Many decades ago, my brother Jesse took a beginners’ course in the Irish language. Out of that experience, he memorized a short, beautiful poem by Anthony Raftery, usually called “Mise Raifteirí.” When we were last in Ireland, in October of 2016, he suggested that we visit Raftery’s grave, which turns out to be in the vicinity of the town of Loughrea, in county Galway, the same area where our mother was from. So, with our cousin Martin Flynn and our good friend Dominick Murray, we took the short ride from the Flynn household in Cahercrea to the Reilig na Bhfilí (Cemetery of the Poets) in Killeeneen where Raftery is buried.
As Wikipedia informs us, Raftery (30 March 1779–25 December 1835), who composed in Irish, is often called the last of the wandering bards. He lived almost exactly a century later than the great Turlough O' Carolan, the itinerant harper who composed hundreds of gorgeous musical pieces that are still widely played today, just as Raftery's poems, which were never written down in his lifetime, are taught today in Irish schools. Raftery also played the fiddle, and I have a special affection for musician-poets. Both men were blind, a misfortune that had no apparent negative effect on their creative abilities.
I thought I had taken a photo of the signage regarding the other poets buried in the Reilig na Bhfilí, but if I did I can’t find it. One Internet source gives their names as Marcus and Peatsaí Ó Callanáin. I believe the signage stated that they were brothers and both rivals of Raftery. I don’t know if any of their poems are extant. [Please see the comment below by my old friend Gearóid Ó hAllmhuráin, who provides some invaluable information on Peatsaí Ó Callanáin.] In any case, Raftery is without question the top dog in this beautiful, serene little graveyard. (photo of Terence Winch, Oct. 2016, by Jesse Winch)
There we were in this place to which the paths of glory but lead, caught up in its eerie, decaying beauty, when my cousin Martin gathers us to show us something. He holds up a white envelope sealed in a plastic cover. “Someone has left me a check!” he jokes. We all laugh. We debate the propriety of opening this mystery letter, but really there is no other choice but to do so. This place is nearly abandoned, with no office or staff or any other visitors. So Martin opens the envelope. Inside is a card showing a photo of children playing with a homemade little plane, with a real plane in the background, ca. 1940, and a caption reading, “ YOU WILL NOT DO INCREDIBLE THINGS WITHOUT AN INCREDIBLE DREAM.” There’s also an indecipherable message in longhand. But here’s the kicker: folded in the card is a 20 Euro bill. Money, after all. Graveyard money! We spent it all on caffeine and cake in a coffee shop in Galway City. Thank you, Mr. Raftery.
photo of Martin Flynn by Dominick Murray; photo of Raftery's grave by T. Winch)
Here is his poem, with an English translation:
Mise Raifteirí, an file, |
I am Raftery, the poet, |
And, finally, Raftery's work continues to make its way into the world, as this lovely song inspired by his poem---and performed here by Eleanor Shanley and John McCartin---attests. (I'm not sure at this point if they are the composers).
Such a nice story and tribute to the Raifteiri. It resonated because years ago Sharon and I visited the grave of --
guess who -- Turlough O'Carolan in County Roscommon. Your description of Raftery's cemetery could equally apply to O'Carolan's - a very serene, peaceful, beautiful little graveyard with no one else around. As we were leaving, we noticed a structure buried under years of vegetation. It was the ruins of an old stone Victorian teahouse, and wandering through it we could almost hear the whispers of the ladies sipping tea 150 years ago. Your story brought back that memory, so thanks!!
Posted by: Peter Kissel | February 13, 2018 at 05:54 PM
Lovely
Posted by: Tina | February 13, 2018 at 05:56 PM
There's also his famous poem for this time of the year (tráthúil don am seo den bhliain):
“Anois teacht an Earraigh
beidh an lá dúl chun shíneadh,
Is tar eis na féil Bríde
ardóigh mé mo sheol.
Go Coillte Mach rachad
ní stopfaidh me choíche
Go seasfaidh mé síos
i lár Chondae Mhaigh Eo."
Now with spring coming
The days will be lengthening
And after St. Bridget's Day' (Feb 1)
My sail I will raise
And to Kiltemagh I will go,
I won't ever stop
Till I plant my feet
In the middle of Mayo.
Another piece by him is the slow air lament Anach Cuan (usually translated as Annaghdown) lamenting the drowning death in 1828 of a boatload of people at Anach Cuan (cuan being a bay). We learned these three pieces by heart at school.
Posted by: Noel Fahey | February 13, 2018 at 06:13 PM
I thought Fergus was the last of the wandering bards. No trust Wikipedia.
Posted by: Jordan Hartwell | February 13, 2018 at 06:21 PM
Thank you for this story, Terry. My kids are fond of complaining about being dragged around to old cemeteries by their grandmother. I've never understood the appeal of going to see Chopin's grave, or Jim Morrison's, at that big cemetery in Paris. But I can see the tug of ancient memory in this story, that the legend of the bards continues into our own time, that you would want to acknowledge and honor a man like Raftery.
Posted by: HB | February 13, 2018 at 06:24 PM
YOU WILL NOT DO INCREDIBLE THINGS WITHOUT AN INCREDIBLE DREAM.
tpw for precinct alderman 2018!
