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