31 August, 2007


I warned my son—
I signed and sounded out
across the sky—
but the wind weaned him,
yes sung in his veins
the wind sang in his wings,
and his wings wandered
and wended their wanton way to the sun—
and the sun soon singed and sundered his wings,
the wind sprung in his veins had cindered his wings,
and his fall rescinded all vain winnings—
the sea swooned and scented his arms
and at last he settled his head,
surrendered, sound on the sand of the sea bed.

Dublin, Bloomsday, 2002.


Rudolph Esterhuysen said...

Inventive, inspiring awe, difficult to scan, easy to sound. A broken whole.

Lauded, and applauded.

Conrad H. Roth said...


pilgrimchick said...

I very much like this myth, and I think your poem truly captures it.

Raminagrobis said...

The vowel sounds are evocative.

I like this a lot.

Conrad H. Roth said...

S and R, thanks--though I must admit I'm surprised by R's taste for the vowels, as this poem was intended as a play with consonants. Still, vive la difference!

Raminagrobis said...

Yes of course, the variation in vowel sounds is a function of the alliterative patterning. I hear the vowels modulating the tones of the wind mingling with, but not quite giving way to, the ‘melancholy long withdrawing roar’ of the sea.