Happy Birthday, Christopher/Hugh/a Ùisdeain

Hear him reading his works here.
And here's a poem, The Wind-bags
Rain-beaten stones: great tussocks of dead grass
And stagnant waters throwing leaden lights
To leaden skies: a rough-maned wind that bites
With aimless violence at the clouds that pass,
Roaring, black-joweled, and bull-like in the void,
And I, in wild and boundless consciousness,
A brooding chaos, feel within me press
The corpse of Time, aborted, cold, negroid.
Aimless lightnings play intermittently,
Diffuse, vacant, dully, athwart the stones,
Involuntary thunder slips from me
And growl, inconsequently, hither, thither,
--And now converse, see-saws of sighs and groans,
Oblivion and Eternity together!
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