THE
FIDDLER'S TUNE
O
fiddle high
O fiddle low
O fiddle a tune, Fiddler
Where the emerald children play
Fiddle
all day
Fiddle all night
Fiddle a tune, Fiddler
We gather round another Irish grave
Give
a verse to the brides
And one for all the widows too
Fiddle a tune Fiddler
The wind of hunger blows
O
fiddle on the morning lanes
O fiddle on the evening roads
But do not fiddle, Fiddler
Where the thatcher's daughter goes.
BOBBY
SANDS
May 5, 1981
My
blessing on you
The black flags
The gasoline bombs
And the keening bagpipes
On Belfast streets
We
bury the wind
In the slums tonight
With the Easter bracken
The falcon of the moor
And the salmon in the sea
Red
is the color
English guns will paint
They're killing Irish saints
On Bogside roads again
For the wearing of the green
The
iron maiden Death
Has bought the body of Bobby Sands
Comes again a hungry time
The banshee cries
Comes the famine season now.
FRANCIS
HUGHES
May 12, 1981
The
ships at sea
Sail upon the clouds
The sky is joined with sun
The
wind is from the west
There is music by the river bend
The holy wells are full
Love
is made of flesh
And truth of light
But in the meadow where the blackbirds flock
On
branches bare of mirth or harp
The darkness falls in shadow even worse than grief
And Death and Death alone
Is
King, and King of All.
RAYMOND
McCREESH
May 21, 1981
Summer
has come
The trees and grass are green
Daffodils and bullets bloom
The
nights are warm
Lovers stroll on Castle Road
And kiss beneath the sniper's moon
Beneath
the bridges
River mist and mother's milk
Curdle into gasoline
Summer
has come
The potatoes rot
And marigolds
Spill
the lark and raven's blood.
PATRICK
O'HARA
May 21, 1981
The
fairies sing and dance
Around the mushroom ring,
Bless the peasants and the king
Catch
them quick
In the corner of your eye
Between the swans of Duncan and the sky
They'll
sell your only son
For pennies to the gypsies in the glen
Who'll never let him eat again
Watch
your step while walking by
Thatcher's Bog alone tonight
Waiting there are thirsty trolls
Waiting
for another saint to die.
JOE
McDONNELL
July 8, 1981
No
breakers drum the keen
Against the voiceless shore
No mother soothes the night
With garden lullabies
No
bagpipes answer
When the church bell rings
No falcon takes to flight
Above the barren moors
For
the song the silence sings
Upon the angel's head
And the name the echo cries
Into the island tomb
Is
Death
And Death again
And Death complete
And Death has filled another bed.
THE
THIRSTING QUEEN
Across
the water
The rocks and flowers bleed
And bleed again
And bleed once more
Across
the water
The thirsting queen
Fills her cup with tea
And drinks again
She
will drink until
The blood of saints
Has soiled every bed
And turned to red
Every lea and all
She
will thirst and thirst
And be thirsty still
Till every Jesus hangs from every holy tree
And all the wild dogs that gather near
Are gorged on sacred meat.
MARTIN
HURSON
July 13, 1981
Quiet
is the eye of sea
And quiet is the light
That breaks upon the ebbing tide
The
tongue of day
Is twisted 'round
The clay that death has fed
Upon
the ocean edge
A serb and evil root
Has climbed the hill of sun
No
lark in heaven
Dares to speak
The ancient word of words
And
quiet is the dawn
That breaks upon
The stilling wood
And
empty is the morning bed.
KIERAN
DOHERTY
August 2, 1981
I
saw Kieran dance tonight
A raven in his hand
I
saw Kieran dance tonight
On the top of the hill
Then down the slope
And past the swamp
Tone's white wolf close by his side
I
saw the driftwood on the shore
Split apart the heart of night
I saw the oaken egg of dawn
Spill between the legs
Of the widow of the sun
I
saw Kieran dance tonight
The hungry one who hungers still.
KEVIN
LYNCH
August 1, 1981
O
fiddle a tune, Fiddler
The lane is dark
And the crossroad
Comes too soon
O
fiddle a tune, Fiddler
A lively march
For the quick and dead
And the rising of the moon
Play
it loud, Fiddler
For the long sea grass
And the widows of
The May of Plague to hear
Pluck
a string and play your best
Give a song to light the way
It's Kevin by the given dun
Tonight we lay to rest.
TOM
McILWEE
August 8, 1981
Light
no candle
In Mary's withered crob
Old Lady do not spend
Your pennies on the priests
Peter's
Gate is welded shut
The candles gutter out
Throw away your rosary
And save your breath
The
ransomed son
Has draped in black
The Throne of Light
One by one the angels all
Have
starved to death.
MICHAEL
DEVINE
August 20, 1981
Cry
Our Lady of the Tomb
The horse of death
Has passed unseen
Beneath the ruins on the cliff
The
hold of night
Has spelled the heron's name
And claimed the rose
Between the forest edge and dune
Cry
Our Lady of the Tomb
The shadows and the hoofbeats
Lead once more
To the far and darker isle
Where
the banshee marks
The coffin pine
And the face within
The rising moon.
THE
WINTER COMES
Leave
the prayers undone
The loaf of bread uncut
The holy hymns unsung
Leave
the lamps unlit
The leg of lamb uncarved
The minstrel songs unheard
The
Lord of Darkness
Has claimed the meadow and the cairn
And raised his voice
Above the chill of doom and dust
Now
the winter comes
Death everlasting
And the night without end,
Amen.
