#Irish #NobelPrize #XXCentury #XXICentury
All I know is a door into the dar… Outside, old axles and iron hoops… Inside, the hammered anvil’s short… The unpredictable fantail of spark… Or hiss when a new shoe toughens i…
The pockets of our greatcoats full… No kitchens on the run, no strikin… We moved quick and sudden in our o… The priest lay behind ditches with… A people hardly marching... on the…
And some time make the time to dri… Into County Clare, along the Fla… In September or October, when the… And the light are working off each… So that the ocean on one side is w…
All year the flax-dam festered in… Of the townland; green and heavy h… Flax had rotted there, weighted do… Daily it sweltered in the punishin… Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebo…
Vowels ploughed into other: opened… The mildest February for twenty y… Is mist bands over furrows, a deep… Vulnerable to distant gargling tra… Our road is steaming, the turned-u…
The timeless waves, bright, siftin… Came dazzling around, into the roc… Came glinting, sifting from the A… To posess Aran. Or did Aran rush to throw wide arms of rock around…
Fishermen at Ballyshannon Netted an infant last night Along with the salmon. An illegitimate spawning, A small one thrown back
We have no prairies To slice a big sun at evening— Everywhere the eye concedes to Encrouching horizon, Is wooed into the cyclops’ eye
Perch on their water perch hung in… Near the clay bank in alder dapple… Perch they called ‘grunts’, little… I saw and I see in the river’s gl… That is passable through, but they…
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…
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
“We were killing pigs when the Yanks arrived. A Tuesday morning, sunlight and gutter-blood Outside the slaughter house.
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,
She taught me what her uncle once… How easily the biggest coal block… If you got the grain and the hamme… The sound of that relaxed alluring… Its co-opted and obliterated echo,