Patrick Galvin

With my little red knife
I met my love
With my little red knife
I courted
And she stole me to her deep down bed
Her hair spread out a burning red
But never a single word was said
About my little red knife.

With my little red knife
I held her down
With my little red knife
I kissed her
And there in the deep of her two blue eyes
I kissed and kissed a thousand lies
And opened wide her golden thighs
To please my little red knife.

With my little red knife
I made her weep
With my little red knife
I loved her
And the wine was heavy in her mouth
The morning air stood up to shout
But there wasn't a living soul about
To see my little red knife.

With my little red knife
I raised her up
With my little red knife
I ripped her
And there in the gloom and rolling night
I cut her throat by candlelight
And hurried home to my waiting wife
Who damned my little red knife.
...

1
In Patrick Street
In Grattan Street
In Ireland Rising Liberty Street
The Kings are out.

Along the Mall
The Union Quay
In every street along the Lee
The Kings are out.

With knives of ice
And dressed to kill
The wine flows down from Summer Hill
Christ! Be on your guard tonight
The Kings are out.

The snow is dark
And where they meet
The blood in rivers at their feet
Christ! be on your guard tonight
The Kings are out.

Armies marching through the snow
Banners burning row on row
Hate upon them as they go
The stars are red.

Parnell Bridge is falling down
South Gate Bridge is falling down
The City Hall is falling down
The stars are red.

Christ! Be on your guard tonight
The Kings are out.


2
Walking through the fire and flame
Holy father racked in pain
Corpus Christi in his hand
Make way for the Lord!

Murder, rape, and sudden death
Got your bloody onions yet?
Pay the birds and never fret
Go home to God!

Gaze upon this dreadful sight
Send an arrow through the night
Crush them to a bolt of Hell
Make way for the Lord!

Holy Father, mind your ways
You belong to other days
Now the Kings write all the plays
Go home to God!

Down the Mall he walks in prayer
Buildings burning everywhere
Pushing Christ before the world
Make way for the Lord!

And the Kings with bone and knives
Tear away his hundred lives
Throw his body in the Lee
Go home to God!

3
Kings and Queens march on the town
Someone wears a royal crown.

And the old ones in the street
Ring the dead bell of defeat.

Reason bleeding through the snow
Nowhere else on Earth to go.

Mother of God be our relief
Close the world on all our grief.

4
Dance to a royal tune
Down to a darkening moon
Under the rivers of frost
Cry the believers.

Deep in the silver ground
Damned in the fire and sound
Under the billows of ice
Cry the believers.

5
And the churches collapsed
And they opened the graves
And they moved in a wind
Through a fever of dead
And a babble of bones.
They raged at the lock
And they tore down the walls
And they danced on the pillars of blood
And the arches of gold.

They burned at the Rock
And they staggered the root
And they struck at the wound
And the cry in the dark cathedrals.
They gouged out the eyes
And they murdered the lips
And they buried the tongue
And the voice in the vile eclipses.

And the city destroyed
And they ravaged the light
And they rode on a storm
Through an ocean of grief
And a terror of ice.
They stretched on the shores
And they raved at the stars
And they cursed at the roof of the world
and the finger of God.

6
Death by the skulls of night
Dark by the fearful blight
Under the falling skies
Cry the believers.

Dead on the bitter glow
Dust on the burning snow
Under the galleys of Hell
Cry the believers.

7
In Patrick Street
In Grattan Street
The Kings are out.

The gallows high
across the sky
The Kings are out.

Along the Mall
The Union Quay
In every street along the Lee
Eternal night
The cinders white
The Kings are out.

The starving world
has turned to stone
The Kings are out.

The Queens alone
Lie bone to bone
The Kings are out.

And through the green and bitter hate
The cry of eagles at the gate:
CHRIST BE ON YOUR GUARD
TONIGHT
THE KINGS ARE OUT.
...

You may recall, Mr. President,
The incident in the square.
Perhaps, you would tell us about that.

When I die, the President declared,
Lay me out in the garden
So that I may taste the roses.
I have always been partial to roses
And once knew a girl
Who wore nothing else.

I have forgotten her name
And I have no memory for faces
But I do remember the roses.

As to the incident in the square,
Which you have mentioned many times,
I have no recollection of that.
It was probably raining
And people protest, largely,
Because of the vagaries in the weather.

The roses smelled sweet
I remember that -
And she was remarkably tall.

Of course, that particular incident
May not have taken place at all.
Have you considered that?
So many things are illusory -
The keening of snow
The endless dreamings of the heart.

She lay face down in the rain
The roses covered her
I remember that.
...

Spring

My father
Against the victories of age
Would not concede defeat
He dyed his hair
And when my mother called
He said he wasn't there.

My mother, too
Fought back against the years
But in her Sunday prayers
Apologised to God.
My father said there was no God
"And that one knows it to her painted toes"

My mother smiled.
She'd plucked her eyebrows too
And wore a see-through skirt
With matching vest.
"He likes French knickers best," she said
"I'll have them blest."

My father raged.
He liked his women young, he said
And not half-dead.
He bought a second-hand guitar he couldn't play
And sang the only song he knew -
Plaisir d'Amour.

