The bicycles go by in twos and threes -
There's a dance in Billy Brennan's barn to-night,
And there's the half-talk code of mysteries
And the wink-and-elbow language of delight.
Half-past eight and there is not a spot
Upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown
That might turn out a man or woman, not
A footfall tapping secrecies of stone.
I have what every poet hates in spite
Of all the solemn talk of contemplation.
Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the plight
Of being king and government and nation.
A road, a mile of kingdom, I am king
Of banks and stones and every blooming thing.
There's a recurring theme in his work, where he feels that being born into a 'peasant' (his family were farmers) way of life stunted his intellectual and emotional development, and it took many years before he made peace with life and his birthplace. Conversely, and this is what I love particularly, his poetry is also incredibly uplifting, celebrating life and nature, and he attaches great importance to noticing and appreciating small details. For example, see the opening lines of Canal Bank Walk:
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.
Despite this later work, it's impossible for me not to think of his poem Stony Grey Soil in association with Monaghan, which is full of anger and bitterness that is directed at the place itself - take this stanza as an example:
You flung a ditch on my vision
Of beauty, love and truth.
O stony grey soil of Monaghan
You burgled my bank of youth!
So, I had all this baggage to contend with when we went to Monaghan last weekend. However, to my surprise, I thought it was delightful. Of course, it's summertime and it was all green, and the weather was sunny, and rural and farmery always look their best in this context. Still, in addition to the beautiful countryside, the people were all so friendly with the best accent (Monaghan is in Ulster but isn't part of Northern Ireland; the accent is kind of northern but softer), and there was country music EVERYWHERE. Big Tom (aka Tom McBride, the 'Irish king of country music') is from Monaghan and every shop and pub seemed to be playing the old country classics. I grew up listening to country music all the time as a child (at home, in the car; there was no escape - my mother was a fanatic) and even though I hated it back then, from sheer repetition the songs managed to penetrate my unwilling brain and when I hear them now I immediately start singing along. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I now enjoy listening to country music - which is maybe kind of scary - and I loved hearing it everywhere (there was even some playing in our hotel at breakfast time so this surrender was probably a good thing).
Apart from all the country music, of course I dragged Anthony along to Inniskeen and we visited Patrick Kavanagh's birthplace and the graveyard where he's buried. It was all distinctly un-touristy and understated and lovely. The graveyard is next to the Patrick Kavangh centre, which was unfortunately closed when we were there - it definitely would have been worth a visit.
That was Monaghan... for some reason we had decided to fly back from Knock to London (it would have made far more sense to fly from Dublin) and so, we had to traipse halfway across the country to catch our flight. This brought back lots of memories for me; as a student I often travelled by bus from Galway up to Donegal to visit friends and I knew every bit of the road through Mayo and Sligo. I hadn't been along those Mayo roads in a long, long time (well, a different direction this time, over rather than up, but still so familiar), and it reminded me of all those hours bussing around the country. I'm not so sure my fellow companions were as enamoured with the journey as I was, but I absolutely adore driving through the west of Ireland, so I was happy...