Enmesh
I knew when I hung the black dress at Michaelmas.
My garden is alight. Light flows, a
slow transmogrification from blackish
grey to a popping green. Every little
thing is in its place, nothing is too small.
A blade of grass, dew-atop, is an amber
bead, an ornate knife blade.
The work of darknesses are done, for there
is more than one darkness in any life.
Mine has been the violence of men.
I could feel yours feathering inches from my face.
I fell into your darkness like Alice through her glass.
There's a storm-polished red apple high, high
in the neighbour's tree. Is it for me?
I thought of you, of her,
of the 'endless possibilities of love'—decided, no more!
Enmesh first published Washing Windows V, Women Revolutionise Irish Poetry 1975-2025. Editors, Nuala O' Connor and Alan Hayes.
Online URL: https://booksupstairs.ie/product/washing-windows-v/
Category: book-making
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The Trees, Dawn
Late, the willow pushes out her new leaf.
Great pink blossoms in bunches like
bouquets hang head-heavy against
willow's stasis.
Peonies emerge, pink and blood.
Wren piccolo,
and the heavy perfume of a dying rose.
She brings flowers that are dying. These
are mauve. Zephyr-caressed, their petals,
fawn-edged.
Shades of pungence,
of mauve pungence.
They will bow-down by morning.
I do not understand. The green leaf falls
on my black end table. Why bring the
dying to me? Haven't I had enough dying?
Your mauve roses, zephyr-curled,
are browning. Frilled.
The white cherry blossom is blown. Tulip
mouths hang open in despair. I almost step
on a white eggshell, broken, out-of-nest.
There is a dead tree and no nest above me.
The small birds have flown.
The rooks in the ancient tower
do not want to be disturbed by me.
There are trays of proliferating pansies
by the church steps. Several snails seek succor in her
door frames. A cross across a mossy path once
an egress, stops you in your tracks.
The village vases are being replenished.
© Chris Murray, 2024.
Note. "The Trees, Dawn" forms a part of my recently published work "Found Poem, Spring". The three parts of the poem are "The Trees, Night", "There Are More Blue Flowers in Spring", and "The Trees, Dawn". Thanks to the editors of Skylight47, Bernie Crawford, Ruth Quinlan and D’or Seifer for publishing this excerpt. The poem in its entire can be read here. -
The Trees, Night.
Souls in the tree of life,
their bowls ablaze–
coppering their old gold.
As day moves to evening,
all warmth leaves the trees.
Red blood in their branches
remains. Heating
her lamps.
Brighter now than ever
for a short time before
sunset, moonrise.
Souls in the tree of life,
their bowls ablaze–
Small and dwindling their flames.
Small birds fly.
Moon waxes gibbous,
its tilted egg almost there,
almost full.
Souls in the tree of life,
their copper bowls are night-warm,
small their flames.
In dead of night, their
flames flicker, dance.
The stars are trees' tongues,
moving into language.
Her lamps lit,
her diamonds hung.
It is long, long
before dawns' song.
In the bluelit
darklight,
bluebells thread
into boundary hedges
working up,
closed, their flowers.
Light begins round the great Yew,
setting red the comet tail of a spider's
house.
It is hanging by a thread.
© Chris Murray, October 2024.
'The Trees, Night' is an excerpt from a tripartite poem titled 'Found Poem, Spring'. The titled parts of the poem are 'The Trees, Dawn', 'There Are More Blue Flowers in Spring', and 'The Trees, Night'. The poem in its entire can be read at The Honest Ulsterman , with thanks to Editor Gregory McCartney.
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I prefer rose's honesty
Each flower opens its face
to the sun,
doing violence to the dark
places beneath–
Each course in its bloom,
a moon lighting everything
‘till new–
A yellow star has fallen–
captured, placed
in these pages.
Her fragile heart,
papery-thin,
her two-month bloom,
my accompaniment– in this, this.
Their honest flames
dance scarlet
along the edges,
wildly in-lit.© Chris Murray (2024)
from the book Her Red Songs.
