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Mangan

Arguably the greatest poet old Ireland has seen
'Twas he penned the poem known as 'Dark Rosaleen'
In eighteen forty nine in his mid forties in poverty he died
Though true genius of him never can be denied
The great James Clarence Mangan Ireland's National bard
His journey through life was to say the least hard
He lived as he died in abject poverty
Yet one could not name many poets as great as he
From consumption and poor diet and neglect he died very young
For him no State funeral and he was unsung
Despite his hard life it seems a remarkable feat
That so many great poems the great poet did bequeath
To Ireland and it's people though he died just past his prime
As one of the poor souls of the Dublin of his time.

poem by Francis Duggan
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On Reading Poems Of Mangan

Many of his verses tell of his great sadness
The hardships through life he had to endure
He lived in the hungry years of the great famine
And he knew what it was like to be poor.

His father James a Limerick man from Shanagolden
'About that place there is a famous song'
And his mother Catharine Smith from Fishamble Street in Dublin
Quite poor and to poor kindred she belong.

But circumstance of birth doesn't seem to hinder genius
Though wisdom from the poor is seldom quote
And though Mangan's verse today may seem neglected
He surely was a major Irish poet.

He never had his poems published in England
And outside of Ireland he's almost unknown
But his 'Dark Rosaleen' perhaps will live forever
And it took a genius to write such a poem.

He himself said Dark Rosaleen was from the Irish of Costello
And that into English 'Roisin Duibh' he did translate
But many critics say the poem is quite original
And that in any case it lives as something great.

One of Ireland's greatest poets James Clarence Mangan
But in the literary World a near forgotten name
And I have my doubts if there were many better
And he is worthy of a greater fame.

poem by Francis Duggan
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One Has To Wonder Why

John Clare was the English language greatest poet of Nature
So much of Nature's ways the man did know
But he died in a mental institution
In Northampton asylum near to fifteen decades ago

Just like Vincent Van Gogh the Dutchman a World renowned artist
His paintings are sold for millions today
Yet he died poor and mentally unstable
At his own hands in quite a tragic way

William Cowper was a literary genius
A man who too was mentally unwell
He never did enjoy the fame he earned
And life for him it was an Earthly hell

James Clarence Mangan is the National Bard of Ireland
He died in mid life at forty six years old
A poor Dubliner in Ireland's years of famine
His death was of consumption we are told

Janet Frame was a great New Zealand writer
But she was seldom happy in her mind
Her life story is not a happy story
Though her equal would be very hard to find

Stephen Foster was America's greatest songwriter
Of him true greatness cannot be denied
But fame in his lifetime failed to make him happy
And 'twas of alcoholic poisoning that he died

Paul Robeson one of the World's greatest singers
He died a very disappointed man
A victim of politics and racism
Yet his fame on it does not have a time span.

Poverty, madness and racism not a barrier to greatness
As the lives of many greats does testify
But in their lives some for their genius not rewarded
And why this should be one has to wonder why?

poem by Francis Duggan
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George Crabbe Wrote Of

George Crabbe wrote of hardship and poverty and woe
In the England he lived in a long time ago
But perhaps his poems might be more popular today
Had he looked at life in a less truthful way.

George Crabbe wrote of children in dire poverty
The poor sad victims of Human cruelty
And the poems full of pathos and the poems full of truth
Of a poet who was blessed with the great gift of ruth.

He wrote of human cruelty to their own kind
A God in the soul of such a person you'll find
He did not write of mythological figures or monarch or squire
He wrote for the poor his type I do admire.

Of the poverty around him he was all too aware
But poets like George Crabbe they have always been rare
Though if you feel a bit down and a good laugh you do need
His poems lacking in Humor are not for you to read.

Of the poor souls of England George Crabbe did write
His poems not hard to understand or to read or recite
And though as a person and poet he was great
Such poets the masses never do celebrate.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Arguably John Clare

In the English language the greatest poet of Nature is arguably John Clare
Many of his bird and animal and insect poems are gems beyond compare
Yet he died in Northampton mental asylum where he had lived for many years
He penned such marvellous poetry though his life was full of tears.

His Nature poems of the nineteenth century are relevant to today
The Badger and The Landrail, The Fox and Clock a Clay
The Pettichap, The Cuckoo and The Thrush's Nest
When Writing about Nature Clare was at his best.

In death the poor shepherd poet from Helpston has come into his own
His poems poetic classics around the World are known
The greatest Nature poet of England as many would agree
A poet for the ages from a life of poverty.

