{"id":3229,"date":"2013-11-29T21:21:30","date_gmt":"2013-11-29T21:21:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3229"},"modified":"2013-12-15T21:19:32","modified_gmt":"2013-12-15T21:19:32","slug":"orfhlaith-foyle-poem","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3229","title":{"rendered":"Death at Doo Lough Valley"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/11\/03Covered-Way-2012.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-3404\"\/><\/a><br \/>\n1<\/p>\n<p>It is wild in Killadoon.<br \/>\nThe waves roar at you.<br \/>\n&#8216;You have to do something,&#8217;<br \/>\nEugene the horse man told us.<br \/>\n&#8216;You have to get out and do something here.<br \/>\nYou can&#8217;t just be sitting in, no matter the weather.&#8217;<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nA man stood in a small field, watching his cows feed.<br \/>\nHis elbows rested on the stone wall.<br \/>\nHis blue tractor sang Dolly Parton.<br \/>\nA bird hung upside down on the wire fence.<br \/>\nOne claw still hooked and bloody.<br \/>\nWe undid its tiny ankle then laid it down<br \/>\nfor a comfortable death.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nSnipes slid in the local marsh. Sheep abandoned their wool<br \/>\nin grass verges. A man with a car and a dog at a tiny cross<br \/>\nroads above the shore.<br \/>\nCountry music skidded into the air.<br \/>\nThe dog licked my shins, my shoes my fingers.<br \/>\n&#8216;He smells your own,&#8217; the man said.<br \/>\nHe ran his gaze over us. We were wind-sozzled, red and happy.<br \/>\n&#8216;On holidays, are you?&#8217; he said.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>2<\/p>\n<p>Later that evening a man from East London holds court<br \/>\nin the hotel bar. He reminds everyone that he used to be<br \/>\nfrom around here.<br \/>\nHe still knows everyone, he says.<br \/>\nHe winks at the girl serving drinks.<br \/>\nHer sister married someone he knows.<br \/>\nHis voice picks out memories to tell.<br \/>\nHe ran there. He hunted there.<br \/>\nHe\u2019ll never come back.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nWe were cut off from the world.<br \/>\nDidn&#8217;t look at TV or listen to the radio.<br \/>\nRead Rilke and walked five miles in the evening.<br \/>\nTravelling back we met a French man in a red car<br \/>\nin the hollowed gulp of Doo Lough valley .<br \/>\n&#8216;What&#8217;s wrong?&#8217; we ask.<br \/>\n&#8216;Nothing,&#8217; he says. He waves a hand outside his window.<br \/>\n&#8216;Just looking at the moutains and the pretty ladies.&#8217;<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>3<\/p>\n<p>Later we laugh at his strange grey curling hair.<br \/>\nHis red car and his distrustworthy face,<br \/>\nBut he had been quite normal, and in the end<br \/>\nhe was followed by string of French cyclists<br \/>\nthen a large truck whose driver hooted loud<br \/>\ninto the lough where people had died<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nlong ago with grass in their mouths,<br \/>\nsince visiting English gentlemen had<br \/>\ndecided not to feed them, but monitored<br \/>\ninstead how the bodies still gathered<br \/>\ngreen spit then drifted into the black water,<br \/>\nand sank under the lips of waves.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>1 It is wild in Killadoon. The waves roar at you. &#8216;You have to do something,&#8217; Eugene the horse man told us. &#8216;You have to get out and do something here. You can&#8217;t just be sitting in, no matter the weather.&#8217; &nbsp; A man stood in a small field, watching his cows feed. His elbows [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":77,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[298,299],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v20.2.1 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Death at Doo Lough Valley - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3229\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Death at Doo Lough Valley - The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"1 It is wild in Killadoon. The waves roar at you. &#8216;You have to do something,&#8217; Eugene the horse man told us. &#8216;You have to get out and do something here. You can&#8217;t just be sitting in, no matter the weather.&#8217; &nbsp; A man stood in a small field, watching his cows feed. 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The waves roar at you. &#8216;You have to do something,&#8217; Eugene the horse man told us. &#8216;You have to get out and do something here. You can&#8217;t just be sitting in, no matter the weather.&#8217; &nbsp; A man stood in a small field, watching his cows feed. 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