I'll go over to that--
reciting a couple of political poems
about freedom of expression, which I'm also concerned with.
This one is called "Mockery Against the Irish Censorship."
It's a take off on Irish form.
And I did it rather deliberately.
And it comes with a name like Dugan,
you get accused of what in New York we ac call being a Third
Avenue Irishman that somebody who pretends to be Irish
but really isn't.
I'm not really Irish but straight
American called "Mockery Against the Irish Censorship,"
"Mockery Against the Irish Censorship."
Ireland was better in its dream with the oppressor foreign.
Now, it's off leaves home to Keane, and its voice is orange.
It is a sad revolt for lovings health
that beats its enemy and then itself.
Now that Irish men are free to enslave themselves together,
they say that it is better they do worse to one another
than have the English do them good in an exchange of joy
for blood.
Just as alien pious black that greens of lover's commerce,
rehearsing victory they lack a government to fill its promise.
Worse, law has slapped the silly harp
that was there once and only art out.
And I am sorry to be flip and narrowly disrespectful.
But since I laid at home in it, I
stooped and take a mouthful to splatter
the thick walls of their heads with American insult.
Irish sense is dead.