How many paintings did Cezanne paint of Mont Sainte-Victoire? In different light, from different angles, at different times, in different seasons, different weathers.
I look at the Gap and see the mountains change chameleon-like through the course of a day, much less a year. Irish weather is as changeable as it gets: bright sunshine alternates with rain frequently, not in a season, but in a day, an hour. With the shifting clouds, shifting colours; shifting cloudscapes. In driving rain, the mood changes: darker shades seem to bring darker moods. In mist, the mountains become vague and mysterious; suggestions of other things.
All in all, this place is a dream for landscape painters, but for poets too.
Croaghonagh at Barnesmore in Donegal from a particular angle is a fearsome-looking cliff, from other angles less so. But with the never-ending procession of changing weather types, it seems almost alive. I wish I had the painter's skill to convey this, indeed, I wish I had greater skill in poetry to achieve it. But that, of course, hasn't stopped me yet.
Croaghonagh
This morning, cloud
streamed as jauntily from its neck
as any scarf that ever trailed
backward over a 1920’s Roadster.
At three, threatening
fiercely,
it glared across the valley
with a thunder-rolled brow.
After sunset, the light reflected
off the burnished
undersides of clouds,
dressed it in a burgundy evening gown.
Come dawn, it will be transparent;
birds lighter than seeds
will glide through its space
on elegant outstretched wings.
.
