Poems about Love

I’m surprised how many poems I have written that relate to relationships both in and out of love.

I could do a reading presenting them in a logical order to tell a story, but then I’d have the makings of a play, and that would probably be more entertaining. Then I remember Sam Shephard and Joseph Chaikin’s “Savage Love” (read it at http://www.csua.berkeley.edu/~dxu/poetry/savage.html) and so the play thing’s been done; and that’s why stuff ends on the shelf.

Meanwhile here’s the backbone of my proposed story,3 poems that were included in the collections "Sunfire" and "Turn Your Head"

1

When I am sleeping
you come
softly over these stones;
I turn deeper.
You slip words into my ears,
liquid syllables,
sickles sliding down.

Night-time turns drunk;
longing for more,
your tongue to enwrap me;
I turn deeper.
You trickle down dreams;
our limbs braided,
we slip into one.

2

It's a certifiable moment
a punch-drunk second
a pulse's high tide.

A dog eats grass
a water drop shivers
a barrel fills to its brim
an apple falls
a body drifts
a face buckles
a lover screams.

At the tip of an orgasm
passion powders;
the creek turns to dust.


3


He, who covered my body
with snail-trails,
whose hands were wrack
swept over my skin,
kisses on my back
a colony of shell fish.

He, who would have crossed a mountain range
for an hour between my thighs
now crawls over me
with wizened passion.
Gutted of love,
he comes clawing,
scavenging;
and insults me with lies
that have made greater pincers
of his mouth than his hands.

What does he see in me?

Meat to excite him,
his groper's desires,
even his fingertips betray him.
But no more,
the erotic becomes ugly,
decrepit manoeuvres disconnected
from their original meanings;
the touches stain you.

I have watched him slither from my gaze
a thousand times a night
while slipping the word love
from his vocabulary;
watched him develope this communication
of knives and forks.

Daffodils in Poetry

I was thinking of writing a Daffodil poem. Something original, “To Daffodils” is gone but not “Two Daffodils”. There are a lot of daffodils poems; apart from the obvious, there is Ted Hughes’ Daffodils. (excerpt)

                                                             …………………….. 

Besides, we still weren't sure we wanted to own Anything. 

Mainly we were hungry 

To convert everything to profit. 

Still nomads-still strangers 

To our whole possession. 

The daffodils 

Were incidental gilding of the deeds, 

Treasure trove. 

They simply came, 

 And they kept on coming. 

As if not from the sod but falling from heaven. 

Our lives were still a raid on our own good luck. 

We knew we'd live forever. 

We had not learned 

What a fleeting glance of the everlasting Daffodils are………………………… 

ee cummings reminds that daffodils know things we don’t; from in the time of daffodils 

in time of daffodils(who know 

the goal of living is to grow) 

forgetting why, remembering how..... 

My favourite is Amy Lowell’s To an Early Daffodil 

Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring! 

 Thou herald of rich Summer's myriad flowers! 

 The climbing sun with new recovered powers 

 Does warm thee into being, through the ring 

 Of rich, brown earth he woos thee, makes thee fling 

 Thy green shoots up, inheriting the dowers 

 Of bending sky and sudden, sweeping showers, 

 Till ripe and blossoming thou art a thing 

 To make all nature glad, thou art so gay; 

 To fill the lonely with a joy untold; 

 Nodding at every gust of wind to-day, 

 To-morrow jewelled with raindrops. Always bold 

 To stand erect, full in the dazzling play 

 Of April's sun, for thou hast caught his gold.

Hughie O’Donoghue in IMMA

I’ve not been to IMMA as much as I used to, but the arrival of the Hughie O’Donoghue exhibition will be reason to set that right, particularly the Passion paintings. His work is absorbing and thought-provoking, sometimes with the seed of the work clearly represented but immersed in abstraction; the type of material that often inspires me to write poetry. And in that I’m not alone, the accompanying publication includes a poem by Gerard Smyth inspired by Blue Crucifixion.

The exhibition is on till mid May and coincides for a while with an exhibition by James Coleman (dare I say, yet another interesting Roscommon man).

Ad Break

I haven't had an ad break since starting this blog so here's two pints of Guinness settling to some great music

Dublin-born writers

Sorry to hear of Christopher Nolan’s death. I well remember how impressed I was when I first came across Dam-burst of Dreams and later Under the Eye of the Clock. He is a member of a very remarkable group i.e. writers born in Dublin. Here are some of the other names in that company:

George Bernard Shaw, Oliver Gogarty, Samuel Beckett, John McGahern, James Joyce, Jonathan Swift, Thomas Kinsella, Brendan Behan, Roddy Doyle, Jennifer Johnston, Oscar Wilde, James Plunkett, John Millington Synge, Elizabeth Bowen, Bram Stoker, Paul Durcan, Donagh MacDonagh, Sean O'Casey, Sean O'Faolain, Katharine Tynan, William Butler Yeats, Edmund Burke, Sir Richard Steele, Maeve Binchy, James Stephens, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, James Clarence Mangan, Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Austin Clarke and Sebastian Barry.

Pretty impressive eh?

Cork Invasion of Rathmines

Arts Management students of Rathmines College will present “Festival Under The Clock” a festival within Rathmines Festival on April 25th. And that’s where the invasion will occur with singer/songwriter Ger Wolfe and poet Gerry Murphy taking the stage together.

Listen to some of Ger Wolfe's beautiful songs on his MySpace page at http://www.myspace.com/gerwolfe. Gerry Murphy can be heard reading poems in the Dedalus Press Audio Room at http://www.dedaluspress.com/mp3/murphy-poems.mp3

It’s the making of a festival highlight.

Rathmines Festival 2009

This year’s Rathmine’s Festival is again a mix of filmarttheatrecomedysportjazz bluesfolkdancechatparkeventswalks and much more besides.It’s still in the process of being programmed but I notice Pat Kinevane (iKeano) in association with Fishamble New Play Company are presenting “Forgotten”, Mary Kenny (Journalist) is being interviewed by Aine Lawlor (RTE), Comedians Karl Spain & Colm O`Reagan are performing on Fri April 24th.There’s a lot more to come obviously but it kicks off On Thursday 23rd with Anne Doyle cutting the ribbon.

Francis Bacon Interview

I’m a great fan of Francis Bacon’s work. His paintings have been a great source of inspiration for me. But this London Weekend South Bank Show from the eighties is a gem. He talks about himself, his paintings and those of other artists. He is wonderfully frank. The clip shown here contains opinions on Jackson Pollock and Rothko: priceless. And some of what he says about his own work is very surprising. This is the first of six parts you can get from Youtube.

Hidden Dublin Treasure

Rathmines Town Hall,home of Rathmines College, is one of the most recognizable and familiar of Dublin landmarks. But it hides a secret. Even the vast majority of students passing through its doors daily don’t know in spite of the evidence being in plain view on the walls around them.

The fact is that it houses a Victorian concert hall, still pretty much intact and masked by the classrooms built within it. It is unique in Dublin, grand in its design; literally a hidden treasure.

What else is masked in the city?

Writers Groups: Yes or No

Well both actually. A regular group, at the very least, provides you with a deadline by which work must be completed. If the piece is well received the encouragement can be invaluable. Exposure to different styles of writing can be eye-opening, news on upcoming events and opportunities may be a standard part of the proceedings, often groups publish their works also encouraging and pleasing. Just mixing with interested others can make it well worth while.

On the downside, the standard of writing can be very mixed,there can be a lot of very average work. Often the most vociferous critics are the poorest critics. Sometimes there can be group adulation of the writer with the most charisma, the trendiest or the most confident; the better writers can often go unrecognised. It’s important to recognize that the most useful criticism doesn’t necessarily come from the popularly recognized sage.

Groups can become too much the property of a few, who set rules, tone and standard. The Dublin Writers Workshop was, in some of its years a good example of an open forum in all senses of the word ‘open’. Its success might be gauged by the number of its members that have had books published. It attracted a very diverse range of people without any of them becoming too proprietary. The calibre of many of its members ensured a reasonable standard of criticism. It wasn’t to everyone’s taste though; for example it was not the forum for discussion on the technical aspects of writing and, be warned, few writing groups are. However, even there, some good writers were overlooked.

There is a directory of writers groups on the Poetry Ireland website see http://www.poetryireland.ie/resources/writers-workshops-list.html but I’m not sure how comprehensive or up to date it is; for example, the Roscommon Abbey Writers group from Roscommon town is not included. I understand this group is welcoming new members.

Did you know?

Lady Jane Francesca "Speranza" Wilde, writer, translator, poet and mother of Oscar died in 1896. She was buried in a paupers grave which until recently was unmarked.

Edgar Allen Poe died in 1849 "of congestion of the brain" according to the local newspapers. In 1875, a group of local school children donated a grave stone for him.

George Bernard Shaw's grave is not straight forward; after his death in 1950 his ashes were mixed with those of his wife (d. 1943) and scattered in the garden of his home, Shaws Corner in Hertfordshire.

Francis Ledwidge was killed in action during WW1 and is buried in Artillery Wood CWGC Cemetery north of Ypres, Plot II Row B Grave 5.

