#Irish #NobelPrize #XXCentury #XXICentury
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,
When you plunged The light of Tuscany wavered And swung through the pool From top to bottom. I loved your wet head and smashing…
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
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,
To-night, a first movement, a puls… As if the rain in bogland gathered… To slip and flood: a bog-burst, A gash breaking open the ferny bed… Your back is a firm line of easter…
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…
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
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…
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…
It is December in Wicklow: Alders dripping, birches Inheriting the last light, The ash tree cold to look at. A comet that was lost
A shadow his father makes with joi… And thumbs and fingers nibbles on… Like a rabbit’s head. He understa… He will understand more when he go… There he draws smoke with chalk th…
The tightness and the nilness roun… when the car stops in the road, th… its make and number and, as one be… towards your window, you catch sig… on a hill beyond, eyeing with inte…
There, in the corner, staring at h… The cap juts like a gantry’s cross… Cowling plated forehead and sledge… Speech is clamped in the lips’ vic… That fist would dropp a hammer on…
Up, black, striped and demasked li… At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tai… Paraded the skunk. Night after ni… I expected her like a visitor. The refrigerator whinnied into sil…
“We were killing pigs when the Yanks arrived. A Tuesday morning, sunlight and gutter-blood Outside the slaughter house.