Summer

When summer came
My father left the house
He tied a ribbon in his hair
And wore a Kaftan dress.
My mother watched him walking down the street
"He'll break his neck in that," she said -
"As if I care."

He toured the world
And met a guru in Tibet.
"I've slept with women too," he wrote
"And they not half my age."
My mother threw his letter in the fire -
"The lying ghett - he couldn't climb the stairs
With all his years"

She burned her bra
And wrote with lipstick on a card -
"I've got two sailors in the house
From Martinique.
They've got your children's eyes."
My father didn't wait to answer that
He came back home.

And sitting by the fire
He said he'd lied
He'd never slept with anyone but her.
My mother said she'd never lied herself -
She'd thrown the sailors out an hour before he came.
My father's heart would never be the same -
Plaisir d'Amour .

Autumn

Through autumn days
My father felt the leaves
Burning in the corners of his mind.
My mother, who was younger by a year,
Looked young and fair,
The sailors from the port of Martinique
Had kissed her cheek

He searched the house
And hidden in a trunk beneath the bed
My father found his second-hand guitar.
He found her see-through skirt
With matching vest.
"You wore French knickers once," he said
"I liked them best."

"I gave them all away," my mother cried
"To sailors and to captains of the sea.
I'm not half-dead
I'm fit for any bed - including yours."
She wore a sailor's cap
And danced around the room
While father strummed his second-hand guitar.

He made the bed,
He wore his Kaftan dress
A ribbon in his hair.
"I'll play it one more time," he said
"And you can sing."
She sang the only song they knew -
Plaisir d'Amour.

Winter

At sixty-four
My mother died
At sixty-five
My father.

Comment from a neighbour
Who was there:
"They'd pass for twenty."
Plaisir d'Amour
...

I can see them now
Prisoners of the tower
Their faces blind
From centuries of barbed wire.

If you are guilty
You know you are guilty
If you are innocent
You would not be here.

You are here
Therefore . . .

1

When the cell door closes
Behind you
You are free
When the cell door closes
Behind you
You are free
When the cell door closes
Behind you
You are free to weep
Endlessly
Without tears.

It is an offence
To shed tears in the tower
It is an offence
To grow old in the tower
It is an offence
To sit in the tower
But
You may walk freely
From wall to wall
And contemplate
The absence of bread.

Under our system of Government
A man has these rights:
You may walk freely from wall to wall
And contemplate the absence of bread.

2

You may not
Hear voices.

All prisoners
Who hear voices
Will report such voices
To the Keeper of the tower.
These voices do not exist
And if they do exist
They will be shot.
The shooting of voices
Is essential
To the harmony
Of the tower.

All prisoners
Who fail to report
The hearing of voices
Will be shot.
All prisoners
Who report the hearing of voices
Will be sent to a lunatic asylum.
Prisoners who are sent to a lunatic asylum
May
Lose the freedom of the tower
But the voices will stop.

Under our system of Government
A man has these rights:
You may lose the freedom of the tower
But the voices will stop.

3

You are free
To die.

All prisoners
Are entitled to death
All prisoners
Are entitled to a speedy death.
Any prisoner
Who is not capable of committing suicide
Will be shot
Any prisoner
Who fails to report
A desire to commit suicide
Will be shot.

When a prisoner dies in his cell
His body will remain in his cell.
It is an offence
To remove the dead from their cells.
It is assumed that in due time
Nature will corrupt the flesh
But the bones
If any
Remain the sole property of the prisoners.
He may return for these bones
At any time.

Under our system of Government
The dead also have rights:
You may return for these bones
At any time.

You are free
To have them
...

Today
Is the feast day of Saint Anne
Pray for me
I am the madwoman of Cork.

Yesterday
In Castle street
I saw two goblins at my feet
I saw a horse without a head
Carrying the dead
To the graveyard
Near Turner's Cross.

I am the madwoman of Cork
No one talks to me.

When I walk in the rain
The children throw stones at me
Old men persecute me
And women close their doors.
When I die
Believe me
They'll set me on fire.

I am the madwoman of Cork
I have no sense.

Sometimes
With an eagle in my brain
I can see a train
Crashing at the station
If I told people that
They'd choke me.
Then where would I be?

I am the madwoman of Cork
The people hate me.

When Canon Murphy died
I wept on his grave
That was twenty-five years ago.
When I saw him just now
In Dunbar Street
He had clay in his teeth
He blest me.

I am the madwoman of Cork
The clergy pity me.

I see death
In the branches of a tree
Birth in the feathers of a bird.
To see a child with one eye
Or a woman buried in ice
Is the worst thing
And cannot be imagined.

I am the madwoman of Cork
My mind fills me.

I should like to be young
To dress up in silk
And have nine children
I'd like to have red lips
But I'm eighty years old.
I have nothing
But a small house with no windows.

I am the madwoman of Cork
Go away from me.

And if I die now
Don't touch me.
I want to sail in a long boat
From here to Roche's Point
And there I will anoint
The sea
With oil of alabaster.

I am the madwoman of Cork
And today
Is the feast day of Saint Anne.
Feed me.
...