| POETRY:
Introduction:
Writing
poetry is a relatively new endeavor for Roger and comes
from the heart rather than as a result of any planned,
trained or structured way.
Roger's
involvement in the Arts spans a lifetime and has included
Board membership of Eucrea Ireland Ltd, - the European
Communities' efforts to include participation in the
arts by and with people with disabilities.
He
was also involved for many years with Very Special Arts,
Ireland and Europe. VSA is the charity founded by former
US Ambassador to Ireland, Jean Kennedy-Smith in 1975,
and which now has a presence in over 50 countries around
the World.
"I
take inspiration not only from Ulysses but also Finnegans
Wake, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Dubliners
and the many poems written by James Joyce."
Special
Thanks: I wish to thank ShadowPoetry.com for giving
me the opportunity to participate in their latest publication,
"Before the Last Shadow Fades". This is their
third volume of poetry. It was published for Christmas
2002. It is available from the www.shadowpoetry.com
web site.
I
also include below a compilation that I made of the musical and poetic language
from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, by James Joyce.
ARTROGER
Under
Construction: I
am genius I am Joyce. A
Dubliner of some renown Hated,
reviled, admired; Poet
and critic. Ten
years I had to wait for Dubliners
to be published For
pittance Because
I'm genius Because
I'm Joyce. Yes,
James Jaysas Joyce. A
Portrait helped, Years
and years to complete Ulysses The
greatest daytime novel of all time. Teaching
English as a foreign language In
Trieste and Zurich. Patronised
by a woman of Faith Though
I had none, Harriet Weaver. Sylvia
Beach's Shakespeare in Paris My
office And
Nora my model, inseparable; Hemmingway
carried me over his shoulder Drunk,
we sang, argued, danced, Played
the piano and guitar. Dublin,
my town, 1904 my year And
16th June my day; But
all wanted to know, in their Ignorance
if they featured, And
did they what. They
suffered for their lack
of faith In
James Jaysas Joyce Because
I'm genius because I'm Joyce. Mine
eyes are a bitch I've
moved and moved Borrowed
and borrowed Written
and written. Blind
Homer helped the plot And
Ibsen influenced So
did Gogarty ha! ha! Beckett
learned. Wild
geese abroad. Bloom
was Israelite One
for Molly. Budgen
my pal. Chamber
Music and Pomes Penyeach Kept
debtors at bay. Then
the greatest night time novel Of
all time got out of the Traps. Anna
Livia Plurabelle and H.C.Earwicker Thought
their way through the night Towards
the sea Work
in Progress. Tim
Finnegan had lived at Watling Street Twins
Shaun and Shem come into their own. Because
I'm genius because I'm Joyce. Yes,
James Jaysas Joyce.
©
2002
Author:
Roger Cummiskey, 1998
Construction
updates: January 2000, September, 2000, April 2002,
January 2004.
Originally
published for Bloomsday 1998 by The Irish Times Newspaper
at:
http://ireland.com/literature/bloomsday/joyce/cummiskey.htm
ARTROGER
Rudi
and Kofi: Frail
the red rose and
the Twins
that gave Pleasure
to all After
the rave. Sleep
and rest Time
will move Just
do your best Get
into the groove. ©
March 2002. A
tribute to my twin grandsons.
