I was watching Matsuo Bashō in the long long ago writing his haiku on the beach at Kuwana whilst watching my daughter play. The she seemed to step into a silence and went far far away....after a while I asked her where she was and she shushed me with a "Shhhhh...I'm listening to the not-sound!" Bashō could only smile. A book opened itself( by falling on the floor)and then Coleridge started talking to my mind. I put the kettle on for tea and thought how Tilly 'lived' what Coleridge thought...just by being a little girl. She collapsed all boundaries between her and the world and allowed the world to flow through her in all its knowing without knowing how she knew.

We then went for a walk in the snow...had I said it had just stopped snowing...and found a run-over-crow so black against the snow and a red so red it vibrated through the mind. She cried and cried as if tears were the only words she knew.

Tired out after the walk I watched my little human question mark asleep on a big blue cushion so that she seemed like a little egg in her favourite blue nest. Long before then Mr. Basho had changed the first line from "fallen snows are light" to "in the dawn twilight." I regretted the change( as did Matsuo )but there...ya go.

And so my FALLEN SNOWS ARE LIGHTwas written from a discarded Bashō line and Mr. Sammy Coleridge dropping in upon me and my little world of a girl.

I was watching Matsuo Bashō in the long long ago writing his haiku on the beach at Kuwana whilst watching my daughter play. Then she seemed to step into a silence and went far far away....after a while I asked her where she was and she shushed me with a "Shhhhh...I'm listening to the not-sound!" Bashō could only smile.

A book opened itself( by falling on the floor)and then Coleridge started talking to my mind. I put the kettle on for tea and thought how Tilly 'lived' what Coleridge thought...just by being a little girl. She collapsed all boundaries between her and the world and allowed the world to flow through her in all its knowing without knowing how she knew.

We then went for a walk in the snow...had I said it had just stopped snowing...and found a run-over-crow so black against the snow and a red so red it vibrated through the mind. She cried and cried as if tears were the only words she knew.

Tired out after the walk I watched my little human question mark asleep on a big blue cushion so that she seemed like a little egg in her favourite blue nest. Long before then Mr. Basho had changed the first line from "fallen snows are light" to "in the dawn twilight." I regretted the change( as did Matsuo )but there...ya go.

And so my FALLEN SNOWS ARE LIGHTwas written from a discarded Bashō line and Mr. Sammy Coleridge dropping in upon me and my little world of a girl.
She was always the best example of MAKOTO I've ever seen...that floating Japanese word that can now mean "sincerity" or "earnestness" or "a heart free of falsehood." She was elemental.

I was busy writing this little thingy at the time...

moving out of the fog
the mountain stands stock still
observing the human observing it

I was originally going to call the poem MAKOTO as it was my nickname for me...

"Hey my little Makoto...ya wanna go and see the sea!"

I used to study here for my Leaving Cert and go and read aloud Elizabeth Gaskell's NORTH AND SOUTH and MARY BARTON to the English dead. They listened intently to every word I said. Some had already read them but then others hadn't read it all so were eager to catch up and hear the ending. Sheeps would often and often comment on the texts but always the same auld baaaaa remark. John Huston used a night time snowy dark of this in his film THE DEAD for the beautiful "...snow is falling all over Ireland" end sequence. CIE used to use it with the bus coming down the hill in its early 80's ads. So it's a place I always like to return to when I return to the Land of Ire!

I think you may have guessed that .féileacán is the Irish for butterfly....to her they were her butlerflies....her flying flowers....but she like to chase them with the Irish....so she would "...féileacán...féileacán! " them around the garden.

Oh I often I have been entranced by this song long before I knew what it meant...it haunted my mind and stained my soul.

This lament. It is supposedly sung by a mother whose son, a priest, has turned to the Protestant faith, and she is calling him back.

Moya Brennan's version is the only version for me.

FILL FILL A RÚN Ó

Curfa
Fill fill a rún ó
Fill a rún ó
is ná h’imigh uaim
Fill orm a chuisle ‘s a stóir
agus chifidh tú ‘n glór má fhillean tú

Shiuil mise thal is a bhus
i mólta ghrainn óige a rugadh mé
‘sni fhaca mé niontas go fóill
mar an sagart ó Dónaill ‘na mhinistir

Curfa

Dhiultigh tú Peadar is Pól
már gheall ar an ór ‘s as an airgid
Dhiultigh tú banrion ná glóir
agus d’iompaig tú go cóta an mhinistir

Curfa

English Translation

Refrain
Return return o (secret) lover
Return o (secret) lover
And do not depart from me
Return to me o heart and treasure
And you will see the glory if you return

I walked hither and yon
In Molta Ghrainn I was born
And I didn’t see the wonder yet
Like Father Ó Donaill as a minister

Refrain

You denied Peter and Paul
Because of the gold and silver
You denied the queen of glory
And you converted to the garb of a minister

Refrain