St. Patrick’s Day Poem: I Don’t Much Care for Yeats

—with fond regards to Susan, who told me you can’t “get” the Irish unless you understand Yeats.

 

I like the rhythm of Celtic drums

drinking Guiness with my mates,

I like to sing an Irish song,

but I don’t much care for Yeats.

 

Shane McGowan’s a righteous voice,

jukebox, Dubliners resonates,

Van Morrison is the Belfast bard,

but I don’t much care for Yeats.

 

An oyster sandwich is a joy,

soda bread and coffee elates.

Give me an Irish potato, oh boy!

But I don’t much care for Yeats.

 

The Rabitte clan are friends of mine

Wilde, Goldsmith and Beckett are greats.

Your man, Joyce, writes mighty fine,

but I don’t much care for Yeats.

 

Fitzgerald and Bryson and Cassady,

Sons of Eire stuck firm in the States

I love them, I love them, I love them all

but I don’t much care for Yeats.

 

Mc Court, Tess Gallagher, Galway Kinnell,

O’Connor, O’Neill—heavyweights.

I like Dempsey and Cooney and Daly and Conn,

but I don’t much care for Yeats.

 

Jackie Gleason, Art Carney, Ann Meara, and Maher

O’Briaian, Graham Norton, Brendan Grace,

Blarney kissed, good craik, cheeky beggers they are,

but I don’t much care for Yeats.

 

I don’t much care for Yeats, I say,

I just don’t care for Yeats.

Can I celebrate St. Patrick’s day

even though I don’t care for Yeats?

 

* Crossposted from my primary blog: http://oursalon.ning.com/profiles/blogs/i-don-t-much-care-for-yeats