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Pól Ó Lorcáin
Paul Larkin

Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome in their soarings up and down, all obstacles of distance, time and place.
Charles Dickens - Barnaby Rudge, Chapter The Ninth


(English translation is below)

An tseachtain seo chaite, ghlac mo mhac, Eoghan beag John Shéimí, cinneadh giota craic a bheith aige agus camchuairt a dhéanamh thart timpeall na cathrach leis féin agus muid I lár Bhaile Átha Cliath. Tá Eoghan s’againne dhá bhliain go leith d’aois agus ni gá dom a rá go fhuair mise agus a mham scaradh bocht. Is é le buíochas mór le Dia na glóire go bhuair muid ar ais é, nó go raibh se píosa fada ar shúil nuair a fuair muid é. Cibé ar bith, scríobh mé dán fá dtaobh dó a bhfuil le feiceáilt thíos.


Last week, my son, Eoghan beag John Shéimí, decided it would be great fun to take a tour around town by himself, whilst we were in the centre of Dublin. Eoghan beag is two and half years old and I don’t need to explain that both myself and his mother got a big scare. Thanks be to God we found him again, and he was some distance away it has to be said. Anyway, I wrote a poem about the whole thing, which is reproduced below.


The space where my little boy had been standing
Gaped like a grave
Where for a snatch of time
I had averted my gaze
And now see only a void of senses
The wheel of fortune
Grinding slowly mute
Then accelerating to the speed of life
As he stepped from the pavement

And daddy he called
As I ran frantically
Searching in corners
And mute faces
Mocking my panic
My cloth ears deaf to his calls
Which now came from the park
Safe from traffic
Yet more dangerous by far

And daddy he called and only daddy
His little foot patter
On the hard fact of tarmac
The Devil’s tut tut
In my scorched mouth
As he whispers his scenario
That my son’s call is forever
And forever is never more
Will I crush his fragrant
Hair to my face
And recognise in those searching blue eyes
My own beautiful child.

And Daddy he cried
Now urgently and in doubt
Whilst his daddy described
Demented pavement zigzags
Until his mother emerges
A rock of sense
To calm the maelstrom
And wait for his plaintive cries
To come and echo to her from afar.

And do not tell me
That there is no heaven
Nor bright miracle star
For I have held it
Betwixt my shaking hands
And kissed his bright brow
In the here and now.

1 comment:

Many Cic Saor readers may not realise that the above description is by my sister Sharon and she describes the whole thing so well that the memory of our escapade came rushing back to me - along with a rush of love for my sister.
What a wonderful thing the internet is.
Thanks BigSis (still the boss)
by: Pol (contact) - 28 Feb '07 - 15:54


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Date posted: 13 Feb '07 - 12:44
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