From Ted, a compelling argument for becoming a cyborg.
Poems and general conversation from Irish poet Michael O'Dea. Born in Roscommon, living in Donegal. Poetry from Ireland. (poems © Michael O’Dea, Dedalus Press, Amastra-n-Galar)
Friday, September 27, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Anguish
Mouth:
howl, that shape.
We
leave it space.
leave it space.
The space gets bigger.
Detail from Francis Bacon's Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion,1944
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Once my father and I found a
skull
in a field with the hum of a
bee inside.
My father said it was a last
thought,
that a man’s last thought
stays forever
in his head.
I didn’t want to touch the
skull,
just to move closer to see a
last thought;
but as I did the bee flew
out and I ran
terror-stricken back to my
father;
horrified for having tipped
the natural order.
Labels:
Dedalus Press,
Turn Your Head
Monday, September 16, 2013
Expressing Depression
'O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall/Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed'.
These lines cause me to wonder if the search for the appropriate words, and the subsequent expression of one's condition helps to ease the effects of depression. By making a prayer of it, I assume Hopkins was shifting some of the weight towards heaven.
No Worst, there is None.
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
These lines cause me to wonder if the search for the appropriate words, and the subsequent expression of one's condition helps to ease the effects of depression. By making a prayer of it, I assume Hopkins was shifting some of the weight towards heaven.
No Worst, there is None.
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-old anvil wince and sing —
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked "No ling-
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief."
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap
May who ne’er hung there. Nor does long our small
Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
In My Mouth
Love, the word:
lush;
a summer night’s rain.
Itself:
taut, brittle.
I had it on the end of a forceps;
bead of mercury:
it escaped.
Love, the word:
I swallowed it.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Demented Trees
Trees
keening winter nights away;
their wails
woven into the wind.
Heads of
hair like seaweed from the strand,
knots
tailing limply towards the sea.
Underground,
roots twisted toward some source,
shaped by
memory.
Trees like
abandoned lovers,
scratching
down the marble of night-time.
from Above Ground Below Ground
Monday, September 2, 2013
Seamus Heaney
In the last few days, thousands of people will be remembering
the day the met Seamus Heaney; experiencing the sadness one experiences on losing
a friend. He had that ability, with gentle smile and generous engagement, to make
a stranger a friend in a fleeting exchange.
It seems appropriate to listen again to his beautiful poem ‘When
all the others were away at Mass’, now that those encounters are memories.
This links to footage of him reciting some of his most
famous poems; ‘When all the others were away at Mass’ is included.
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