of the Yrish forced to wear yellow shamrock
condemned as ‘treasonous'—
exiles on their Ysland
force fed, forced famines
‘blamed Rebels' for butchery, cast into death masks
—from across the Yrish sea
the Ysland drowns in a sea of troubles
centuries slaughters, London's 35 Year War innovating torture
killing to plant planters, killing to hold stolen lands
paying Knights, Roundheads, Redcoats, Black & Tans, UVF, MI5, SAS [...]
Brit-troops, weapons, grinning agents & more agents
thus John Dee (007) spies for Eliza Tudor
pace Lon-dún, fort of Lon
the great lie ‘defence of the realm'
the defence of poetry, oratorio, opera, hate-lines, no one voice
those not here: ‘this happened, in as much as […]'
& they looked to the metaphorical stars
& sky etherised in time of Plague
l'amore che move il sole e l'altre stele
(sun and stars in love's orbit)
sought for images of their dead—
apparitions sinking into sleep in dying
healing weeping wounds
place the hour and day for those who mourn north of Mourne
mountains, coming upon the place unchanged
or much the same
history is a field, a street, a wall
rivers seen from the sky as giant eels, ice and rock
or where gun metal shadows across the vast landscape
Ysland's grief expansive more than America
China, Asia—travelling slow nightfall
kilometres, thousands
promises and never-lies beán fíonn sí
from your lips, face & eyes demanding
‘you must not speak' yet giving lines
the egg-flip May blossom brighter than white wash
your name on wartime deeds
grail of consciousness, nectar in the skull
ship comes for the grail
and she touches these vessels
O winter when will these wands shoot out
green buds & leaves uncurl
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem