Tuesday, 2 June 2009


Van Gogh's Sunflowers

Recessionary gloom has lifted from the island of Ireland and the fog of Euro and local electioneering has cleared under the clear blue skies of the last several days and the prospect for continuing sunshine to last into next week !This sudden outburst of summer also explains my absence from the Dew for a while as I have been catching up on my vitamin D deficit by keeping out and about as much as possible. Some of our international readers may be agog at the difference a little bit of sun can bring to a nation, that’s because you don’t live here and you haven’t experienced the temperamental nature of the ‘Irish Summer’. To be honest the ‘summer’ has become something of a national joke as it has been distinctly absent in reality for the last few years. Of course during those heady days of Celtic Tiger we simply abandoned the rain-sogged island and climbed aboard a Ryanair flight to Anywhere but Here with sunshine ! Now stranded by the Downturn it was heartening indeed to experience temperatures of 25, 26 and even 27 degrees over the June holiday weekend , turning the whole population into a big open air Mardi Gras on the beach, in the field, on the water, in the city, on the hills, and out the back garden . The smell of the holiday was burning charcoal and the soundtrack was laughter and music as the Irish sizzled under clear skies and copious sunshine. We know this is only a temporary and fleeting reprieve from the weightier matters of state but what the heck at least we can change the country’s complexion from the pallor of financial lack to the golden tan of those kissed by sister Sun. And with local and European elections looming next Friday the mood afoot is to hammer the government for their incompetence and dithering, not even a meteorological heat wave can save them now it seems. To celebrate our untypical seasonal cheer I dedicate this page to that glorious sentinel of all things bright and beautiful - the Sunflower !
Gerard O'Shea
Ah, Sunflower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;
Where the youth pined away with desire
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go.
William Blake


Siobhán said...

Thanks for stopping by 100 Words from Dublin.

Dew of Hermon said...

It was a very enjoyable experience and I hope to make it a regular habit

Tony said...

Great poem!