BEGIN
Begin again to the carolling birds,
To the sight of light at the window,
Begin to the roar of morning traffic
All along Pembroke Road.
Every beginning is a promise
Born in light and dying in dark,
Daily deception and exultation
Of Springtime flowering the way to work.
Begin to the pageant of queuing girls,
To the lonely arrogance of swans in the canal,
To bridges linking the past and future,
To old friends passing though with us still.
Begin to the treasures that we have squandered,
To the profit and the loss, the pleasure and pain,
Begin to the knowledge that to-morrow
Is another beginning for every man.
Begin to the loneliness that cannot end
Since it perhaps is what makes us begin,
Begin to wonder at unknown faces,
At crying birds and the sudden rain,
At branches stark in the winter sunlight,
At seagulls foraging for bread,
At couples sharing a sunny secret
Along together while making good.
Begin to the surge of the waking city,
To familiar streets that are always strange,
To words of greeting in the Dublin morning
Proving that we have come through again.
Blessed with the promise and the disappointment
That make the minutes of every day,
We step into the streets of morning
Walking the pavements of come-what-may.
Though we live in a world that thinks of ending,
That always seems about to give in,
Something that will not acknowledge conclusion
Insists that we forever begin.
--Brendan Kennelly
P.S. Many years ago, one of my students from English 40--Irish Carl--gave me a book of Kennelly's verse, and in particular this rousing poem, and though I've proven to be a poor correspondent, I've always appreciated that giving and treasured this poem.
