By Ger Cody
Well that’s it for another year. The Liam McCarthy cup rests in Tipperary. An All-Ireland that saw the Premier county come out on top with a score of 3-27 to Cork’s 1-18. To be fair, you couldn’t deny Liam Cahill’s charges’ victory. They were mighty in their approach and execution, especially in what can only be described as a majestic second half. It is back to the drawing board for Pat Ryan and the Leesiders. One can only imagine the atmosphere in the Cork dressing room being one of profound disappointment and dejection. The Cork decision to cancel the homecoming shows the hurt. The cruelty of sport. It was a case of so near and yet so far for Kilkenny. Talk of the rights and wrongs of the Semi-Final by Kilkenny supporters have all but disappeared. The scoreboard malfunction – a faded memory. But as we become immersed in club hurling, talk of All-Ireland panels and selectors are filed away. July 20th belonged to Tipp’, and deservedly so. Of course in the end, hurling was the winner, proving, as Brian Cody always said “It’s all on the day.” So, this week, The Kilkenny Observer newspaper, to bring to an end another intriguing championship, contacted three poets, Sean Casey from ‘The Rebel’ county, Ben Mac Caoillte a Dunnamaggin man and Frank Callery from Dublin. All three poets have very kindly given their offerings showing their love of hurling.
Back, from left: Denis O’Riordan, Patsy Harte, Denis Coughlan, Mick Lane, Maurice Twomey, Dave Moore, Jerry O’Sullivan, Tom Corbett.
Front, from left: Mick Kenneally, Jackie Daly, John Young, Seanie Kennefick (Capt.), Bill Carroll, Christy Ring, Finbarr O’Neill.
(photo Cummins sport.ie)
Poetry and hurling
And there is no doubting the connection between hurling and poetry, particularly in Irish culture. Hurling, a traditional Irish sport, has inspired numerous poems, and poets have drawn parallels between the sport’s intensity, passion, and rhythm and the creative process of writing. Both hurling and poetry are seen as embodying qualities like passion, energy, beauty and rhythm. Several poems directly address hurling, such as Theo Dorgan’s The match down the park. There are also poems that use the imagery and themes of hurling to explore broader ideas and emotions. Hurling is deeply embedded in Irish culture and its representation in poetry helps to solidify its place in the national identity.
Ben Mac Caoillte
Ben Mac Caoillte hails from Dunnamaggin and is a bilingual poet, writing in both Irish and English. Over the last year he has been touring with his poetry performance show, Lifting the gate and has travelled across Ireland, UK and Europe. His chosen poem is The Link , referring of course to Jimmy Walsh, a neighbour from Dunnamaggin, who was the holder of 7 Leinster titles, 4 All-Ireland medals and 1 NHL medal.
Paul Casey
Paul Casey’s poems have been widely published and he is working on his third collection. Virtual Tides was published by Salmon Poetry in 2016, which followed Home more or less (Salmon, 2012) and a chapbook, It’s Not All Bad (Heaven tree, 2009). His poetry film The Lammas Hireling has been screened worldwide. He edits The Unfinished Book of Poetry and promotes poetry & poetry film in his role as director of Ó Bhéal.
Both his father and grandfather played for Cork, and both played for Glen Rovers with Christy Ring. His grandfather Michael (Mick) Casey was born in Kilkenny in 1907 (to Cork and Tipperary parents), lived in Fiddown until the family moved back to Cork city in 1920, the same year Ring was born. He went on to play goalie for the Glen with Jack Lynch, in the same team that won eight county finals in a row. Paul’s father Jim Casey (also a Glen goalkeeper) played with Ring for three years during the mid 1960’s. Hence the poem, Rain in the Glen. Mick was always proud to have been born in Kilkenny, even though he lined out for Cork.
Frank Callery
As a poet, Frank has had work published in national and international journals; selections of his work have also been published in six anthologies and some of his poems have been broadcast on RTÉ 1 radio and provincial radio stations. He has previously won the Allingham Award (1983) and the Gerard Manly Hopkins Bicentenary Award (1989), and the Public Services Award (1986).
In 2014 he published his collected poems: The Whole Shebang, as a kind of goodbye to poetry.
He is currently compiling four volumes of poems in his Ceangaílte series under his imprint The Scribbler’s Head as another ‘goodbye’ to the scribbler’s art.
Rain in the Glen
By Paul Casey
For Jim, my father and after Christy Ring
At twelve Christy stood in goal,
his first minor match for Cloyne.
Those who held the keeper’s hurl
must have the gift of positioning
They must not lack courage,
must be prepared
to put up with the knocks
and accept the abuses that go with it.
I wait for you outside Arrivals
and who looms,
through the static
about to belt one onto the runway.
Hurley tilted to a bronze wing,
the heel swept away into legend
where everything is shining
and breathing with the king.
Who knew a patient wrist
the steady, vigilant burn
had you turn in the rain with
no camán, pelting close-range.
Waterlogged cannonballs, hair-
split bones fracturing ash-white
in this unyielding father of men,
who now walk tall as Histories.
Odd things happen thinking it.
Did something of him enter me
to face you in the calm goal
of fatherhood?
To lash you with endless silvered accolades
per carpal fissure,
the net holding still as the
blue in your eyes on the ball,
and this inky sliothar pucks out letters
from a stirred pen up & above Finbarr’s spire,
the divisions of rivers
and men.
The Link
By Ben Mac Caoilte
This road reminds me of that place
A nodding and bristling show to a poker face,
The trees sit hunched resilient, the leaves their best hand,
It’s not the space that reminds much but more how he would stand,
Thrown over a wrought rust gate watching the rain draw in,
All overcoat and threadbare cap as I stared, ‘dormer hands’ on chin,
‘The link’ was how I knew him and it suited him truth be told,
A connect to a time of hard men with decent hearts now grown old,
I’ve taken with me the decent and left behind the hard,
I’ve lived my poker face and shuffled each and every card.
Rain draws in as I head for home and I hang on wrought rust gate,
The clouds drift so slowly under that heavy weight,
Of lake and sea and pothole fill,
I stand as he stood and wait until I feel the need to wait no more.
In the Week to Come
(written the day after the Tipperary victory)
By Frank Callery
There won’t be child washed in Carrick,
And pint glasses in Thurles are scarce,
And those who were dying for McCarthy
Have cancelled the use of the hearse!
Clonmel will be draped in the colours
The buntings will cover each street,
And in every pub in the county,
The crowds will be out on their feet.
There’ll be kids bouncing heads off each ceiling
Going up for the high ball in style,
And catching the sliotar with feeling
Thinking they’re Shelly or Doyle.
The young and the old “Pure Elated!”
And thinking of ‘three-in-a-row!’
And the rebels? Well totally deflated
As back to the Lee-side they go!
But in Tipp, every man, child, and women
Will be singing that auld Sleibhnamon!
When the crowds there in Thurles see coming
The lads with McCarthy come home!
In Ahenny and far Toomevara,
There’ll be lads on the sick for a week,
And joyful the tears and mascara
Will roll down each Tipp granny’s cheek!
