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Footfall tapping secrecies of stone in July

Sunday, 1 July, 2018

The poet Patrick Kavanagh lived the formative years of his life in a rural Ireland that was steeped in history and rich with community life but, as Inniskeen Road: July Evening shows, Kavanagh was, in the midst of all this activity, as isolated and lonely as Robinson Crusoe on his desert island. He wasn’t “a great mixer,” as John Anthony said recently, when discussing relationships.

Inniskeen Road: July Evening

The bicycles go by in twos and threes –
There’s a dance in Billy Brennan’s barn to-night,
And there’s the half-talk code of mysteries
And the wink-and-elbow language of delight.
Half-past eight and there is not a spot
Upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown
That might turn out a man or woman, not
A footfall tapping secrecies of stone.
I have what every poet hates in spite
Of all the solemn talk of contemplation.
Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the plight
Of being king and government and nation.
A road, a mile of kingdom, I am king
Of banks and stones and every blooming thing.

Patrick Kavanagh (1904 – 1967)

The Top Road


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