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‘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.

‘Sea Scarf’ and other poems by Victoria Mosley

Shiny shine   Milk on the turn midnight history muffles owl’s cry: narcissus pulsing through dull earth to release birthday colour.   I’ve become muted: afraid of the shine shine glitter hidden here as time brushes messages on parched skin.   Pacing corridor always waiting for sun – skim star-burn impatient of humdrum yearning magnificence.   Milk on the turn garden hovers to unfurl blossom of spring: new joy pulsates at the click click clunk of the white sea gate.   Sea scarf   Sea a black scarf wrapped around the harbour it’s cold tonight, so cold the wind is taut & moon hangs silent huge immobile willing.   Sea sends whispers of how it should be sailors ghosts ride high their songs mixed with mermaids breath the slink of seal at rest.   Sea calls to me I’m immune caught up beach sweeps a canvas of wind ,water ,longing connection to every other, footsteps follow I turn   sea is a black scarf enfolding me.   Mute route   Deaf with night’s hollow whispers …

The Myth and Memory Of Eavan Boland’s Latest Poems by J P O’Malley

I do not often recommend newspaper articles on Irish poetry, but I am making an exception in the case of The Examiner’s review of Eavan Boland’s latest book New and Selected Poems Eavan Boland (Carcanet). J P O’Malley offers an extensive review, some illuminating video links, and a preview of his upcoming interview with Boland at The Boogaloo (London) in this article. ‘The heroic narrative that the founding fathers of the State attempted to make a universal truth is also something that Boland’s poetry has challenged consistently. Lest we forget, the birth of the Irish nationalist myth was forged initially through poetry, which unapologetically glorified violence ‘ (Examiner) It was a similar situation in the visual arts where censorship was prevalent and the original blasphemy laws (we updated them again in 2010) were used to suppress arts, most notoriously the work of Charles Rouault. We can examine how publications were seized and often censored for crimes like obscenity. The fact that there existed before Boland an entire suppressed narrative, a body of literature by women poets, should not surprise us, although it continues to …

Recours au Poème; Poésies & Mondes Poétiques

Originally posted on Poethead:
My thanks to Matthieu Baumier, editor at Recours au Poème , and to Elizabeth Brunazzi, who published and translated four poems from my collection, Cycles (Lapwing Publications, 2013).   I am adding here Elizabeth’s translation of i and the village (after Marc Chagall) moi et le Village   (d’après Marc Chagall)   Version française, Elizabeth Brunazzi   La rosée découle en jade une lune aux trois quarts L’Amour O l’amour! Ta fleur arrachée embaume   De son parfarm ma main, bientôt bientôt me rappelant une certaine musique-   Mon destin a toujours été de quitter le lieu où la lune dansait avec la subtile Neptune!   Tout se dissout- sauf le souvenir de ton visage, ton rire en pleine rue et ta danse pour la lune!   Tes bagues de jade et ta fleur sont mes bijoux, nuançant toutes choses d’une teinte de vert, de pourpre, d’un bleu profond.   La rosée découle en jade une lune ornée comme un bijou, Sa fleur blanche fond sous le bleu.   Je me…

The Geometry of Love Between the Elements by Fióna Bolger

Caught in the Cross Hairs   I bury my face in the thickness of your hair the darkness, the softness, the smell raw brain sweat, your innermost thoughts desire become scent   beneath the softness the hard skull skin a barrier you need and I want to penetrate   to enter see the wiring observe my image upside down in the back of your head then turn and peer through your eyes   I’d see the world as you   You’ve stolen my tongue   I thought I had the power in dreams I knelt at the chopping board an awkward sacrificial lamb I brought the cleaver down silencing my babble   but you held the knife and while I slept you forced my lips apart and cut at the roots ever the skilled operator you stitched me up needling the thread to connect the severed ends   I can still make sounds some almost words they think they understand but my tongue is in your hands   From The Geometry of Love Between the …