The Wandering Gael - A Poem by Liam UiCearbhaill

Ireland, which I have seen only in my dreams and in the photos and videos I have found, holds a special place in my heart. My grasp of Irish Gaelic is minimal and finding the time to really study and learn it has been a plan for my leisure hours (whenever I can find them) for many decades. This poem expresses some of my love for my Gaelic heritage, both in the lands from which we sprung and in the lands to which we fled. There may be some unfamiliar names mentioned here, especially in the first stanza. If you are of Gaelic blood it is worth googling those names to learn more about where you came from.


This poem, and many others can be found in my collection 'Poetry's Purpose'.

Printed copies can be purchased at Lulu.com

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/uicearbhaill

The Kindle version can be purchased on Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00YX2VZ78

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The Wandering Gael

Fodla and Mil, Alba and Éireann

Mother and father and wombs of our brood

Boru and Medb, the Bruce and Dear Amergin

Siblings before us who founded our mood

Stepfather England, in violent cruel fosterage

Robbed us of birthright in croft, plain, and vale

And thus we were thrust upon Gaia’s cold mercy

The Celt without country, the Wandering Gael

No village around us, no tribe to uphold us

No poet, nor druid, nor chieftain held sway

T’was only the priest and the Presbyter preacher

To give out the sacraments and show us the way

In dark cities teeming with Europe’s cheap discards

In coal mines and rail lines through wild frontiers

In hill country farming with dirt-scratching labor

We eked out survival, or succumbed to our fears

We spread and we prospered despite of the hatred

Shoveled upon us by ignorant folk

We laughed and we drank, we labored and quarreled

Some even grew rich to finish the joke

We made ourselves homes, where the land made us welcome

In countries Down Under, and the lands of the West

In Boston, Chicago, and South Carolina

In Sydney, Seattle, and where I love best

The shining land looking out o’er the Pacific

The mountains, the valleys, the deserts, the lakes

With celluloid dreams, and silicone thinking

With fires and floods and dreaded earthquakes

My home, California, the true land of promise

With sunshine forever and thick Tule Fog

With shiny snow peaks and hot sandy beaches

I think me this Gael has found Tír na nÓg

I hear the land speaking, as oft as I listen

I hear the nine waves in our father’s travail

Under these mountains a treasure trove glistens

Of wisdom and beauty in this home for the Gael

I am the salmon in long rivers running

I am the cougar perched high on a stone

I am the Sierra and the desert sun shining

I am the redwood growing tall in my home