Thursday, November 26, 2009

This is a poem by Irish poet (which happens to be a coincidence; I loved this poet before I ever made my Irish connection) Patrick Kavanagh called "On Raglan Road", and it moves me more than any poem I have ever read. I don't know why. Hope you like it.

On Raglan Road

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.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.

The Dubliners do a song version of this that will bring you to tears without knowing why. It's actually featured in a scene of the movie In Bruges, with Brendan Gleeson, which also happens to be brilliant.

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