Posted by: tom clark | February 13, 2018 at 06:51 PM
Thanks, Howard. It wasn't planned, but during my last trip to Ireland I wound up in about a 10 cemeteries (not permanently, fortunately). They are profound places.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 13, 2018 at 07:48 PM
Thanks, Noel. I do know those poems. We are fortunate that his audience remembered his work well enough for these poems to have survived. (One item I forgot to mention in the post: Gabriel Byrne owns [or owned] a little house right behind this cemetery.)
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 13, 2018 at 07:51 PM
Now I may have to pay a visit to O Carolan. Bás in Éirinn!
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 13, 2018 at 07:56 PM
Thanks, T.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 13, 2018 at 07:57 PM
ah, brilliant post terence, thank you eternally for sharing your memories and scholarship about our people...
Posted by: lally | February 13, 2018 at 11:40 PM
Great story Terence. Now, about the money...three Our Fathers & three Hail Marys. Go in peace.
Posted by: Michael O’Keefe | February 14, 2018 at 12:35 AM
I love this Terence. What an experience. The experience sings! May the grass of graves grow over lives of consequence that then whisper past glories into who each of us are.
Posted by: Tom Davis | February 14, 2018 at 08:03 AM
Thanks, Tom.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 14, 2018 at 09:19 AM
Funny you should say that---another relation of ours, upon hearing of this mysterious windfall, insisted we should give it to the local priest.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 14, 2018 at 09:20 AM
Thank you, mo chara.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 14, 2018 at 09:20 AM
A Thraolaigh, A Chara: Greetings from the cold north. I loved your piece about the poet, Antoine Ó Raifteiri (Raftery). In fact, his "neighbour," Peatsaí Ó Callanáin (Patsy Callanan) was one of Ireland's best known Great Famine poets/songwriters, (in the Irish language, of course). His song: Na Fataí Bána - The White Potatoes, is still sung today, and was recorded by the sean nós singer, Liam Ó Maonlaí.
I wrote about Ó Callanáin in 1999 for a collection on the Great Irish Famine. Hope you enjoy it:
http://bit.ly/2sxVss8
And here is a link to Ó Maonlaí's version of the song - from episode one of "The Irish in America: Long Journey Home: The Great Famine," (it starts at marker: 49.52 on the film clip)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xONqZXzQ1yY
Ádh Mór,
Gearóid
Professor Gearóid Ó hAllmhuráin, MA, HDE, DUEF, MBA, Ph.D.
Author, Flowing Tides–History and Memory in an Irish Soundscape (2016, Oxford University Press)
La Chaire Johnson en études canado-irlandaises au Québec
Johnson Chair in Quebec and Canadian Irish Studies
School of Irish Studies, Concordia University
Posted by: Gearoid OhAllmhurain | February 14, 2018 at 04:48 PM
Gearóid---Thanks so much for this great addition to the post. I kind of suspected you would be able to flesh out the story for us all. I am looking forward to reading your piece on Ó Callanáin and watching the video.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 14, 2018 at 04:58 PM
The musicality of your prose always delights, Terence, and I adore the inscription that serendipity offered you via the gravesite envelope. Never enough examples of the magic that we open to by embarking on a journey.
Posted by: Rachel E. Diken | February 14, 2018 at 05:10 PM
Thanks, Rachel. I didn't plan it this way, but on my last trip to Ireland I wound up visiting 8 or 9 graveyards, each one distinct and beautiful in its own way---from Glasnevin in Dublin, where about one million of the departed reside, to Raftery's enchanted final resting place.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 14, 2018 at 09:02 PM
Terry, your piece is very good, eliciting a lot of interesting commentary. The great comic singer, Tadhg Mac Dhonnaagáin, has written a biography (in Irish) about Raftery appropriately titled “Mise Raifterai.” In it he quotes from another book, Amhráin Mhuighe Seola (1923), about the importance of Raftery in Connacht:
“The songs most popular in Connacht are those of the poet Raftery, who died in 1825. It is really wonderful how this poor blind fiddler poet has set all Connacht singing for the past hundred years, and is likely to continue so doing as long as the language lasts.”
BTW, Maigh Seola is an ancient territory between Loughrea and Headford in Co Galway bringing us back to the land of your mother. The book referred to means The Songs of Maigh Seola (and, outside of the lyrics of the songs, is in English).
Posted by: Noel Fahey | February 15, 2018 at 01:04 AM
Wonderful post! I've always loved the famous Rafferty poem in English translation, but never seen a picture of him. Great portrait and great picture of you at his grave. The way, where is the cemetery of poets in USA?
Posted by: Chris Mason | February 15, 2018 at 05:32 PM
Thanks, Chris. And where's the Tomb of the Unknown Poet?
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 15, 2018 at 07:10 PM
A little off topic, but I remember a Dublin cab driver
spending much of the ride decrying the “terrible state”
of the grave site of John Millington Synge in
Mount Jerome’s Cemetery, Harold’s Cross.
An indication that the Irish take their writers quite
seriously.
Posted by: Billy Collins | February 17, 2018 at 09:51 AM
Thanks, Billy. You're absolutely right---it's a bit unkempt, but at least there is a "Cemetery of the Poets" in Ireland. On the other hand, it seems that Yeats's very well-tended grave in Sligo is home to some random bones from France.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 17, 2018 at 11:46 AM