(Inspired by a praise-poem by Thomas A. Clarke)   On the one hand To the ghosts of islands, the Colonsay of corncrakes and white sand To the rootlessness of exile, the sweet oblivion of the whisky bottle To all those women incapable of keeping their men To the wail of babies given away at birth, voices of cousins I’ve never seen To the sweet tin of my greedy childhood hands To your independence born of cruelty, your cruelty born of poverty To the restlessness of the journeyman carpenter, my grandfather who loved you in passing To the tight-laced heart…