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Skellig Michael
a remote island off the Irish coast
A whispered, whistled wind resounds the echo
Of the circling gannets’ raucous cry.
While far below, the white noise, sea surge surf
Collides with barren cliffs and wraps the Skellig
Michael in a timeless shroud of mist.
As like a field of wildflowers, a thousand
Puffins nesting on the rock-strewn slopes
Display their broad-thin black and orange-red bills
As whimsic whiffs and riffs of counterpoint
To stubbled mossy greens and mottled gray.
Above beyond where splintered sentinels
Of sharp stark stone rise up to touch the clouds
Sixth-century Gaelic monks built slate-walled beehive
Cells and lived in holy isolation
Unseen unheard unknown except to God.
The gannet’s credal cries comingle with
The whispered, whistled, windborne echoes of
Long-silenced hymns and prayers as tourist pilgrims
Enter sacred space and touch the present-
Past where God and love of God embrace.
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James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and four collections of poetry including Sidekicks, Mostly Sonnets, and Laughing Matters, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in both print and online media. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.
James: Thank you for this lovely, contemplative verse. The last stanza, and the last three lines in particular, are quite moving. I want to be there with you to touch the past and honor those whose courage, piety, and faithfulness helped make it possible for us to believe today. Your choice of blank verse, and your skilled use of it, make this poem one refreshing immersion in a past which is too often overlooked. Oh, and I am certain that, from their abode on high, Milton and Cowper are giving you a strong thumbs-up for your choice of form. And kudos to you for braving the waves to get there! Given your skill and imagination, you should compose a series – or at least a set – on this subject.
Thank you, T.M.
This poem first emerged in free verse form as I tried to capture what I felt and saw on my memorable day on Skellig Michael–words that quickly reshaped themselves into the the much-improved and polished blank verse version posted here.
You mention the idea of a “series.” Scattered about SCP are sonnets I have written on San Francisco, Paris, Mont San Michel, Chartres, Istanbul, Norway, Iceland, Edinburgh, Harris/Tweed, Oban, Ben Nevis and Iona in Scotland and the Uragh Stone Circle in Ireland among others. All places I have been privileged to visit.
I’m not sure this constitutes a “series,” but either way, visits to such places have inspired me to attempt to evoke how I experienced them.
As for thumbs up from Cowper and Milton, beyond your complimentary hyperbole, Cowper may be acknowledging an SCP essay I once wrote on “The Wit of Thomas Cowper.” I also once posted a sonnet in imitation of Milton, but I doubt he noticed.
Both Milton and (William) Cowper used blank verse powerfully. “The Task” is perhaps my favorite of all poems.
Oops. “William” re Cowper is, of course, correct.
An alliterative masterpiece. Both vivid and evocative. You sent me to a few websites. What an accurate picture you’ve painted of this strange island.
Thanks for the read.
Thanks, Paul. I’m happy to keep you hopping about the internet; something you do for me, often!
A wonderfully evocative poem and I particularly love the lines: Sixth-century Gaelic monks built slate-walled beehive
Cells and lived in holy isolation
Unseen unheard unknown except to God.
Elsewhere I have to say that SCP poets are beginning to influence one another! Heck, isn’t ‘As whimsic whiffs and riffs of counterpoint’ a Susan Jarvis Bryant line? And very fine for all that too!
James, I have always enjoyed alliteration. The first poem I ever submitted to SCP back in 2017 had the line,
And layest waste all happiness
With slyness of a sorceress.
But who could argue with Susan’s sobriquet as the Atelier of Alliteration?
You place me in good company, indeed!
It’s not just the lavish alliteration here that is compelling. Note the intertwined alliteration of both syllable and consonant cluster in an ABAB layout:
“mossy greens and mottled gray” (MO – GR – MO – GR), or the triple negation of “UNseen UNheard UNknown.”
And look at the liberal use of real aspirates: whispered, whistled, while, white, whimsic, whiffs, where… all of which emphasize the feeling of a windswept island cooled by seaborne breezes. These “wh-” terms all go back to the Anglo-Saxon “hw-” cluster, still properly pronounced in good English.
Thank you for pointing out these details. Each of them was intentional and for the reasons and effects you identify. It was a rainy, blustery day and the “wh” words were chosen to capture some of that. The words “wet” and “wild” if used would have served much the same purpose.
Mysteriously lovely final lines, James, Those “windborne echoes of long-silenced hymns and prayers” seem to usher the tourist pilgrims into the sacred space, where they can transcend present-past time in God and the love of God.
A good summation,
Margaret with your word, “transcend” being most apropos.
Lovely! Both the imagery and the musicality are extremely beautiful.
Ty, Cynthia, I am glad the poem sang to you.