Enda Wyley

    In memory of Michael Hartnett

In the market place today
a crowd of writers, councillors, 
townspeople, schoolmates 
gather to remember you.
How you never fell out
with your best friend,
Yes, I'm small - but perfect.
Now you're sturdy on a base
of stone, a glacial erratic
just landed in Newcastle West.

A poet rises to unveil you
whispers in you ear -
oh, standing army of two - 
then, like a megician, flicks 
the scarlet cloak aside.
The statue of you is there, 
taller for porsterity.
And yet we're pleased; 
how your hand forks
your chin, the way you did
when deep in thought and look!
You clutch A Necklace of Wrens.

Poet, whose head held a galaxy,
how clearly we see you now,
one foot placed at the edge
of this rock - ready to jump,
to leave the ceremony
of the market place, 
to take off at your ease
down Maiden Street again.

Page 105, Poetry Ireland Review Issue 108