ON ARANMOR

Submitted by AWL on 9 August, 2008 - 12:44 Author: Sean Matgamna

ON ARANMOR
The man, grey-bearded, bulky, cold,
Who stands on a rock against our old
Foot-lapping grey Atlantic Sea,

At the very rim of Europe —me?
On Inismor, now mere envoi;
I'd dreamed that I would sanctify
My coming home sojourning here
Amidst revenant Gaels, in the lair
Of Ireland's past: a place unseen
But dreamed of: I was seventeen.
And now, in the foggy cold October
Of my year, with the umpteenth lover
And my fifteen year-old tall son,
I'm home for a day, the day near done:
Old man, grey, bald, embattled — me?
Dissolving mist, by the cold, salt sea.
1993

This website uses cookies, you can find out more and set your preferences here.
By continuing to use this website, you agree to our Privacy Policy and Terms & Conditions.