Heaney’s poetry is full of surprises. It would appear that he knew everything about the flail, but he seemed to refuse to give it a poetic voice. Continue reading
Filed under Newfoundland …
‘Hear the echo from the barn barrel’: learning Irish in Newfoundland
Class took place on Monday night around the kitchen table, and it was always a relaxing cultural evening. Afterwards the chat continued often to near midnight. Indeed, there were times I felt transported to a farm house in the Donegal Gaeltacht of the 1960s and that I was not in Canada at all. Continue reading
Poetry/Filíocht Hugh Curran, Patrick O’Sullivan, Michael Patrick Moore, Kevin McClung
My whistle calls the drops,
till they tumble down in torrents,
pounding on the rocks and on the craggy shore.
Then the flood runs swirling brown through every creek and channel,
as though it cannot wait to fill them to the brim, Continue reading
