This collection of poems, the very idea of writing poems, is dedicated to the memory of the blind Galway poet Rafteiri (Antoine Ó Reachtabhra 1784-1835). He kept the flame of Irish poetry alive in the early 19th century in spite of poverty and scorn and the hideous and humiliating conditions to which the formerly respected class of poets (the fíli) had been reduced by the foreign occupation. I look up to him. But when you look at this picture - the only remaining image we have of him, a quick sketch - he looks beaten down and forlorn. He has none of the flashing eyes and barely-contained violence of our great chieftains and rebel leaders, the men we still admire and whom we followed to hell and disaster - and then, finally, to independence. But Rafteiri had something just as valuable. He had knowledge. He kept faith with the old culture, in serious peril of being wiped out and forgotten during his lifetime. Derided even in his own time (and since) as a 'folk' poet , he managed to make striking additions, while passing along the spirit of our excellent and extraordinary and very ancient literary tradition.
Mise Rafteirí an file - I am Raftery the poet
Lán dochais is grá - Full of hope and love
Le súlie gan solus - With eyes without light
Le ciúneas gan crá - Gentleness without misery.
Dul siar ar m'aistear - Going west on my way
Le solus mo chroí - By the light of my heart
Fann agus tuirseach - Feeble and tired
Go deireadh mo shlí - To the end of my road.
Féach anois mé - Behold me now
Agus m'aghaidh ar bhalla - And my face to the wall
Ag seinm ceoil - Playing music
Do phócaí falamh - For empty pockets.
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