket plonk. In the meantime you write about things
as you see them, with a gimlet eye. With a twist.

There you go -- the whole so-called secret of my 'poetry'.
Now, if everyone could read this they might finally fuck off and leave me alone
and stop badgering me with "It's interesting ... but surely you can't call this poetry?"

I don't put a label on what I write.
I write to capture images and feelings in whatever ways that seems to work.
I had a good education (forgive me, blame the parents)
so I can make all these sliding irreverent references
to the masters of yore, creating, I am delighted to see
clouds of petulance, crossed wires, and confusion.

This is what I do. Occasionally I'm good at it.
I want to be good at it ALL THE TIME, but ...
between the cup and the lip
comes many a slip.

Before you even think of it,
arrogance, so-called, is necessary.
Without some form of self-belief
none of you would be on this list,
none of you would be reading this.

[Antcliff]

Hi,
Well, I didn't say it wasn't poetry did I? In fact I said I enjoyed it didn't I?

Even if you are using cliche because it is in the mouth of others - and that is the way they speak - it can still deaden parts of poetry when it need not. Isn't the art selecting the not so cliche bits of ordinary speech? Bring out the vibrancy of it? Something you often do well. Good luck.
Cheers,
Ant.

[JamesM]

This is the way people talk

Perhaps in a sub-sub Syngian play, but not in any part of Ireland I've been to.

You did catch some authentic turns of phrase:

God between us and harm

Would you
look over beyond now at Tim Daly’s tree

They were there themselves on the day

among others.

Unfortunately, much of the rest, rather than dating the dialogue renders it as dated, caricaturing and ultimately incredible, which of course distracts from the very real historical and cultural wounds you are attempting to give voice to. The narrative arc, pace and conclusion are well balanced, but the language is so anachronistic, I half expected, Begorra!!! as the final punch. This may just be a matter of taste, though you post hear for feedback- good and bad-- personally your approach distracts more than any pleasure I get from the narrative skill on display.

James

[k-j]

you post hear for feedback- good and bad

Dedalus is the exception; he only posts to hear good feedback. He's completely deluded and most people ignore him but he lingers anyway, rattling on like a party bore after all the other guests have said goodbye. Every forum has one. However,

I half expected, Begorra!!! as the final punch

I haven't read this piece but if you're telling me it doesn't include a begorrah then this indicates improvement. Well done Brendan.

[dedalus]

Always an unalloyed delight to hear from you, lads. Shure and begorrah! The language is far from being anachronistic, nor is it dated. Hop down to Kerry for a weekend if you don't believe me. In the meantime allow me to remind you that you don't know for shite what you're talking about ... and not for the first time, either. Go mbeire muid beo ar an am seo arís.

[David]

Ah now then lads. Brendan needs no defenders - as he's just eloquently demonstrated - but there's no need for that sort of personal blackguarding, is there?

He's completely deluded and most people ignore him but he lingers anyway, rattling on like a party bore after all the other guests have said goodbye.

I don't agree. I like to drop in to see what he's doing. Sometimes it's great, sometimes it's so-so, and just occasionally it's like being buttonholed by an obnoxious drunk and beaten about the head with national stereotypes. (Sorry to go all third person on you, Bren.) But just occasionally.

And, in my temporary capacity as forum statistician, there have only ever been three begorrahs on this site: two in this thread, and one by Brendan himself (yes) but only in a witty aside on national stereotypes (yes).

Carry on chaps.