Author: Christine-Elizabeth Murray

Made of Nothing’s Lucid Play? Christine Murray’s Tree-Step

Originally posted on On My Contemporaries:
EDIT 1 “bind” if there are birds here then they are of stone draught of birds / flesh bone wing claw in grass rilled etch gathers to her nets dust and fire / tree-step (again) bird claw impinge and lift. surely light would retain in silica’s cast or flaw ? by Christine Murray from Deep Water Literary Journal 2015, Issue 2 This small poem — “bind” by Christine Murray — carries the jolt of discovery in its small body. It resists the imagination, as Wallace Stevens would expect: but only to that fine degree that aids discovery. I’d say this poem has “the shape” of discovery. It has the inner form and concision of an archaic anonymous “fragment” from Homeric times: it brings us close to the origins of the craft of poetry. It opens with a note of critical mindfulness that recalls a pre-Socratic thinker against the mythical poets: “if” there are birds here they are not real birds, they are of stone. Is “here” the poem? Does…

‘Bind’ by Chris Murray

Bind   if there are birds here then they are of stone   draught of birds / flesh bone wing claw in grass,   rilled etch gathers to her nets dust and fire / tree-step (again)   bird claw impinge and lift.   surely light would retain in silica’s cast or flaw ?   bind #2   it gathers outside the perimeter not wanton gargoyle nor eagle it is of-one-piece   seamed   migratory pattern of   umber dawns rolling their black frenzy down condensed corridors   bind I and II was first published in Deep Water Literary Journal (August 2015) Thanks to Tom and Eve O’Reilly at Deep Water Literary Journal for publishing ‘bind’. The new DWLJ is online now and it is well worth a visit. I am adding here a link to Tom D’Evelyn’s blog. Tom wrote about the ideas in ‘bind’. I am, and have been very grateful to Tom who has written so graciously about my work for sometime now. Poets require readers who react to and understand the work, especially when …

‘The Dream Clock’ and other visual poetry by Susan Connolly

Susan Connolly’s first collection of poetry For the Stranger was published by the Dedalus Press in 1993. She was awarded the Patrick and Katherine Kavanagh Fellowship in Poetry in 2001. Her second collection Forest Music was published by Shearsman Books in 2009. Shearsman published her chapbook The Sun-Artist: a book of pattern poems in 2013. She lives in Drogheda, Co. Louth.

‘Mulcair’ and other poems by Amanda Bell

The beauty of the game   is lost on me when I watch you play. I see the curve of your cheek, the rounded base of your skull – once a custom-fit for my palm – and feel again the warm weight of your incipience.   No more walnut-snug in my armour your head now bobs around the pitch and air shrieks with the thwack of plastic against wood, against bone.   (first published by The Ofi Press)   Dark Days   i.m. Savita Halappanavar   Suspended at the end of Krishna Paksha, the moon is a sickle freeze-framed in the night sky.   The fireworks have been cancelled, replaced by candles and a vision of you dancing on the cusp.   These are dark days between Diwali and Advent, waiting   for the moon to wax. (first published by the Burning Bush 2)   Troglodytes   On visiting Lascaux cave for the 70th anniversary of its discovery   Inland, the road torcs into forest. Among walnut trees, the house vibrates with life: bees, hummingbird …

‘Delta’ and other poems by Stephanie Conn

Wie is de vrouw on de overkant?   Who is the woman on the other side? It was the only phrase that stuck in months of pre-trip conversation class.   As I struggled with the syntax, it became clear you were a natural, spending hours in the lab perfecting your grasp.   You couldn’t wait to track down a local to ask how to say I love you? Ik hou van you, you said, content with your acquisition.   You led me in the appropriate response, encouraged me to practise daily. Ik hou ook van you; all it took to keep you happy.   The towns we visited belonged to you, their guttural place names all tongue and throat; Groningen, Maastricht, Utrecht.   You strode through their stone streets listing the features of gothic churches, as I fumbled with a bi-lingual map.   (first published in the Yellow Nib)   Delta   The dilapidated hut at the sand’s edge is a trick of the light, and shadows lift to reveal a delicate arrangement of driftwood, …