Memories of Galway (edit 3)

[billy]

Galway trips to Bodhran drums; the rhythm bounces bones
and massages the land into the flesh of those who linger here. strong opening lines that evoke another age. though if you didn't know what a bodhran was you could be forgiven for thinking it a place near galway
The bromide brown of home hearth peat hangs sepia clouds to reek the air. too much to take in, i want to use a comma though i know none are required when i was there the peat was almost black
Embalmed and gladdened by its smoked intent, kippered cousins drift in groups
along west pointing quays. Fishers all, they meet for craic, and to judge the fickle sky. should it be 'for the craic'?

The Bodhran pulse, sound metronome of life, drifts wind-sheared from the shore;
mixing madrigals of wild excess with songs of shifting shingle and hissing grass.
The sinking sun casts gilded flecks upon the hammered pewter bay, where shadow men,
cast long from black stone piers, flit broken-imaged on the flashing sea.you had me up to piers, then lost my enjoyment

Then molten red, before the night turns round, the dripping ropes are hauled the enjambment doesn't work that well in places, this being one of them, if you're going to make it lyrical let the line run on instead of making me pause. (jmo)
to board. Bearded chains strain taught then straight, to flip fat mussels into brine.
Anchors weighed, encrusted more than trust would choose, 'cept to a Galway man,
hang and clang against the heaving bows; the emptied harbour echoes with the sound. excellent ending to the stanza a galway man would fall in love with it.

The Bodhran jumps a nautical mile, the sombre thuds still heard through dense night air. for me 'nautical mile' isn't lyrical
A mile, a fractioned second now; but soon the boats will ply the tide and league by league
the muffled beat will subsititute for hearts of men. The Galway fleet is on the swell; substitute
Sure all is well, boy. All is well.


Tectak
Galway
2004
In s1l5 originally was "ghuagach" meaning fickle. Changed to avoid cries of foul, on grounds of obscurity. It is not obscure in Ireland but we are not in Ireland. Irish readers please note. Put it back if you wish but help me with the correct spelling. The word I heard used on many fishing trips but the Irish argued the "h"
after the "g" until all were better informed but none the wiser. Then we came home.[/color]
This is an exercise in lyrical and lilting irish verse. There are way too many adjectives per stanza but it was great fun to write....you may enjoy destroying it!

first off, despite my comments above, the language of the poem was almost beautiful. the word choices excellent though at time as you mentioned, rather a lot. at times i think too many. i'm not sure the footnote is worth it. after reading it i lose a lot of what the poem gave me and i'm left with an instruction. i like a lot of the imagery, though i'm not sure if the poem is about the bodhran or galway. probably because you went back to it. i am surprised no mention of guinness, black bush, or bushmills.

i did enjoy the read a lot. i could enjoy it more if it had a smallish edit.

thanks for the read (all jmo)