Filíocht Nua = New Poetry
2000; Philosophy Documentation Center; Volume: 4; Issue: 4 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/nhr.2000.a926760
ISSN1534-5815
Autores Tópico(s)Island Studies and Pacific Affairs
ResumoBrendan Galvin Filiocht Nua: New Poetry MARINA STANISLOWSKA'S PENCIL Did you leave it at the dump swapshop for me, Marina, knowing full well, as with everything, there is more to it than meets the eye? Gray and worn, the eraser gone, I grabbed it to jot something down, and brought it home, maybe because your name was on it in faded gilt. Are you one of those people released back into a city whose dust improves our sunsets here, the kind who unfolds like a skit at the post office each summer morning, and steps from a Mercedes black and faded as a Romanoff tuxedo, or have you heard our peninsula sigh with relief come September? I expected to write about the toad who sleeps in a pocket of my clay strawberry pot, but instead from your pencil came streets, some minor city of Europe seen through branches from high above, as in the paintings of Kaspar Szlyz. NEW HIBERNIA REVIEW/ IRIS EIREANNACH NUA, 4:4 (WINTER/ GEIMHREADH, 2000), 29-38 Filiocht Nua: New Poetry The harvest moon was coin of that realm, Marina, and the air and an edge to it off Orion's sword, and a tang some apple trees were brewing, wrinkling the nose, was smoothed away on the night, impressions that may have derived from whatever you last wrote, or were waiting to be released from the graphite core. SOME FRAGMENTS OF SENAN THE ANCHORITE Some islands you can just walk into, over sea-shuffled stones like so many speckled eggs clacking and shifting together, and begin fitting a beehive hut out of slabs, the limestone lying handy, but here he had barely gained tideline when the resident antichrist inhabited a swirl of terns and began stooping on him as if to retonsure him in the Roman manner. It was screech, shick, snick, peck, and tear about his skull, until blood ran in his eyes. That thing sheared away at his raised fist so he staggered, face wound in his free arm, and fell, rump up, shanks to the sky while it slashed as if it would have him only another sea-bleached patch of crab food. But he crawled, made blind headway through gorse rough with the power of the solstice, and after a long while on all fours a grassy well clamped his pulse with cold, and there he freed his sight. Lord Whirlabout again, those murderbirds not his first notice of Senan, only another assault out of his crane bag fully stocked 30 Filiocht Nun: New Poetry with tumbles. As when on the tilts of the archangel's skellig there'd come a lightness, a capacity for unwilled flight, a rigid finger planted between his shoulderblades so he had to drop and rake thin soil with every nail, and cling to sea-campion lest he sail out through mist toward the little skellig's peaks snowed over with gannets nesting, lose faith partway and drop. But here, this island flat from water to water, this was a fit place to do some wrestling. 2. Boat-knock across open water wakes him up, wood-hollow thudding of oars against thole pin and gunnel, and he rises with care from stone pillow and slab, popping a shoulder into place, kicking out to crack a knee back into working order, as though on his durable bed, fog-drizzled, all night under his skin his bones had wandered with his dreams. Square-sailed offshore, brim full and more with singing boys, a great tub's wallowing along, going he knows where upriver. Stranger, the steersman shouts, is this the way to Clonmacnoise? No other, he croaks back. From which far country has the name and repute ofCiaran drawn such impeccant faces today? 31 Filiocht Nua: New Poetry And the mariner calls, Jibjabber, Barleyview, Vasseroy, maybe Stole-a-goose. Take your choice, they are all one to me. These I took aboard at Galway. They are grogged up on holy fire. It makes them smile, and sing like an Iberian trader's parrot cage. Clonmacnoise will water that fire and break those smiles like twigs, Senan says. A year or two ofbeing copyboys and they'll be...
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