‘We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric,
but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry’
W.B Yeats, ‘Anima Hominis’, Essays (1924)
Could he hear the firing squads day after day?
Did the rattle carry from Kilmainham Gaol
to Merrion Square as the poem quickened?
Easter had been as late as it could be
that year. Unlikely saviours came forth,
commonplace clerks, scribblers, pedagogues.
The English sent a gunboat up the Liffey.