As a boy amongst Nature in the fields of Helpston he knew of happiness
But sad to think one like him in life did not know of success
With any English Nature poet he favourably does compare
The legendary one of Helpston the reamarkable John Clare.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Patrick Colum

He penned 'The Old Woman Of The Roads' and 'A Cradle Song'
And to Ireland's best lyricists he surely belong
And his haunting ballad 'She Moved Through The Fair'
With any song ever written is one to compare.

And though to the reaper the poet has long gone
His best poems and lyrics will always live on
He sure was a master of the wordsmith trade
Poets like him are born they cannot be made.

The name of Patrick Colum is a memorable name
Even in his own lifetime he did know great fame
The beauty in his verses is for all to see
A man of great talent who penned great poetry.

Many of his poems are good but his best poems are great
And with the best of Eire he is one to rate
And even in death his fan club does grow
Most lovers of poetry a song or poem of Colum's know.

A legend in death and in his own lifetime
Patrick Colum one who penned quite memorable rhyme
His wonderful gift with the World he did share
A poet of the people and his type are rare.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Dead whno Died for Ireland

The dead who died for Ireland!
Oh, these are living words
To nerve the hearts of patriots —
to steel avenging swords —
They thrill the soul when spoken,
and lowly bend the head
With reverence for the memories
of all our martyred dead.

The dead who died for Ireland —
the noble ones — the best,
Who gave their lives for Motherland,
Who poured upon her breast,
In Freedom's cause, the blood she gave —
Who with their dying breath,
Sent prayers to God to heal her woes —
then sealed their love in death.

The dead who died for Ireland,
How hallowed are their graves!
With all the memories fresh and green,
Oh! how could we be slaves?
How could we patient clang the chain?
How could we fawn and bow?
How could we crouch like mongrels
'neath the keeper's frowning brow?

Be proud, ye men of Ireland!
Be proud of those who died;
Never men o'er all the earth
Had greater cause for pride —
Hope and strive, and league for freedom,
And again the souls will rise
Of the dead who died for Ireland
To cheer you to the prize.

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Oh Mr Yeats

Oh Yeats you wrote of this terrible beauty
And in your great poem you glorified death
But it's been proved that even suicide cases
At their last moment will struggle for breath.

How can you serve your Country by dying for it?
To me that's just a heroic suicide
Perhaps Ireland's greatest was Daniel O Connell
And it was of natural causes that he died.

Those men who led the nineteen sixteen rising
Were brave that from them can't be took away
They died because they fought for love of Ireland
But life for love too big a price to pay.

And tell me what is fame and what is glory?
So many people only live for fame
In hope that after death they'll be remembered
And that others will pay homage to their name.

Oh Mr Yeats you said in death there's beauty
But I cannot agree with what you've said
I would take wealth and fame whilst I'm still living
For such will be useless to me when I'm dead.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Footnote to a famous poem

You all know it from the classroom.
It’s in all the anthologies.
Many say it’s his best; ‘a young man’s poem’
full of life and love and promise;
and short too. His long poems,
they’re great but few have the patience now
and who cares about Poet Laureates
when they’re out of fashion?

It never appeared, did you know,
in his lifetime. Sat in his desk drawer,
a single poem in a fine Italian leather folder.
His wife left it there after he died;
remembering when he’d sent it to her
the night before their marriage; she caught him
once, sitting there, an old man reading
a young man’s poem; closed the door quietly,
said nothing.

They cleared the house after she died.
It would never have come to light
if years later his mistress hadn’t left
a copy – it transpired - to the museum
in her will; he’d written it just for her, she said;
but made her promise not to publish it.
She felt she owed it to his memory though.

Some people prefer not to have
footnotes to poems; they say
they spoil the poem,
and cheapen a great man;
some people like them; they say
it makes poets seem more human.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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To Hell Or To Connacht

To Hell or to Connacht was Cromwells's war cry
To poor Irish tenant farmers his cruel words did apply
Cromwell was a war criminal the facts never lie
To Hell or to Connacht were his words or die.

When Cromwell handed over the command of the Royalist Troops to Henry Ireton the results were the same
In human history their treatment of poor Irish people is a human shame
In their conquests of Ireland thousands of people died
Any form of human rights of them was denied.

Poor Irish tenant farmers were put on the road
To Connacht or to die of no fixed abode
Oliver Cromwell and Henry Ireton were far worse than cruel
They were despotic leaders who abused their rule.

Anyone who knows of history surely do know
Of the atrocities of the Crown forces in Ireland three and a half centuries ago
Cromwell and Ireton were horrible men
They must have been born in the Devil's den.

