Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me;In exile thy bosom shall still be my home,And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.
The Irish were poor, but not enslaved. He had come here to hack away at the ropes that held American slavery in place. Sometimes it withered him just to keep his mind steady. He was aware that the ess...
A landscape fossilized,It's stone-wall patterningsRepeated before our eyesIn the stone walls of Mayo.Before I turned to goHe talked about persistence,A congruence of lives,How, stubbed and cleared of...
I step through originslike a dog turningits memories of wildernesson the kitchen mat:the bog floor shakes,water cheeps and lispsas I walk downrushes and heather.I love this turf-face,it's black incisi...