Poem for the Day: Refugees

BELFAST man Gerald Dawe is a career poet and dynamic academic. Early

teaching was in then University College Galway and with publishing poetry and criticism, he went on to be inaugural director of the Oscar Wilde Centre for Irish Writing. He’s now a professor at Trinity and Fellow, and visits Boston College and Villanova University in the States.

Dawe’s ‘Selected Poems’ span 35 years of a life spent in various cities north and south and time across Europe, America.

His is a big picture. ‘Refugees’ below is that snapshot of coastal life as enjoyed by the visiting privileged, everyone of us once in a while. Not lost to the summer wind are dark elements of dormant volcano, sentient hills with their stories untold, the depths of  still water. Even the dog chase begins to chill.

Refugees

The map you drew on a napkin was Old Europe -/ the rough edges, borders; the spaces, countries./ Up above, the hotel purred with delight./ Happy tourists rolled home to their breezy bedrooms./ The sea lapped over black volcanic shores/ and all about us the hills stood vigilant.

‘You see, the Slavs were forever struggling/ against the Central Powers…’

Your words trailed off as the coloured lights/ played ever so slightly and a pack of dogs/ chased each other around the fishing boats./ Deep down in the swimming pool/ a wasted army called for air and food and shelter.