ARTROGER
Is
Love Really in the Air? Love,
I love you I
really love you I
really, really love you I
said I love you Of
course I love you Sure,
I love you Believe
me, I love you Definitely,
I love you Yes,
I love you But,
...do you love me? ©
2001
ARTROGER
Truth: A
truth Cut
to the truth Examine
the truth Fuck
the truth Get
the truth Here's
the truth In
truth Is
it the truth? Just
the truth Kiss
the truth Love
the truth Make
the truth Nothing
but the truth Oh,
the truth? Quick
truth Real
truth See
truth Tell
the truth The
whole truth True
truth Untruth Your
truth True? ©
2001
ARTROGER
The
Edinburgh Celtica: The
Arts of Scotland What
did I see? The
finest paintings We
sought and looked for The
efforts again and again And
stood beside them Proud
Pol's army And
kept them in Edinburgh To
think again. The
walls are bare now The
screens are quiet and still O'er
times that are past now Which
we so dearly held And
stood beside him Proud
Pol's army And
kept them in Edinburgh To
think again. Those
days are here now And
here they will remain For
we can still rise now And
do the same again And
stand beside him Proud
Pol's army And
keep them in Edinburgh To
think again. ©
2001 To
the air of Flower of Scotland and apologies to the Corries!
ARTROGER
Es
Morte: When
I see The
sea I
think of Thee Alberti. Hasta
luego! Nov
1st 1999 Following
the death of Raphael Alberti aged 96, Spanish Poet.
ARTROGER
A
Painting of a Young Poet:
Bury
me in the old church-yard
The
bell! The bell! Farewell! Farewell!
O,
we got a good breath of ozone round the Head today
A
thimbleful, just to whet your appetite, they say.
In
the silence, pick, pack, pock, puck.
Blackrock,
Stillorgan, Goatstown, Dundrum and Sandyford
Carrickmines,
Stradbrook, no more battles on the rocks.
They
would meet quietly as if they had known each other
And
made their tryst in some more secret place.
He
would fade into something impalpable
Under
her eyes and then in a moment he would be transfigured.
Christian
brothers be damned
Newman
and Byron
The
telegraphpoles held the galloping notes
Of
music between the punctual bars.
The
sunlight breaking suddenly on his sight
Turned
the sky and clouds into a fantastic world
Of
sombre masses with lakelike spaces of dark rosy light.
He
wanted to sin with another of his kind
A
cry for an iniquitous abandonment.
In
the silence their dark fire kindled the dusk
Into
a tawny glow.
What
doth it profit a man to gain the whole world
If
he suffer the loss of his immortal soul?
His
soul was fattening and congealing into a gross grease
Grazing
out of darkened eyes, helpless, perturbed and human
For
a bovine god to stare upon.
It
would rain forever, noiselessly
All
life would be choked off, noiselessly.
Noiselessly
floating corpses amid the litter of the wreckage of
the world.
Lucifer,
non serviam: I will not serve.
Time
is, time was, but time shall be no more!
The
greatest torment, poena damni, the pain of loss.
Ever,
never; ever, never.
The
Reverend Stephen Dedalus, S.J.
His
destiny was to be elusive of social and religious orders.
Destined
to learn his own wisdom apart from others
To
learn the wisdom of others wandering among the snares
of the world.
A
day of dappled seaborne clouds.
Words,
was it their colours?
No,
the poise and balance of the period itself.
Stephaneforos.
Yes! Yes! Yes! He would create
A
living thing, new and soaring and beautiful,
Impalpable,
imperishable.
He
was alone and young and wilful and wildhearted
The
first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence,
Low
and faint and whispering, faint as the bells of sleep;
Hither
and thither, hither and thither;
A
faint flame trembled on her cheek.
I
hope I am not detaining you
A
flaming bloody sugar.
This
race and this country and this life
Produced
me. I shall express myself as I am.
Yellow
insolence.
Art
is the human disposition of sensible or
Intelligible
matter for an esthetic end.
A
soft liquid joy, the soft space of silent spaces
Of
oceanic silence, of swallows flying through
The
seadusk over the flowing waters.
The
stout student who stood below farted briefly.
Did
an angel speak?
I'm
a ballocks.
I
am and I know I am And I admit that I am.
Darkness
falls from the air
Brightness
falls from the air.
I
will not serve
My
defence
Silence,
exile and cunning.
I
go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of
experience.
Author:
Roger Cummiskey, September 1999 Compiled
from "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" by James Joyce.
For
more information: E-Mail
ARTROGER
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