Glendalough Hostel Revisited Poem by Kevin Kiely

To Gary Snyder who asked: ‘Do the Irish walk around Ireland in their ancient ceremonies? '

Evening
I drop my knapsack on the floor
among friendly backpackers
their accents reveal:
American, German, French, Dutch, Australian

in the self-catering kitchen
names written with black marker
on foodstuffs in the fridge
gas jets glow as in a school laboratory
we rub our hands, cold and hungry

morning is early here: many are awake before seven
the bonsai slopes of the twin-lake valley
might be anywhere
until sleep is washed away

voices at reception mention Cullen's Rock
Drumgoff Crossroads, Glencree
camping by the river for free

the climb sweats me out
the green of trees, millions of them (it seems)
take in a breeze without ruffling

swopping snack food with fellow explorers
getting information about what's up ahead

I am re-reading Hesse's
The Glass Bead Game

nature compares to the inner dimensions
sending out a message: live with this book
boots, the clothes on my back, water
a Wicklow Way Map, pocket money
beauty and astonishment out on the trail