The Poets of the Great Blasket
- A Tribute -
- Is it not a strange thing to be drawn so
To people I did not know?
To a place where I am yet to go? -
I’ll sail across the ocean
Lonesome island in the west
Where long ago
The storytellers and poets of the Blaskets
There they lived;
Inspired by emerald pastures
Rocky cliffs, storm-battered reefs
Golden mountains at sunrise
At sunset deep-blue seas
Once white-washed houses;
They were homes
Now desolate heaps of stones
Weather-beaten ruins
Long since overgrown
Once upon a time they had a soul
Filled with laughter, song and dance
Yet also plenty sorrow, grief and pain
Love-ones dying or leaving for America;
It was all the same;
Almost never would they meet again
I’ll follow in their footprints
And I’ll leave behind a rose
In honour of those
Storytellers and Poets of the Great Blasket
And all the brave Islanders
Who died penniless and cold