Roberto Cogo – Irish Poems

Leaving Dublin, Heading for Achill


the big city is not the land

it’s just a part of it — green fields are all around

and sheep and cattle and a flock of birds


dipped in a grey air wrapping up the sky

really closing the view

to a bluer contact with the above —


travelling is the same everywhere you go

you can move from town to town

losing your link with the earth


that’s why the city is not the land nearby

but just a little part of it


15 Aug. 2009






Achill is a Hawk


achill is a hawk calling from the sea

achill is a mountain, a feather and a sheep


it makes you feel dizzy

blowing its winds into the top of your lungs


it makes you perceive the sun and the salt

invites the mist in the air to jump from tree to tree


achill makes you sleep like an innocent abroad

who yearns for his mum’s sweet breast


and tries to seek the best out of his life to come

flesh and marrow and bones


achill is a beast flying from its cage

towards a chart of unity and singleness and faith


achill is the weather a mountain and the ocean

a stubbornly grazing sheep


within the evergreen fields of your soul


16 Aug. 2009



Doogort Hill


you have to make your own way up

that’s what the young girl said

when i asked her for a trail

to the top of doogort hill


i lost myself in a sloping peatland

where brown rivulets were running down

i found myself proceeding in a zig-zag

trying not to fall into puddles of soaked sod


water was here water was there water was everywhere

water disguised in thousand holes

water under each turf of grass

water from the sky and water from the earth


soil and water merging their abundance

oozing to build a brand new slice of turf —

the irish family’s sacred right to burn

its own distinctive piece of earth — said paul later


are you ready to produce your own energy

and flame from the water and the land?

it demands a thousand years’ vital spirit or survival


you have to make your own way up the hill

that’s what the young girl said to me

since there is no track nor path or trail


19 Aug. 2009


Two Achill Sketches


P. J. opens his shop

P. J. takes a look around

then whispers something to himself


P. J. steps back inside and sits down

expecting no one in particular to come


… … … … …


loomings from achill island

the great mother of inventions…


bury your own statements

under the turf-ground and wait


let them bloom like a daffodil

over a pale white moon


22-23 Aug. 2009







Strand Hotel, Doogort


i can’t accept a vision like that — the wildness


of the ocean runs over my deepest thoughts

washes away each illusion of delight

makes me reconsider all the goodness of the wave


together with the far-away private shore

where all our souls will gather and melt

in the company of the gannet and the kittiwake


24 Aug. 2009



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