All posts filed under: How Words Play

Recent Additions to The Fired! Archive at RASCAL (QUB)

  The RASCAL database at Queen’s University, Belfast, has hosted Fired! Irish Poets since early February 2019.  Fired! Irish Poets was established in the summer of 2017 to address issues of marginalisation and the neglect of Irish women poets in both the contemporary and historical poetry canon. Recent additions to the database include Eavan Boland (1944-2020): Obituaries and tributes for Eavan Boland, Hidden Collections: The Value of Irish Literary Archives, under the headings, ‘Critical Failures’, ‘The Shape of the literary archive’, ‘Women Writers in the archive’, and ‘The living archive‘, by Lucy Collins for The Irish University Review (50), and Periodical Codes: ‘Centre’, ‘Margin’ and Gender in Poetry Ireland Review during the early 1980s” by Laura Loftus. EDIT: 28/06/2020 Another recent addition to the Fired! archive went live today Why Uncomplicated Recovery Isn’t Enough: Rhoda Coghill, Her Letters, and the Fired! Movement by Kathy D’Arcy. The RASCAL Database is an electronic gateway to research resources relating to Ireland. The site can be used to search or browse information about a wide range of research and special …

“I Have to Believe that the Body Aspires to a Soul” and other poems by Ann Pedone

  I Have to Believe that the Body Aspires to a Soul I tell you/there was something about that woman/her face/undiluted/ lips open/as if she were waiting/for the sky to come/down on her. There was something about it that/I needed to know/something that/I wanted to remember/something/it was the light/that mattered/this woman/gathered/the light/ held it in-side of her/I should have/told her this/but I suspected/myself/what I know/and don’t know of the world/seemed/immense/I should have told her this/but she crossed the street/she was/gone/and I had/nothing to do with it.   Love Song #7 you are for me as you cannot be for yourself (a gathering) I return to without demand with-out diminishment your dark eyes amethyst hidden whose darkness is for a me a form of prayer a place of love’s rest   The Sea I was going down in an elevator. I was in a building on the Upper West Side. I remembered a dream I had about Jacques Lacan. He was sitting with a woman in a hotel bar in Paris. She told him she had …

“Birthday” and other poems by Kimberly Reyes

  Drink Before the War The bells of St. Fin Barre, off again Five faint chimes and warring finches 2:41am birdsongs sculpt slim air Rollers, tits, a fidgeting pigeon Crashes on a glass ceiling Neck feathers bobbing, weaving warning: No one with roots doubled under Can survive these days I tried             I’ve travelled             I’m tired Maybe lyrebird or starling (Define invasive species?) Can’t tell if it’s a crow or my stomach God protect me her sensual coo   We are all drowned out If you respect the dead and recall where they died by this time tomorrow there will be nowhere to walk —Katie Ford I believe in ghosts Pray for hauntings On the road from my grandmother’s grave Clipping through terrified reforests Kinderschrecks and pelting rain Salt and fog through the veil, ether Eleven speeding hours on I-95 I, alone, wondered Which lands aren’t haunted? South Carolina is hailing blood Whole orphaned babies Where are the living? Five Points            …

‘After Rembrandt’s Women’ by Iseult Healy

  Delicious She was no Eve this apple of a woman whose red dress surrounded the flowing flesh of twin hillocks, hung over the ridge of her cheeks to flow down to stocking tops Hot and juicy, easy-peel woman They ate at their pleasure wiped her juice from their jaws munched to the skeletal core that framed her bitter pips swallowed her inside them where she lay hurt for a day or two till they spat her out without a backward glance to take root once more   Him 1 He kissed me tenderly as he stabbed my pulsing neck vicious as he twisted the knife leaving me wretched in unbearable pain tearing at his face Him 2 He kissed me tenderly as his pulsing cock stabbed me in a vicious way leaving me wretched in unbearable pain tearing at his face   After Rembrandt’s Women Nipples sucked while I work the brush to the canvas the vermilion and ochre matching my puckered skin standing ready for pleasure Your tongue-tip a missile of heat and …

A Celebration of Irish women poets on Bloomsday 2020

‘Words Like Stars’ by Roisin Ní Neachtain How they flow unformed Then fix themselves like the stars Shivering and held up Worshipped And I And they Staggering and squawking Sweating and squabbling Night and day Wobbling words Singing Dust Dust Dust Corrosive mantles Wrought to a stain Stain us Stain the water to the earth Hold these shapes in stasis Their lungs sooty and quivering How they wake songs in the trenches And beg for absolution © Roisin Ní Neachtain   Roisin Ní Neachtain is an emerging Irish poet and artist with Asperger’s. Her work is held in international private collections and she runs a blog featuring monthly interviews with women artists. She is currently working on her first collection of poetry. ‘Cegenated’ by Anora Mansour Here is the dusk baby plucked for the reading of luck the tumbledown tarot rhymes menthol and black stubbed grime. Here is the child indigo whose mumbled tale is Esperanto paid for with a slap and a diva’s shriek. And she a frozen caste freak watches the blind elephant …