‘Fugit Amor’ and other poems by Catherine Phil MacCarthy’

The Chamber One ear to chimney-breast, on bended knee, better to hear trapped wing-beats, he prized ajar the black ornate cast hood. Then, slid his arm inside the flue. As though one gloved limb were deeply sunk in hind-quarters of a cow, to guide the head in utero. Though here, no calf in hairy smear or bloody stink was sensed. First, soot sprinkled rolled up sleeve of shirt; his thumb and fingers gripped wiry claws and held. Down, gently, drew his haul into the room. Disheveled. Stained. Feathery mass weighed his hands. He cupped the ample beating heart and walked. The bird was fond of warmth, or slightly stunned. For seconds brooded. Then, lifted wings and hopped onto the window ledge. And flew. A freed white dove. The Chamber is published in The Irish Times. Fugit Amor At the Musee Rodin I looked for us among the lovers. We were never that fierce, a couple twinned in flight white marble bodies all delicate curve back to back lying across air. And yet. How those arms reach over his head seize her shoulder, her breast, how she strains beyond his hands free and fleet as a bird. They were once a world lost, abandoned flesh, and in that searing rush how could they not fall apart? Look at mouths averted, bodies caught in space. He is cast over her facing the heavens, she is facing Earth. Stretched on that rack, desire holds them still, governs her tongue, consumes him. Here, see how love fares beyond death, tender as hell, transports like doves’ wings.   Fugit Amor is published in Suntrap, Blackstaff Press (Belfast 2007). An early version of this poem was published in The Irish Times.   The First Rod: Mackerel at Inis Oírr Cast the line off the pier summer nights into dark stillness, read the dusk blind, Atlantic waters at full tide. Wrist so deft and light arching the throw high and wide now, all six feathers kiss the black surface like stars shooting without trace where a shoal in its own sweet hour clots and ripples a current to the hands, charged at the least quiver to reel in the bowed line, amid whoops and cries, at pains to land the weight of this prize, wriggling and twitching with silvery light. The First Rod: Mackerel at Inis Oír is published in Suntrap, Blackstaff Press, Belfast 2007. An early version of this poem was published in The Irish Times. Artichokes From early summer their sage heads intricate as a mosaic, swelled to infant cabbages like three we picked when you came flirting and peeling, ivory leaves to dip in melted butter and tease shy flesh between our teeth. The rest got spiked purple hair the week you left, tips festering to pincushion blue and remorsefully hanging their necks. By November our world was shrunk to a brown withered husk, hearts turning to skeins in my hands. Artichokes was first published in The Irish Times, May 11, 1991 and is published in This Hour of the Tide (Salmon 1994)

Catherine Phil MacCarthy’s collections include The Invisible Threshold (2012), Suntrap (2007), the blue globe (1998), This Hour of the Tide (1994), and One Room an Everywhere, a novel, (2003). She is a former editor of Poetry Ireland Review (1998/99). She received The Lawrence O Shaughnessy Award for Irish Poetry in 2014 and won the Fish International Poetry Prize in 2010. A forthcoming collection, Daughters of the House is due for publication. ‘Fugit Amor’ and other poems are © Catherine Phil MacCarthy