An Grá Geal

An Grá Geal (_{The Bright Love / The True Beloved})

Introduction:

An Grá Geal Or _{(The Bright Love / The True Beloved)} is written in the ancient tradition of Personifying the land as a beloved – a custom deep in Irish poetry, where Éire, Banba and Fódhla _{( names of ancient Gaelic goddesses who have a large presence in Gaelic Mythology)} were names given to the earth itself, seen as living, enduring, and worthy of devotion.

This poem follows a subtle path: it begins as a love lyric, speaking of closeness, touch, and affection, and only reveals its true, subject in the final lines. It draws inspiration from ‘The Maigue Poets’ love of local landscape, Seamus Heaney’s attention to stone and soil, the vision and sacrifice of the 1916 generation, and Thomas Kinsella’s quiet, unbroken connection to our heritage.

The lines of Gaeilge or Irish (as we in Ireland call it) are placed to to stand as a kind of chant ( echo the voice of the land itself – timeless, rooted,) and Carrying their own strength. They honour the language itself, and all the poets who shaped it, who sang of this place in words that outlasts time.This is a love poem not for a person, but for the place that shapes us, holds our history, and calls us home.

Glossary / Pronounciation

An Grá Geal = On Graw Gy-al

Faoi ghlas is faoi fhéar = Fwee glass iss fwee ay-ar

Cloch agus cladh = Clokh ah-gus klaw

Uisce beo = Ish-ka byoh

Gaeil is Gall = Gayl iss Gowl

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An Grá Geal
(The Bright Love / The True Beloved)





I walk where her shoulders rise and slope,
soft slopes where heather clings;
Faoi ghlas is faoi fhéar.
Her breath is the breeze that brushes my brow,
her voice the stream that sings and springs.



Her skin is moss and sun-warmed stone,
fern and furze where faint winds fall;
Cloch agus cladh.
Her hair is high grass, hushed and heavy,
holding the haze that hides the wall.



I lean on her loam when light grows low,
drink deep from her dark, cool hidden springs.
Uisce beo.
She bears the burden of bards and battles,
all seasons' secrets, all songs she brings.




Her peace is in the quiet glens,
her power in the pounding tide;
through frost and flame and falling rain,
she stands unbroken, open, wide -
the heart that held our history,
the love that will not be denied.



She knows the names that never fade -
Gaeil is Gall.
Old stories carried by stream and stone,
not flesh, nor frame, nor fleeting face:
the land we loved,
the land we love,
the land that calls us home.







Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald 
All Rights Reserved 

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