Belfast

I love Belfast – where I was a student, where I first went to work, where I made lifelong friends.

A city surrounded by hills – low hills to the east, low mountains to the west.

I never tire of the way the light constantly changes on Divis and Black Mountain and Cavehill.

I love the way the mountains seem to start at the foot of the streets running east and west from the City Hall.

Nine students from Ashfield Girls’ School in East Belfast have written a poem about the city which captures its essence, its character.

They were inspired by a poem in Irish - The Song of Amergin – written around 1,000 BC and to which they were introduced by the Donegal poet, writer and broadcaster, Frank Galligan who visits schools around Ireland, inspiring children to read and write poetry.

In old Irish the poem runs: “Am gáeth i muir ar domni / Am tond trethan i tír / Am fúaim mara / Am dam secht ndírend,” which translates as: “I am a wind in the sea / I am a sea-wave upon the land / I am the sound of the sea / I am a stag of seven combats.”

The Ashfield students took the rhythm and metre of the Song of Amergin and wrote the Song of Ashfield as a paean to Belfast, and to East Belfast – their part of the city – in particular.

It’s a wonderful poem and it sums up much of what I feel about Belfast.

 SONG OF ASHFIELD

I am the school bell that peals in Avoniel

I am CS Lewis exploring my wardrobe

I am the crepes in St George’s Market on Saturday morning

I am the ghost in Scrabo Tower

I am a tick-tock in the Albert Clock

I am the fireworks display in the Odyssey

I am the gills on the Salmon of Knowledge in the Lagan

I am Cavehill, where the harsh winds blow

I am the oil dripping on to the boats in the shipyard

I am the granite in the Mourne Mountains, covered in a haunting mist

I am a neighbour of Van the Man’s on Cyprus Avenue

I am Madame George going south on North Street

I am the club swung by Rory McIlroy on Sunday afternoon

I am the lace on the boot of George Best

I am the lost suitcase at George Best Airport

I am the bird following the plane’s vapour trail

I am the smell of cinnamon at Christmas at the City Hall

I am a mashed Comber spud with gravy

I am the unsolved mystery in Mount Stewart

I am the Titanic slipping down an April sea

I am an iceberg floating in my memory

We are Samson and Goliath

The yellow cranes waiting for our ship to return

I am Belfast

Belfast is me.