Archives
09:55:00 o'clock BST
A Tinker's Tale
Irish Tinkers on the road to Blarney
When cocks curved throats for crowing
And cows in slumber kneeled
She tiptoed out the half door
And crossed her father’s field
Down the mountain shoulders
The ragged dawnlight came
And a cold wind from the westland
Blew out the last star’s flame
Her father, the strong father
Had horses sheep and cows
One hundred verdant acres
And slates upon his house
And she stole with the starlight
From where her life began
To roam the roads of Ireland
With a travelling tinker man
His hair was brown and curling
His eyes were brown as well
His tongue would charm the hinges
Off the gates of hell
At Cahir fair she saw him
As she was hurrying by
And the song that he was singing
Would lure lark from the sky
Her footsteps slowed to standing
She stood and stared that day
He made a noose of music
And pulled her heart away
And so she left her slate roof
And her father rich and strong
Because her mind was turning
About a tinker’s song
They walked the roads of Ireland
Went up the hills and down
Passed many an empty bogland
Through many a noisy town
She rode upon the ass cart
To rest a tired leg
She learned the lore of tinkers
And he taught her how to beg
“The tree tied house of planter
Is colder than east wind
The hall door of the gombeen
Has no welcome for our kind”
“The farmstead of the grabber
Is hungry as a stone
But the little homes of Kerry
Will give us half their own”
She cut the cards for girls
And made their eyes grow bright
She read the palms of women
And saw their lips go tight
“A dark man will marry you
On a day in June
There’s money cross the water
Coming to you soon”
“Oh he’ll be rich and handsome
And I see a bridal feast
Your daughter will dwell in Dublin
Your son will be a priest”
They rode along together
The woman pale and wan
The black ass young and giddy
And the brown eyed tinker man
He bought up mules and jennets
And sang songs far and wide
But she never gave him children
To fill his heart with pride
She never gave him children
To spoil his sleep with cries
But she saw his empty arms
And the hunger in his eyes
She saw the lonely bogland
She felt the killing wind
And the fine home of her father
Kept turning in her mind
She felt the chill rain falling
She grew tired of it all
And twisting in the darkness
She died within her shawl
They dug a cold grave for her
And left her all alone
And the tinker man went with them
His heart as grey as stone
“She was the best of women
The flower of the ball
She never gave him children
But that’s no blame at all”
“A lass may break her mother’s heart
A son his father’s head
Maybe she is happier now
Sleeping with the dead”
He drank his fill of porter
And turned his face to life
And hit the road for Puck Fair
To get another wife
Sigerson Clifford
Written by liampu Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | 
digg this
-
Thanks Jeannette
Have a cool and crisp autumn and enjoy it -
Just wanted to wish you a happy September. How quickly Autumn seems to have come *sigh*
-
I love these poems and the accompanying pictures. Thank you.
06/09/04 22:47