The Seanchai

We Irish have a tradition of story telling that dates back beyond Christian times to the Celtic story tellers. The Seanchai (The Story Teller)

Another sod
Is tossed onto the fire
Sending sparks aloft and
Scented smoke into the chill air.
The Seanchai taps his staff
Three times on the frosted ground
The people of the village
Gather close around
And a hush falls over those
Who sit on crate and pail
And wait with respect
For him to tell his tale
Travelling Storyteller
Of an ancient time
Telling our peoples stories
In spoken word and ryhme.
Spinning stories from
The frozen autumn night
Weaving images of heroes
Tales of ladies fair and bright
With word and gesture
He build images in the air
Not stories. But old memories
To excite the people gathered there.
And he passes down the histories
To the generations as they pass
The tales and songs and poems
So that they will be with us to the last.

© Dave Kavanagh @

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