Irish poets, like Yeats and Heaney, incorporate the rich Celtic tradition and the distinct Irish landscape into their verses.
Their poetry is a blend of the personal and political, delving into themes of identity, resistance, and the exploration of the ethereal. Ireland’s tumultuous history finds a powerful voice in their poetic works, echoing the yearnings and resilience of its people.
The ancient tradition of Irish poetry is embodied in bardic poems and the epic Táin Bó Cúailnge. This tradition transformed over time with the influence of Christianity, birthing illuminated manuscripts like the Book of Kells, filled with religious verses and hymns.
‘Nightscapes’ beautifully captures the feeling of being isolated from nature that is common in urban environments.
If this was Donegal
I wouldn’t be able to breathe
for fear of swallowing stars…
‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’ takes the reader through a speaker’s fantastical daydream to leave their world behind for the peace that nature brings.
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
‘A Watery City’ engages with themes of friendship and journeying, significantly how they are affected by the passage of time.
Well if I’d known how many bridges there were in that city
I’d have worried for your soul and I’d never have written
Hope the prose is flowing as effortlessly as the Lee if
I’d considered the sea. I hadn’t reckoned on reversible rivers.
‘On Raglan Road’ is a superb rendering of the breakdown of a relationship that brilliantly examines the way regret works.
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
‘Anorexic’ by Eavan Boland presents a woman determined to destroy her physical body through starvation while alluding to the original sin.
Flesh is heretic.
My body is a witch.
I am burning it.
‘Donegal Sightings’ explores how elusive the natural world can feel, even when we are immersed within its beauty.
You would need three weather eyes
out here on Dawros Head where the sky,
Atlantic laden, signals its intentions
in airbrushed cliffs and disappearing islands;
‘Canal Bank Walk’ explores a spiritual communion with nature, yearning for a pure, unselfconscious connection with the divine.
Leafy-with-love banks and the green waters of the canal
Pouring redemption for me, that I do
The will of God, wallow in the habitual, the banal,
Grow with nature again as before I grew.
Heaney’s ‘A Constable Calls’ captures a tense childhood memory with a constable, blending innocence with the shadow of authority.
His bicycle stood at the window-sill,
The rubber cowl of a mud-splasher
Skirting the front mudguard,
Its fat black handlegrips
‘Punishment’ is featured in “North” – a poetry collection published in 1975. “North” seeks for images and symbols to convey violence and political conflicts.
I can feel the tug
of the halter at the nape
of her neck, the wind
on her naked front.
Heaney’s ‘Personal Helicon’ draws inspiration from his rural carefree childhood and intimate connection with nature.
As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Jean Bleakney’s ‘Consolidation’ is a deeply personal poem about the act of rearranging the cowry shells that the speaker and her children gathered in the past.
Some sunny, empty afternoon
I’ll pool our decade’s worth
and more of cowrie shells
gathered from that gravel patch
‘Prayer Before Birth’ by Louis MacNeice was written during the terror struck days of World War II. It places the realities of an evil world into the mouth of an unborn baby.
I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.
‘Winterisation’ subtly weaves the processes of preparing for winter and steeling oneself for news of bereavement.
Halloween at the caravan.
All along the strand
sand is rearing up
like smoke from a bush fire.
‘As it Should Be’ is a powerful and telling satirical take on the violence that plagued Northern Ireland for decades.
We hunted the mad bastard
Through bog, moorland, rock, to the star-lit west
And gunned him down in a blind yard
Between ten sleeping lorries
And an electricity generator.
‘Follower’ has many of the aspects which characterize the poems of Seamus Heaney. Having grown up in an area of Northern Ireland that greatly valued family, hard work, and farming, Heaney’s poems often reflect all of these values at once.
My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horses strained at his clicking tongue.