For dverse
![](https://thefourswans.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/newgrange_si_an_bhru_monument_donore_eire_-_44753782680.jpg?w=640)
Sí an Bhrú
It delves deep, hugs the land,
ringed about with stone,
whorl-worked the lintels,
the passage in the dark.
I went down into the dead place first
when I was small enough
to know the ghosts by name,
to feel hands take mine
and whisper stories from the times before.
I remember the air still and trembling
on the brink of revealing a world
almost lost, not forgotten.
I remember running my finger
in the tracks of magic,
the symbols on the brink of consciousness
that led into the dark,
split by a shaft of sun, palm cupped,
to spill light five thousand years a-growing.
I remember the soft stillness of the air,
like the touch of a beloved hand on my cheek,
the feeling of belonging, to the dark,
the bones, the whispered voices,
the strings plucked by the wild west wind.
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oh! Jane that’s not the video I meant to you sorry!!
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I did wonder 🙂
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You thought, that mad woman has lost it,!!!
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I thought, ey up, Willow’s been watching dodgy videos again.
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I meant to say this
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Yes! That’s more like it 🙂
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Yes sorry 💜💜
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on the brink of revealing a world
almost lost, not forgotten
I could feel that touch, hear the voices in your words. (K)
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I’m glad. Not sure how easy it is to hear them these days of mass tourism.
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That’s a real problem that the internet has only made worse. As soon as a place is “discovered” it changes completely.
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An economy that relies on tourism accepts that its essence will be trashed.
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I love the haunting and mystical feel of the place and the soft stillness of the air.
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Thanks Grace. It was a wonderful experience.
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I don’t know if you remember my poem about Newgrange, Jane. We lived not too far from the Hill of Tara when Ellen was born and took her to Newgrange when she was a toddler. So your poem took my breath away and brought back memories. Newgrange does indeed hug the land. I remember well the whorl-worked lintels, the passage in the dark and the ‘air still and trembling / on the brink of revealing a world / almost lost, not forgotten’. It’s hard not to run your finger ‘in the tracks of magic’ or be spellbound by the ‘shaft of sun, palm cupped, / to spill light five thousand years a-growing’. Magical, both building and poem.
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I don’t remember it, nor did I remember that you had lived near Newgrange. It is a breathtaking place, and I envy you having lived in its atmosphere.
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It was a long time ago – both the life in Ireland and the poem. x
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We have a touch point in ghosts I see 🙂 I do so love the depth of this, rich with feeling.
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Thank you! I’ve read your poem, and it’s the same atmosphere with five thousand years between them.
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Ha, yes, and so true in every respect.
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xx
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I like the feeling of belonging to the dark. Seeing the dark. This feels like a haunted, yet sacred, place.
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I’m sure it was a sacred place, full of ghosts now.
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Oh, I really like this one. I can feel the magic and ghosts here.
“I went down into the dead place first
when I was small enough
to know the ghosts by name,
to feel hands take mine
and whisper stories from the times before.”
Shivers!
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Thank you! It’s so old nobody knows anything about the people who built it. Pre-dates the pyramids and the Celts.
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That’s so wild to think about. It must be an amazing place to visit.
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It was. Even knowing nothing about it, the atmosphere was palpable.
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It must be!
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It was as if I was there with you! Mysterious and sacred at the same time. Love it, Jane.
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It’s older than the Pyramids. Not surprising it feels so otherworldly.
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when I was small enough
to know the ghosts by name
So touching to be close to the ancients, I love the tenderness you speak of the past… and the place sounds like a wonderful place.
When reading this I am listening to Loreena McKennit, which seems like a good match.
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When I first visited, in the 1970s you could just turn up and when there were are dozen or so visitors, a guide would take you in. It was magical. No one spoke, no cameras or phones, we just listened to the past. The air felt ancient. You can’t get that atmosphere when you’ve had to book a visit, queue up to get in, and be herded round in great batches.
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