When the master was calling the roll
At the primary school in Collegelands,
You were meant to call back Anseo
And raise your hand 
As your name occurred.
Anseo, meaning here, here and now,
All present and correct,
Was the first word of Irish I spoke.
The last name on the ledger
Belonged to Joseph Mary Plunkett Ward
And was followed, as often as not,
By silence, knowing looks, 
A nod and a wink, the master's droll
'And where's our little Ward-of-court?'


I remember the first time he came back
The master had sent him out
Along the hedges
To weigh up for himself and cut
A stick with which he would be beaten.
After a while, nothing was spoken;
He would arrive as a matter of course
With an ash-plant, a salley-rod.
Or, finally, the hazel-wand
He had whittled down to a whip-lash,
Its twist of red and yellow lacquers
Sanded and polished,
And altogether so delicately wrought
That he had engraved his initials on it.


I last met Joseph Mary Plunkett Ward
In a pub just over the Irish border.
He was living in the open,
in a secret camp
On the other side of the mountain.
He was fighting for Ireland,
Making things happen.
And he told me, Joe Ward,
Of how he had risen through the ranks
To Quartermaster, Commandant:
How every morning at parade
His volunteers would call back Anseo
And raise their hands
As their names occurred.

Added: on March 10th, 2005 at 3:20 AM | Viewed: 2039 times | Comments (3)

Poet: Paul Muldoon
Poem: Anseo
Volume: Why Brownlee Left
Year: Published/Written in 1980

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Anseo, has received 3 comments. Click here to read them, and perhaps post a comment of your own. Of course you can also always discuss poems by Paul Muldoon with others on the Poetry Connection poetry forum!