#Irish #NobelPrize #XXCentury #XXICentury
As a child, they could not keep me… And old pumps with buckets and win… I loved the dark drop, the trapped… Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss… One, in a brickyard, with a rotted…
As you plaited the harvest bow You implicated the mellowed silenc… In wheat that does not rust But brightens as it tightens twist… Into a knowable corona,
I loved to carry Her violin case, its nose In air, its back end Nice and heavy, the balance Factored in and factored out.
I was six when I first saw kitten… Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the sc… Into a bucket; a frail metal sound… Soft paws scraping like mad. But… Was soon soused. They were slung…
Late August, given heavy rain and… For a full week, the blackberries… At first, just one, a glossy purpl… Among others, red, green, hard as… You ate that first one and its fle…
Her scarf a la Bardot, In suede flats for the walk, She came with me one evening For air and friendly talk. We crossed the quiet river,
So winter closed its fist And got it stuck in the pump. The plunger froze up a lump In its throat, ice founding itself Upon iron. The handle
I can feel the tug of the halter at the nape of her neck, the wind on her naked front. It blows her nipples
The piper coming from far away is… With a whitewash brush for a sporr… Wobbling round you, a kitchen chai… Upside down on your shoulder, your… Pretending to tuck the bag beneath…
He would drink by himself And raise a weathered thumb Towards the high shelf, Calling another rum And blackcurrant, without
Fishermen at Ballyshannon Netted an infant last night Along with the salmon. An illegitimate spawning, A small one thrown back
When all the others were away at… I was all hers as we peeled potato… They broke the silence, let fall o… Like solder weeping off the solder… Cold comforts set between us, thin…
Air from another life and time and… Pale blue heavenly air is supporti… A white wing beating high against… And yes, it is a kite! As when on… All of us there trooped out
It is December in Wicklow: Alders dripping, birches Inheriting the last light, The ash tree cold to look at. A comet that was lost
The wintry haw is burning out of s… crab of the thorn, a small light f… wanting no more from them but that… the wick of self-respect from dyin… not having to blind them with illu…