Beneath the Arms of Rutherglen
a stirring has been heard
The rising of the “Other Men”
The bearers of the Word
The Word that may enlighten
with no promise, with no threat.
With no intent to frighten
nor repay the pauper’s debt.
The Word then of the “Other Men”
Is brewing in their lungs
The message born in Rutherglen
delivered by their tongues.
A gaelic word that’s ne’er been said
nor written on a page.
Like Latin, from a language dead,
hewn from some other age
The ears are pricked in patient hope
The “Other Men” draw nigh
Cuchullain’s feat with wheel and rope
Gae Bulga lofted high
The Word is destined to emerge
No longer trapped inside
The “Other Men” begin the surge
This time they will not be denied.
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Comments about this poem (Chleenchama Rackhathu. by Dan Reynolds )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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