Sunday, August 4, 2019

In Memory of Tommy

On the one year anniversary of his death, this poem:





An Fear DraĆ­ochta

For Tommy Peoples, Donegal-born Irish fiddler (1948-2018)
  
He tucks his fiddle under his chin,
then brings the bow.
From the first notes
there’s a shock of naked sound,
music released from blood
and breath – silver flash of a
trout wrenched from a lake,
streaming bright water.

Tommy’s fixed gaze rests on
the fiddle’s neck while his
fingers press and release. He
sits very still, the wildness
in him moving only the bow.

Weeping, cajoling, a bird flutters
from branch to branch, trilling from
a tree’s highest limbs. Pause, then
a refrain erupts from deep in 
recesses of blossom and leaf.
At dusk, from shadowed hedges
drifts a last homing chant.
Where are you?
Where are you?

            Enchantment tiptoes among us
            as we listen, as morning fog
            creeps inland from the sea
            to cross stone and grass.
            Salt-laden, story-laden, it
            joins the grazing cattle, mingles
            with the steam of their hides.


           

Portrait of Tommy by Martin Fox of Asheville, NC
Cliffs of Moher Photo by Mark de Jong on Unsplash
Poem copyright Cathy Larson Sky  (August 4, 2019)