All posts tagged: Irish poetry

‘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.

AND AGAMEMNON DEAD : An Anthology of Early Twenty First Century Irish Poetry

Originally posted on Michael J. Whelan – Writer:
And Agamemnon DeadAn Anthology of Early Twenty First Century Irish PoetryEdited by Peter O’Neill & Walter Ruhlmann Hi everyone, I’m really happy to announce that a brand new anthology of contemporary Irish poetry has been published today (St Patrick’s Day) in Paris and I am also delighted to say that I have five poems included in the collection alongside a number of exciting and interesting new voices coming out of Ireland in the these early years of the 21st Century. And Agamemnon Dead An Anthology of Early Twenty First Century Irish Poetry, Edited by Peter O’Neill & Walter Ruhlmann is published by Muavaise Graine (Paris 2015) – see https://www.facebook.com/mgversion2datura and among its 187 pages you will find poetry from Michael McAloran — Amos Greig — Dylan Brennan — Christine Murray — Arthur Broomfield — Peter O’ Neill — Rosita Sweetman — Michael J. Whelan — Anamaría Crowe Serrano — Peadar O’ Donoghue — Strider Marcus Jones — Colm Kearns — John Saunders — Kevin Higgins — Paul Casey…

I Was Swallowed by a Harry Clarke Window and Other Poems by Niamh Boyce

I was swallowed by a Harry Clark window.   All that flesh. So exquisitely etched. Decked in magenta, Prussian, cobalt, lemon even the halos are mandarin. And, oh so sweet are those cool palms that peek from viridian pashminas to pray and bless.   I’m on the side altar, reverent, gazing mouth open, keeping clear of the sacristy (old habits die hardest) when the scalding tangerine of Saint John’s robe pours down my throat. Burnt, I douse my   tongue in a panel of inky night. Graze stars, how they bite! And bite, and bite…   Fully digested, I stretch on a glass horizon that peaks like a breast. Oh, all here is holy, and all here is sex.   I Was Swallowed By A Harry Clarke Window was published by New Irish Writing Magazine   Frida Kahlo   Eyes me from the blue wall of my semi d in bare necked upbraiding majesty.   How luscious is my pain, she exclaims and I, can produce it, for you, again and again and again.   …

Kate O’Shea is a crack poet

Eggs   His poems are words upon words like eggs smeared with henshit. They could be free range or organic – who knows? Too calculated to be risky. I buy 30 for 1.99 in Liberties Market and dodge small boys with girls’ earrings who have never heard of Jackson Pollock but make an impression on the bottom of Francis Street and day-trippers, a stone’s throw from the Bad Art Gallery which is pretty all right if you like Mia Funk and well-built women doing dirty things with bananas. That’s the problem with men who are too into blowjobs more words upon words like eggs smeared with henshit – stylised, idolised.   Eggs is © Kate O’Shea   Tadpole   Misery heaped on misery like an Irish Sunday dinner. It’s hard to swallow; lives like this happen to people that sprouted dreams like Mr Potato head. Once fat faces chipped away by keeping body and soul a hive of useless colony, the queen bee washed-out and martyred. Even back then with bamboo rod and fishing net, catching …

Review: All Stepped / Undone – by Michael McAloran.

the griefscape as no-place: All Stepped / Undone – by Michael McAloran. endless ribcage of the sky / the glut of blood beneath and a pulse of shit / dry your eyes / it’s just beginning ( p123 ,  all stepped / undone – ) is © Michael McAloran All Stepped /Undone- is Michael McAloran’s fifth full poetry collection, and his second full collection with Oneiros Press. Tracing a line through McAloran’s work to date, one can discern a drive to whittle his poetic voice to its essential core. All Stepped /Undone- is sometimes a griefscape, the collection is by turns both nihilistic and elegiac in its tone: as if to –   cylindrical    echo(es)   bled winds of    the unspoken   spasm lock of the atoned blood    no not enough   paling into birthing as if to ….   (ah                        .spit) (p54 , as if to – from in thin dreaming- ) is © Michael McAloran   In structural terms All Stepped /Undone is loosely tripartite, however it is not as structurally underpinned as in McAloran’s In Damage Seasons …