Gone is the Seannachie
Gone is the seannachie, the satire that raised the blister.
Gone the sharp, intellectual, the schoolmaster we all feared,
The gales of laughter over the pint,
And the tears for the bronze smith’s acid scarred hands.
He’s gone like Declan before,
And like Declan will his voice and face stay with us.
But more of the man lives in his songs,
That agile scalpel wit, barbed ambiguities,
precision of rhyme and metre.
Grieve for this bard, but mourn with pride,
For we have known him.
Vale John Dengate.
John and Jenni Cole Warner, August 2013
This ode was featured in the August 2013 ‘Singabout’ Newsletter