On taking a picture of salmon fishers at the Salmon Wier in the Corrib a few days ago, I thought of Yeats poem “The Fisherman“… and thought to write one for the fisherman of the modern age. But these days are too dark for looking to the future so far, or am I just in melancholic mood, as Yeats wrote some of his best under the gathering clouds of World War Two, as I reflected in my verse “Dawn Breaks as Yeats Goes to Sleep“.
If Yeats today were alive
He would write this man a poem
Or a poem for all like him
Whose photo I look at, at home
Today, Goretex are the grey clothes
The complaints are the same in this town
The cliques, the money, the knave all thrive
Great art still beaten down.
Maybe in a twelve month to come
I will write of for him a world to be
But these days bright are far to dark
Such a future time to see.
The fools, mad fools and those who follow them
Blindly, beyond reason, emit hate
The wise and tolerant are the fools
The blaggard once more is great.
So, I look at the Salmon Fisher
Who in the Corrib cast his flies
I write no poem for him or tomorrow
Its futility I realise.
The sun will rise in the morning
On what sort of world will it shine?
We must face up to it, each one of us
Its our destiny, yours and mine!