Some look on past history as over and gone
But in Ireland to Hell or to Connacht those words do live on
And thousands on walking to Connacht died of hunger and cold
The poor and forgotten their life stories untold.

poem by Francis Duggan
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On Reading Of Racism In Ireland

I always feel disappointed when of racism I read
And when I read of it in Ireland I feel very sad indeed
For racism in society should never have a place
And people should never be judged on their colour or their race.

As the Land of saints and scholars Ireland was known Worldwide
And the Irish people suffered and their rights to them denied
But the Irish in their sense of fair play could take a certain pride
And for their human rights and liberty the sons of Ireland died.

Poor migrants from Romania their possessions weigh light
To live and work in Ireland do they not have the right?
They may come un-invited but their numbers only small
And the Irish too are migrants as history will recall.

I read it's the Irish media that fans racism's flame
If this be so of their bad work they must feel a great shame
They cannot say in years to come the fault was never ours
When they first used the noxious spray that poisoned all the flowers.

I am an Irish migrant far from my native shore
And others treat me with respect than that one could not ask for more
A fair go for all people and for everyone fair play
Those words from centuries ago are relevant today.

poem by Francis Duggan
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John Masefield Was Much More Than A Poet Laureate

John Masefield was much more than a poet laureate he was indeed a verse maker supreme
His longer poems are surely masterpieces and will live for centuries or so it would seem
From his prolific pen the rhymes kept flowing he kept on penning till the day he died
No doubt about it born to be a wordsmith and greatness of him cannot be denied
John Masefield wrote the poetry of the masses and in his lifetime was famed Worldwide
His 'Reynard The Fox' the greatest hunting poem ever of the hunting people of the English countryside
His other famed longer poems 'The Daffodil Fields' and 'The Everlasting Mercy' and 'Dauber' the boy artsist who died at sea
As well as others are true masterpieces to rhyme to him seemed to come easily
His descriptive powers to say the least amazing it must be true that poets are born not made
For sixty years he was a major poet a literary icon of the wordsmith trade
John Masefield he was Ledbury's greatest poet one might say a manufacturer of rhyme
For many years he was Britain's Poet Laureate until he too lost out to father time
He truly was the poet of the people and poets of his stature as always are rare
He died an old man in his eighty ninth year with England's best he surely does compare.

poem by Francis Duggan
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On Passing Cromwell Street

In Melbourne streets named in his honour though he does not warrant such fame
For he lived a life of dishonour yet he never felt any shame
For his crimes against the poor of Ireland the winners write the history they say
And historians are too kind to Cromwell the one who did awful things in his day.

He evicted the poor of rural Ireland those who only knew of poverty
And put them on the hard road to Connacht the victims of crimes against humanity
His army were thugs and not soldiers for they did things that soldiers ought not do
The winners always write the history though their version of history is often not true.

In Cromwell's time the winners wrote the history and the winners still write the history today
But for any crimes against humanity the winners too should be made to pay
But Cromwell and his army honoured for their crimes in Ireland against the poor defenceless poor
'Tis sad to think that one so unworthy of a place in history is secure.

To hell or to Connacht his catch cry he forced thousands of poor families on the road
To people who were penniless and innocent not one scrap of mercy he showed
Thousands of them died in the harsh Irish Winter when homelessness on them took it's toll
Because they were poor they were punished though their life circumstances beyond their control.

I think of the untruths of history each time I drive by Cromwell street
The history written by winners their history of lies and deceit
I say to myself they honour a tyrant and I struggle for to understand
Why they name a street after somebody who oppressed the poor of Ireland.

Andrew Marvell in verse glorified Cromwell but he was one who would not know
What Cromwell and his army got up to in Ireland in those bleak times centuries ago
But he only believed what they told him and they told him what he wanted to hear
History often written by unworthy people those who rule by terror and fear.

In Melbourne streets named in his honour his poor victims long forgotten and gone
Into the World of the forgotten but Cromwell's fame is living on
And the lessons we should have learned from history did not lead to a fair go for all
And the winners only write the story though the real truth they never recall.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Speranza's Son

His poems and plays are literary gems his quotes popular today
A genius and a great poet with words he had a way
Incarcerated in Reading Jail he lived at a time
When for a man to love another man was looked on as a crime.

His mother was a great poet Speranza was her name
In the Dublin literary circles of her time she was one who knew fame
She gave to the World Oscar Wilde the truly enlightened one
What woman would not feel proud to give birth to such a son.

His father the antiquarian and gifted writer became famed far and wide
And as an expert on human diseases his worth could not be denied
But nowadays he is better known as Oscar's father the wit and literary great
A legend for the ages and one to celebrate.

