Poem
Ian Duhig
Róisín Bán
Róisín Bán
Róisín Bán
The M1 laid, they laid us off;we stayed where it ran out in Leeds,
a white rose town in love with roads,
its Guinness smooth, the locals rough.
Some nights we’d drink in Chapeltown,
a place not known for Gaeligores,
to hear Ó Catháin sing sean-nós –
Ó Riada gave him the crown.
Though most were lost by ‘Róisín Dubh’,
all knew his art was rich and strange
in a pub soon drowned by our black stuff
when we laid the Sheepscar Interchange.
Pulped books help asphalt stick to roads
and cuts down traffic-sound as well;
between white lines a navvy reads
black seas of words that did not sell.
© 2009, Ian Duhig
From: Jericho Shanty
Publisher: Picador, London
From: Jericho Shanty
Publisher: Picador, London
Ian Duhig
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1954)
Duhig is known as a modern balladeer, using folklore and medieval stories to satirise the contemporary scene. His poetry spans interpretations of medieval myths to verses on the humble string vest. Duhig has a keen metrical ear, often harnessing Irish songs, hymns, ballads and old French metre to a modern subject. His poetry is frequently funny, and Duhig is not averse to slipping in an anachro...
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Poems of Ian Duhig
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Róisín Bán
The M1 laid, they laid us off;we stayed where it ran out in Leeds,
a white rose town in love with roads,
its Guinness smooth, the locals rough.
Some nights we’d drink in Chapeltown,
a place not known for Gaeligores,
to hear Ó Catháin sing sean-nós –
Ó Riada gave him the crown.
Though most were lost by ‘Róisín Dubh’,
all knew his art was rich and strange
in a pub soon drowned by our black stuff
when we laid the Sheepscar Interchange.
Pulped books help asphalt stick to roads
and cuts down traffic-sound as well;
between white lines a navvy reads
black seas of words that did not sell.
From: Jericho Shanty
Róisín Bán
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