Beady-eye
19.11.09
Moya Cannon : Carrying the Songs
From "Whin" :
In May, it lit hills and headlands
Barbed saffron, it trumpeted summer
Before we'd heard of Van Gogh,
we'd felt the hit of that yellow
5.8.09
Michael Hartnett : A Farewell to Engish : Secular Prayers
there is a surfeit of fungi
from the wet ground
in a moist luminosity
and a noise of pheasants
under fern :
fruit in scarlet complexes
on haw and dog-rose :
toxic slime on fungus
stalks and the sleep-scented
pall of the autumn ash.
all things age,
all things are harvest
to themselves
2.8.09
Deers of Africa that have delighted me
top left impala, dik-dik, springbok
black-faced impala, kudu, red hartebeeste,
sable antelope (caprivi), gemsbok (sossesvlai), kudu
Brendan Kennelly : Reservoir Voices (published 2009) from "Outsider"
to see things in a way those who belong
do not. I tend to enjoy what I will
never possess. I sing a different song.
I know there are others who sing it too,
who also live in a place called nowhere.
It's a privilege to see what is beautiful
in worlds that ignore me. Sit there,
see those who will never intrude on my
knowing how a lonely heart is a multitude
Brendan Kennelly : Reservoir Voices (published 2009) from "Grace"
In spite of the unspeakables
and the unbearables
I exist
Brendan Kennelly : Reservoir Voices (published 2009) from "Hope"
Like lightning in dark skies
I love to brighten up dark lives
and rid sad hearts of lonely cries
26.10.08
Eoghan Ó Tuairisc (1919-1982) trad. Gabriel Fitzmaurice
From Bóithre Bána
in the loneliness of my mind
I listen to a snipe's harsh shriek
in the silence of the marsh
disturb the dreams of the deceased
back again along the roadways
branches topped by melting gold
sweet intoxicating evening
the spell of birdsong throughout the world
Sent from my iPhone
Art Ó Maolfabhail (translation Gabriel Fitzmaurice)
From "Enniscorthy and an aspect of history"
but the ugly sins of history must be pardoned
Sent from my iPhone
Michael Hartnett
I walk West Limerick where I still
find Irish spoken in my native hills:
I abandoned English - for good or ill?
I avoid the living, don't like the dead,
my friends don't agree with me, nor I with them.
With today's poetry I find no link,
I laugh forests of pens,
I cry tears of ink.
translation by Gabriel Fifzmaurice
Sent from my iPhone
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