Classic Poem

A plain word with Gaelic associations
summoned me to this gathering place
for holy men from a river holm of lambs.

Mercenaries from the great fort Lissaghmore
and harpers and bards from Finscotha
where flowers are pressed into wine
and peddlers from the cuil of ants Coolnamagh joined us
and weavers from the village of the virgin saint Cocca
and druids from the tree place Cranalagh,
tanners from Ballinduff, the town of dark men,
potters from the clear little stream Finglas,
thieves and gamesters from the mouth of the yellow ford
where the great battle was fought between two O'Brians,
farmers from the small level places
and kings and queens grieving on a walnut isle in Yeats.

The work of women spreading flax out,
malting barley on the lake shore
and hawking Balscadden herrings in twigs
made this a darling place.

There was a church in shrubs and blackthorn
here for every fish in the Liffey.
The ram leaped
and the seal disported on small rocks
and birds and geese cackled in the glen
and Castlekirk was built in one night by a cock and a hen.

The land was black rock and white weir.
There was an abundance of meadows
and oak groves for pigs
and plains for heifers
and moors for red grouse
Forts were built in oat fields
and the medium of exchange
was the yearling heifer.

The aged leaders made the strong-balled galloglas
with thick red chesthair
whose obligations were designated in the law,
protectors of St. Patrick and the state.

They lie in Saintfield with the little men
whose blarney, like the word I started with,
dug no potatoes
but appeared
to circumscribe adversity.