The Importance of Being Earnest, The Ballad of Reading Jail
and Lady Windermere's Fan
From the pen of Speranza's son the renowned literary man
And though he died as a pauper in Paris from Dublin far away
Through his humorous quotes and insightful writings his legend lives today.

poem by Francis Duggan
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To Sooth A Soul

A great Tamil poet died three decades back,
Since when he's been widely celebrated.
His wife died now and was seen off unsung.
To sooth a soul, its heirs must be honoured..

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sonnet: The Magic of Poverty

A birth in poverty is luck supreme!
A death in poverty, a great blessing;
A life of poverty is rare a dream;
Achievements great, stark poverty can bring.

’Tis poverty that goads nations do feats;
’Tis poverty that stimulates scientists;
In everything, poverty, wealth just beats;
The greatest men were in poverty’s lists.

And poverty lessens our worries much;
Account to God will be much easier;
Poverty gives the saint a divine touch;
In poverty, poets can fly higher!

Poverty helps to shun worldly pleasures;
A soul in poverty, Heaven allures.

9-14-2002

poem by John Celes
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Give Ireland Back To The Irish

Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Great britian you are tremendous
And nobody knows like me
But really what are you doin
In the land across the sea
Tell me how would you like it
If on your way to work
You were stopped by irish soliders
Would you lie down do nothing
Would you give in, or go berserk
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Great britian and all the people
Say that all people must be free
Meanwhile back in ireland
Theres a man who looks like me
And he dreams of God and country
And hes feeling really bad
And hes sitting in a prison
Should he lie down do nothing
Should give in or go mad
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today

song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twenty Seven

Poor old Amy Winehouse
she has died far too young
a talented and gifted star
but addictive and highly strung.
She now joins those others
who left their fans in pain
like the great Jimi Hendrix
and Nirvanas Kurt Kobain.
They were so creative
but with minds not at rest
they hit the drink and drugs
when life put them to the test.
Janis Joplin was a great singer
who could really sing the Blues
but her life ended at twenty seven
from too much drugs and booze.
Jim Morrison from the Doors
died at that very same age
he drank himself into oblivion
to cope with his inner rage.
All these great artists gone
all died at the age of twenty seven
they struggled with their demons on earth
let's hope their at peace now in Heaven.

poem by Kevin Halls
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The Poems Of John Clare

For years in Northampton mental asylum he battled his ghosts of despair
His Nation's finest poet of Nature the marvellous wordsmith John Clare
So many of his poems are relevant today
The one who loved Nature with words had a way.

The Helpston he grew up in not a cultural place
And though in that old Village his was a known face
They little realized the fame to them he'd bring
That poetry lovers World wide his praises would sing.

Without him less people of Helpston would know
The great poet of Nature of centuries ago
He died in Northampton mental asylum in dire poverty
Yet is there one greater Nature poet than he?

His flora and fauna poems have passed scrutiny's test
And as a Nature poet he was surely the best
Into the soul of Nature it seemed he could see
And his verses have outlived his mortality.

He never did enjoy his literary renown
And he died in the asylum in Northampton Town
But he was a true poet and his type are so rare
And old Helpston lives on in the poems of John Clare.

poem by Francis Duggan
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You Will Find Poverty

You will find poverty in the U S and Great Britain, in France and in Japan,
In Canada and in Australia, New Zealand as well as Iran
In South America and Europe, Africa and all through Asia as well
Throughout the Human World some in their Earthly Hell
In the past decade millions of people of hunger have died
As the gap between the haves and the have nots grow wide
In the World's wealthiest Countries homeless people not rare
So many poor people for every millionaire
And the social divide growing wider by the day
And that the poor are growing poorer does seem sad to say
In The Human World poverty of varying degrees
In the refugee camps millions of refugees
And poverty not a stranger anywhere
So many poor souls in the big World out there.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Amongst Wealth And Fame

Amongst wealth and fame there is great poverty
With such things should not happen here most would agree
A poor homeless bloke with only a mattress for a bed
On the embankment under a railway underpass for six months lay dead.

Under the railway underpass he died where he lay
For months undiscoverd that seems sad to say
A man in his forties one without a friend
He lived a sad life and his was a sad end.

In Melbourne Victoria this must be a lie
In such a wealthy City people of neglect never die?
But the facts tell us differently and i must make it clear
That it is not of fiction i am writing of here.

Some of the less kind will tell you we live and die as we choose
That he was one of those blokes destined to lose
And though they are entitled for to air their views
They seem to make light of what is quite sad news.

Six months he was dead when his remains were found
Amongst wealth and fame poverty does abound
It is not for one like him that you should pray
For if there is a heaven he is there today.

poem by Francis Duggan
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