Some of you who may know me away from my lighthouse obsession will be aware that I write a lot of verse, mainly humorous, but also some serious. I admit I find much poetry indecipherable (as with most art) and totally reject poetry where you have to do a lot of research to get what the poet is really trying to say.
The following poem would probably be dismissed by today's poetical intelligentsia as maudlin and romantic but I find it moving that the author, Rachel W. Hughes, has taken the time and trouble to write down her homesick thoughts in the medium of poetry. This extract comes from the Belfast Newsletter of Saturday November 17th 1923 (page 9), when Rue Light was brand, spanking new.
(I have been unable to find out anything about the author. An Amazon book, "Rathlin Lights and other verse" is currently 'unavailable.' The title suggests 'Rathlin Lights' is probably her most significant, or most widely-read, poem.)
The East Light.....
and the West Light...
and the little Light on Rue.
