CANTO IV (continued)
"We have to stop him. We can’t ignore him."
"Jaysus, will you fuck off!
Haven’t we the dogs into McWilliams.
This fucker’s small fry.
I’m telling you what must be done.
This is not a chat about it."
"DRUMCONDRA says we’re to get on.
His precise words were
‘who will rid me of this carbuncle
before I carbuncle him?’ "
"Fuck it I’m only joking Boss."
"Go to the FARMGATE, sit under the poems,
on the wall where you have full view of Minihan’s eye.
You should be able to to hit him from there."
"Under which fuckin poem"
"You’ll find it best to sit under the Heaney.
You wouldn’t know where to look
if I told you perch by a Cork poet.
You watch him now.
I need you familiar with his habits.
Follow him to the toilet if you have to.
I don’t give a tinker’s for how you ready yourself."
There’s one gathering you can be sure
there are no fools.
One fireside, one hearth, one circle -
all who sit in that ceremony there,
they know what it’s like to be a fool,
to hold inside the pain that breaks the spirit into pieces.
They’ve felt their reason go, their mind abandoned.
But it’s a secret society,
wearers of the Stigmata.
Perhaps it’s not so much blood they secrete
as soul juice.
At one time or another, all who gather here
have been dead to pleasure, blind to beauty,
vacant to expression,
wished to wake up in a calmer grave.
This is the house of AWARE,
where the only help you’ll find
is locked out,
until you open a chink of light.
Winter tears, rain, whatever weather.
I went out to the hazel wood
hooked a berry to a thread,
my self was divided.
(end of CANTO IV)