John Liddy’s recent books include Slipstreaming in the West of Ireland, with Jim Burke, and Two in One, with Liam Liddy (Revival Press, 2024). He is co-editor, with Dominic Taylor, of 1916-2016 An Anthology of Reactions and Let Us Rise: 1919-2019 An Anthology Commemorating the Limerick Soviet. He has also edited special editions of Vietnamese poets for The Café Review and Irish language poets for The Hong Kong Review, of which he is a board member. A collection of his Spain-related poems, Spanish Points, is due.

Soundscape

for Martin Hayes in the Juan Marsh, Madrid

He strokes the note on the first set of tunes
and I am away in my mind with the soothing
radio voice of Mac Mathuna’s Sunday mornings –
as I rise with the Lark in the Clear Air
outside my young self, the way Ferguson lays
it out in the poem, in the draíocht or duende
of the versatile fiddler Martin Hayes.

Soon I am drawn into a landscape of East Clare
dance rhythms with feet tapping in homage
to the Tulla Céilí Band and to PJoe his father,
touches of uncle Paddy Canny, no better boy
to Banish Misfortune between old friends
in the company of Rochford and Dr. Bill
who tried to heal wounds in small holdings.

The tune returns to its origin and another set
takes flight with a Bienvenido for new born son
Lorenzo whose mother’s all-time favourite
finds expression in a way only Hayes can muster
from bow on string; soundscape his hallmark,
acervo or dúchas in the philosophy of music
befitting the wing-flap of the skylark.

The Weaver of Reeds and Rushes

I would look in after school or market morning,
each time a glimpse of the weaver behind a reed
basket, willow cot, mat or mesh bag in the making,
lost amongst the briar and sally rods of his trade.

He seemed to work stretched out on the floor,
threading a creel with hands moving hypnotically,
recognizable objects emerging, a touch of hammer
on rattan or bamboo, bullrush tied methodically.

By first of Spring, I had my Brigit’s Cross made;
lush-green and sturdy, a gift for father and mother,
who placed it on the kitchen door where it stayed
to outlast them and Jack Delaney its maker

From Limerick, whose handiwork was woven
into local lives, beyond river and ocean.

Vignette

in memoriam
Johnny Duhan, Máire Úna Ní Fhártharta

Retrieved from the sea near Barna
where you swam all year round,
that last November morning’s
immersion before you drowned

A recharge to ready the mind,
rejuvenate the will for a new song
in search of the unfathomable,
a poem-prayer sung ad infinitum

Linking forever two swimmers
taken that day, one returned
later to the shoreline, the agony
of the search for her adjourned.

Did you call out to each other
in the fog over Rusheen Bay?
Perhaps an attempted rescue
before drifting away?

Neighbours known by sight,
a casual greeting on the walk
to the beach, maybe an echo
of a cry from the bedrock.

In time I will go to Silverstrand
to watch the wavelets fill a set
of footprints in the sand, leave
in their stead this vignette.

 

For The Galway Review 13, Printed Edition, April 2025