These details are from Find A Grave, it's full of interesting details on a host of well known people. See http://www.findagrave.com/

My Mother

God made my mother on an April day,
From sorrow and the mist along the sea,
Lost birds' and wanderers' songs and ocean spray,
And the moon loved her wandering jealously.

Beside the ocean's din she combed her hair,
Singing the nocturne of the passing ships,
Before her earthly lover found her there
And kissed away the music from her lips.

She came unto the hills and saw the change
That brings the swallow and the geese in turns.
But there was not a grief she deeméd strange,
For there is that in her which always mourns.

Kind heart she has for all on hill or wave
Whose hopes grew wings like ants to fly away.
I bless the God Who such a mother gave
This poor bird-hearted singer of a day.

Francis Ledwidge

Bioenergy for Health

I have to admit I am intrigued by bioenergy healing. In recent times Catherine has brought relief to people suffering from neuralgia, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, psoriasis, stress-related conditions and a range of others.

The simplicity of the treatment is striking. Basically, by hand gestures around a person, she corrects his/her energy field, thereby freeing up energy transmission through the body. The effect is to be so painless as to suggest that nothing has happened; but by the third session in the four consecutive day treatment, clients are remarking on the improvement.

In many cases it has achieved what conventional medicine hasn’t. It has its origins in chinese medicine but it has been developed by Zdenko Domancic over the last thirty years. People from all over Europe flock to his healing sessions in Slovenia. See a film on Domancic at www.healingbioenergy.com/flashtest.htm

Catherine’s website is at www.bioenergyforhealth.com

De Brakke Hond, No. 76, 2002

De Brakke Hond is a literary magazine published in the Netherlands featuring works in Dutch and Flemish. No.76 was a special bilingual Irish Number published in 2002. Nessa O'Mahony was the irish editor.The number is now online in the archive section. See
http://www.brakkehond.be/index.html

The "Beginning of Science" was a poem that took me a long time to write. I like the atmosphere in it;I don't think I could catch it again.

The Beginning of Science

Long before Saint Patrick,
leather-footed musicians
would keyhole dawn
to catch the sun in ice candles.

They played those flames on strings,
their spikes of sound,
for children's whistling eyes and lunatics
who, in their distance, danced.

Fire caged in ice, ice in their hands;
music lit from within.
Ambition began;
separation became a beauty.

Hard Times

The removal of Arts Council funding from the Writers Centre is likely to be just the first in a series of cut-backs to this sector over the coming years. What’s in store for Irish poetry?

I don’t want to give the government reasons for cutting back further but I do believe that agencies, publishers etc, involved in poetry will have to be more aggressive in getting their product into the public eye. I used to run Rathmines Festival which always featured some writers; only once in five years did an established writer approach us with a proposal to be included in the programme.

In stringent times, I think more approaches of this nature should be made by or on behalf of poets. I think more performance opportunities could be found for poets in their local communities (local celebrations, festivals etc); certainly the support for writers in their home towns can be considerable and is often not tapped.

I believe greater efforts could be made in building a public profile e.g. a poetry book-stall on Stephen’s Green, a Speakers’ Corner; an appropriate addition to a city that uses writers so prominently in its tourism pitch. A full-time position could be put in place by a coalition of interested bodies: a person with a background in event management/arts management/marketing/PR/entertainment management etc. A co-ordinator of individuals with talents in different areas of the arts might find new niches for poetry in performances or installations.

Emigration, Racism and the Irish

Anti-Irish Propaganda from Punch
It’s not so long ago since the “No Irish” signs came down. It seemed that we were seeing the end of endless years of anti-Irish racism. I came across a certain amount of anti-Irish sentiment in London in the seventies. Then came the EEC, later EU; increasing affluence, eventually the tiger; notable successes in sports, entertainment and various areas in the arts. Our day had arrived.U2 was the biggest band in the world, Riverdance was sending our dancing into orbit, Irish companies were going multi-national and we were chanting Óle Óle in Italia.We were no longer an underclass.

A pity to see “No Irish Need Apply” beginning to appear again. This time on building sites in Poland, apparently in revenge for poor treatment meted out to Polish workers here during the boom; unpaid work, unpaid holiday money.

There are few Irish families that have not directly or indirectly experienced the hardships of emigration in the last century. So many, in the not so distant past, have suffered from anti-irish taunts, discrimination or even violence. One would assume there’d be an affinity here with people who emigrate to earn an honest living. You sometimes hear the proud claim “we built America”; it would do good to remember who has been rebuilding Ireland.

Riverdance, first appearance on RTE, 1994 Eurovision Song Contest