"The sleeping seascapes and landscapes of Sligo"

Otherworldlymirage                                                                                                                                      

Many places in Ireland can lay claim to the title of an idyllic backwater, at which a joust can be played out between otherworldly mirages and realities but one such place or townland very close to the sea, and lying at the cusp of Yeats Country: the townland of Maugherow, is perhaps one of the leading heirs to this title. About five miles west of the village of Drumcliffe (the famous resting place of WB Yeats), and within touching distance of the Sligo Atlantic, it thus falls within the category of hidden Ireland and off the beaten track.

The Sligo coastline as seen from the townland of Maugherow

Idyllic tranquility

The trinity of stones: footsteps to the brisky Atlantic with Inismurray Island in the distance

The beach and coastline are encased in a sweet vessel of peace and tranquility, and the seascape and landscape adjoining it are a pristine and pleasant throw back to the time when Ireland was the jewel of the western world. 'Though not chronicled or earmarked as one of the specific places associated with the great poet WB Yeats or part of a Yeats trail or trek, one wonders did he ever frequent this spot unbeknownst to posterity? It certainly is tinged with his presence and indeed I was moved and impelled to compose a poem at this site, using as a model, the muse of the water, just like in his mythological poem The Stolen Child.

Where lies the three stones
like rocky hirelings in the shallows
the sea painted polytones
as a tide plays its bellows
'pon the sandbars, pyramid cones,
where wisdom chills and mellows,
there the sound of feet traipsing
the feet tap of a loud bodhran,
and bird, Heron and Lapwing,
chanted for me a new amhran!

Faery, spirit, sprite, mystic,
like sunbeams on the ether
in the white moths incarnate
fan out for the earth mother!

For this beach and the seascape here are perfect candidates for the hidden landscapes of Ireland and the untouched vistas, which water the inner third eye, and make insights, a machine with a crisp and powerful motion, as manifold as the seafood, glistening here for the culinary health and soul food doyen. Just before the beach, is a natural wetland, full of marsh and lichen; and also distinctly reminding me of the natural habitat, estuaries, sandbars and wetlands of Bull Island Nature reserve in Dollymount in Dublin.

Untouched and pristine wetlands

The landscape 300 or 400 metres from here, seems to be locked to the sea, as if bosom buddies or blood brothers of the earth; and that lovely cottage in which I stayed, with its stone wall, and flanked, engulfed and surrounded by stone walls like the way a piece of crystal radiates its light through a prism, is so similiar to the stone walls of Connemara or the Aran Islands! Inside the cottage at night, the moth seemed to be omnipresent and deigned to make an appearance on several occasions, as if providence had decreed it or as if had been bidden to come by some external or ethereal presence. I was instantly reminded of another one of WB Yeats' poems The Song of Wandering Aengus and the lines: "When white moths were on the wing/ and moth-like stars were flickering out". Perhaps there is something about Sligo and particularly the hinterland and vicinity of Yeats' Country and moths? Or in such an otherworldly mirage and reverie, me thinks, could it be the spirit of Yeats or the Faeries deigning to make their presence felt and wishing me a Cead Mile Failte!?

The stone walls that proliferate Connacht and the west of Ireland are a potent cocktail!

This landscape/seascape of county Sligo is perhaps little known in comparison to Rosses Point, Knocknarea, Mullaghmore, the main stops of Yeats country and so on. However, as it's not as trampled upon, as the other places and attractions in the county, it may just have a little more authenticity and pristine otherworldliness. For in this otherworldly mirage, in which I found myself, anything is possible and the happiness and contentment bar rises a gargantuan notch, that's for sure. And so dear reader that stumble upon these thoughts and sentiments, be cognisant of this axiom: it's not always the commercial or much heralded part that's the best part!

PS A few miles from here is the townland of the Grange - near which is the start of the socalled De Cuellar Trail - the trail of the legendary Spanish Armada survivor who trekked across country, eventually returning to the Iberian Peninsula.