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a poem for ireland, a poem for the world . . .
Where I have been living since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, there is no mailman, but I still check the letterbox in the front door every day. To send or receive a letter, I drive about a mile to a shop on the carraterra between here and the lovely little village which has begun to return to a kind…
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the day eavan boland died . . .
Where I have been living since the beginning of the pandemic, there is no mailman, no mailbox at the end of the driveway, no letterbox in the front door. To send or receive a letter, we have to drive about a mile to a shop on the carraterra between here and the lovely little village which has been deadly quiet…
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Covid-19, Death and dying, Dispatch from the Diaspora, Funeral, Rituals, saying goodbye, Seamus Heaney, Seamus Heaney
Ireland, I’m sorry for your trouble . . .
. . .feelthe strumming, rooted, long-tailed pull of grief.You were born fit for it.Stand in here in front of meand take the strain. From A Kite for Michael and Christopher by Seamus Heaney My mother tells me she and my dad were able to attend Palm Sunday services on Sunday,virtually, on the iPad I gave her a few years ago. It took a wee while to get the hang of it, she…