The Brave Hound Of Ulster, Cuchulainn

Irish Mythology and its characters are not as world famous as those in Greek lore, but they are just as fierce and poetic. The Brave Hound of Ulster, a boy hero named Cuchulainn, to this day is immortalized with a bronze statue in the famous General Post Office on Dublin's O'Connell Street. Cuchulainn was the hero of the Battle of the Brown Bull of Cooley and died facing 100 soldiers from Connaught. Legend boasts that Connaught's Queen Maeve sent her force to capture Ulster's prize Brown Bull and had a witch cast a spell on Ulster's soldiers. The only one to defend Ulster was the youth, Cuchulainn (cow - cul - in), who defeated his foes single-handedly.
So in a fitting Irish fashion, the poem below is dedicated to Cuchulainn and all of Ireland's legends.

All of Ireland stood still the day Queen Maeve said
the Brown Bull of Cooley must return alive or dead
She send 100 warriors from the land of Connaught
alone on the battlefield on boy stood and fought
All the Red Branch Knights were cast under spell
so he dug himself in deep and sent his foes to hell
Each time the mighty lad slung his deadly sling
he cast 100 stones and death they did bring
On the Cooley Peninsula 100 and one were done in
all of the Queen's army and the hero Cuchulainn
The story is pure legend with facts hard to trace
but the boy died a hero's death, the enemy at his face
Cuchulainn is cast in bronze and people often cluster
Singing songs of praise to the Brave Hound of Ulster

This poem was first printed for public consumption in WARRIOR POETS and the first version I wrote was in 1996.

Naked I Saw Thee - Get Your Mind Out Of The Gutter

On February, 19th, 1990, unfortunately I cannot recall what day of the week it was, I was in the Library at the University of Wisconsin-Superior as a struggling student-athlete trying to find my own life's path. In a library or bookstore I always find myself in awe of the published written word, bound tightly and presented for the world to enjoy, engage and devour. One of the books I happened to slip from the shelves of the "Reference" section was "Dictionary of Irish Literature," (c) 1979, by Robert Hogan and published by Greenwood Press Inc., Westport, Connecticut. I recently found the notes I took from that faithful evening, recalling I didn't have the change to make my own copy, which was probably five-cents. It was an entry on Page 62 about Pádraig Pearse, defined by my notes as "executed by a British firing squad in 1916," "shy, quiet," and "wanted liberation of Ireland through arms." My love affair with my proud Irish heritage began early in life with the warmly recalled memories of my Irish grandparents, Tom and Lena Conran. That Feb. 19th however, my energized quest to soak up Irish history beyond being proud of my heritage began. "Fornocht do chonnac thu" was the Gaelic title of Pearse's poem that translates into, a phrase the he would hate to hear, the King's English, "Naked I Saw Thee." The poem reads in what I will call 'the language my ancestors were forced to speak' as follows:

Naked I Saw Thee, O beauty of beauty
and I blinded my eyes, for fear I should fail
I heard thy music, o melody of melody
and I closed my ears for fear I should falter
I tasted thy mouth, o sweetness of sweetness
and I hardened by heart for fear of my slaying
I blinded my eyes and I closed my ears
I hardened my heart and I smothered my desire
I turned my back on the vision I have shaped
and to this road before me I turned my face
I have turned my face to this road before me
to the deed that I see and the death I shall die

These words, as lovely as poetic as desperate, lit the wick that became my undying passion for knowledge and understanding of my Irish roots. Hope you enjoy them.

Welcome to the "Quill 'n Pint"

Life has granted me enough luck to travel the world, mostly as a journeyman rugby player and quite a bit as an American finding the burning passion behind his Irish roots. One thing remains constant, I have found, is that there is an Irish Pub in every corner of the world. Part of my travel itinerary has been to get off the plane, find a cab and ask to be taken to the nearest Irish Pub. In Buenos Aires it was the Shamrock, etc. etc. My teammates and fellow travelers always know that I would make the Irish Pub nearest the hotel my temporary H.Q., with most adventures setting forth from and most returning to. It has never worked out unfavorably. So often I thought of what I might call my own Irish Pub, no matter what country it may be housed... so please welcome the "Quill 'n Pint" a warm place where you'll be greeted as a friend and always find something interesting to read. If you don't find it interesting... order a pint!