All posts tagged: The Honest Ulsterman

“Finding Symmetry” and other poems by Jo Burns

Conchita reads Pablo’s letter to God (while he is painting)   Your committee for time-keeping has ruled diphtheria a highly unpunctilious event. By consensus you can’t seem to remember this being planned into any agendas.   You call me precocious but Pablo, honestly it’s you that Mama has always adored, Papa ignores me, I can’t even draw. It’s all planned for you so perfectly.   You’re a stickler for timeliness, and planned these years differently. You have the domestic dates regulated but I heard you, silently   trying prayer on for size, gambling paint for my life. You waver clandestine. Your brushstrokes will sacrifice us all and I will be the first in line.   First published by Helen Ivory at Ink Sweat and Tears for National Poetry Day. http://www.inksweatandtears.co.uk/pages/?p=12146   Mrs Violet Schiff at The Majestic   At this gathering of society horsemen behind Parisian oyster cream gates, Proust is here. He drives me insane. Bloody Joyce is silent and seems irritated.   I’m waiting for you Pablo. Please wear, for me, that faixa …

“Disarticulation” and other poems by Clare McCotter

Selfie With Thelma after Thelma and Louise   In the Southwest desert shedding turquoise on an old man’s palm she trades time for a beat up Stetson hat. Only a day or two since she posed with rose red lips black sun glasses and Audrey Hepburn headscarf marking the start of their journey with the big Polaroid held at arm’s length.   A snapshot of two smiling faces left lying on the backseat of a convertible loaded down with all the stuff they thought they needed pencilling in borders shoring up boundaries soon smudged with ochre earth lost in the dust from a stampede of stars.   Everything looks different now doused with dirt they are part of place gunning the engine before flooring it for the canyon cliff. Out here at Dead Horse Point there are no shallow graves wooden markers or name plates only a thunderbird still whipping up storms suspended in a high solitary leap of faith.   Disarticulation in memory of E M   For them the grave gave no rest. …

Four voices confront the absence of women in Irish poetry

I have endured the scholastic training worthy of someone of learning. I am versed in the twelve divisions of poetry and the traditional rules. I am so light and fleet I escape from a body of men without snapping a twig, without ruffling a braid of my hair, I run under branches as high as my ankle and over ones high as my head, I scrape thorns from my feet (not mine) while I run, I dance backwards away from myself, these rites are quite common among primitive nations, I am seldom admitted into the companionship of the older, the full privilege of the tribe, without them. By Kathy D’Arcy “A Meditation on Ireland, Women, Poetry and Subversion” at the Honest Ulsterman. There is a narrative gap in Irish poetry that appears to the woman poet, her reviewer, and the poet essayist as ‘absence’, indeed as a type of intellectual privation. That a new generation of women writers are confronting Irish women poets absence from the canon, along with it’s previous attendant tokenism, is truly …