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If we start with the title, we must always start with the title, these are songs! The poet would seem to be reminding us of the very intimate connection between poetry and song, which I would say has largely been lost when one considers the amount of prose, as opposed to prosody, which has slipped into contemporary “poetry” these days. The irony being that while I write this, I am finishing an almost year long study into the prosody of the seldom read French novelist Louis Ferdinand Céline whose poetic lineage goes back to chanson de geste and Le Roman de la Rose of Frech medieval poetry and which was to have such a profound influence on not only western literature but on western notions of chivalry and what we understand in a modern sense as romantic ‘Love’ today!
Read the review here.
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Her Red Songs release date 21/02/2024.
Her Red Songs is the most recent collection from one of Ireland’s most innovative and daring poets. Chris Murray’s remarkable body of work is a profound expression of connectedness with the environment, her poems evoking a delicate, yet often searing, contemplation of the place of the individual within the natural world. The poet’s astonishing command of language, the dexterity of her use of punctuation and space, the precision of her craft, meld in the creation of these create beautiful, haunting poems that touch the reader at their deepest level.
Source: Turas Press
Read More: https://turaspress.ie/shop/third-turas-press-poetry-collection-from-irish-poet-chris-murray/
Acknowledgements for Her Red Songs, Online URL: https://textworksite.com/2023/06/12/acknowledgements-page-for-her-red-songs-turas-press-2024/
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Her Red Songs was completed at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig, Co Monaghan. My thanks to the wonderful director Dr. Eimear O’Connor and her staff. Thanks to the Department of Tourism, Culture, Arts, Gaelteacht, Sports and Media for including me in the Basic Income for the Arts Scheme of 2022. Thanks to my editor Elizabeth McSkeane for her support and encouragement, and to Leeanne Quinn and Anamaría Crowe Serrano for their readings of the book.
Acknowledgments are due to the editors of the following publications, Nessa O’Mahony editor of Poetry Ireland Review 138 for publishing ‘tree is real silver’. Dr. Roula-Maria Dib, editor-in-chief of Indelible Literary Journal (American University Dubai) for publishing ‘red rose world’ and ‘Addendum to‘ in the Skin in the Game Issue of Indelible. “The Lares Series ‘ was first published in Indelible Issue IV, January 2021. ‘Seed‘ was published by Timber Journal, Issue 11.2 Summer 2021. ‘Leaf Settles’ was published by UCD Special Collections, Poetry In Lockdown, A Pandemic Archive, in February 2021. ‘lily crowded window’ was first published in formafluens, March 2021, Ed, Tiziana Colusso. ‘Morning Star’ was published in Irish Times Poetry with thanks to Gerard Smyth. ‘Aftermath’ was published in the Honest Ulsterman in June 2023.
Publication Notes, https://textworksite.com/journals-bibliography-publication-notes/
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Aftermath Body knows soul does not accept— the worst happened it is over— ||nearly|| it is nearly over| body experiences s i l v e rdawnssong blackbirdsong silvers, slivers of its song are a silversong— I feel it along my arms soul trembles it is over, nearly— flowers were—their lights light the path body knows— © Chris Murray 2023 First published The Honest Ulsterman, June 2023. Aftermath is companion to Violence, from fragments 1&2 first published Belfield Literary Review, issue 2, spring 2022, Eds. Paul Perry and Niamh Campbell. Both poems are from my forthcoming book. -
She said that Aisling let her cut the sprigs. It is 3.15 p.m, it is Thursday, I am examining two rosemary sprigs their blue-green, their silver underlight. She is stripping the small base leaves from a third, tapping its heel, putting it in a glass of crystal-clear-water for planting out with the roses in October. I can taste lamb-stew with rowanberries, counting the trees– alternating Crab-apple Rowanberry Crab -apple Rowanberry that syncopated another’s drive— Memory insists that I stand on a bank of the River Tolka, upstream from Socrates and his garden of roses, those colours we tasted– For here is the place that we committed him to memory that black water– Glas Naíon, the stream of the infants, with petals, with flower-heads. © C. Murray “The Rosemary” is a short poem from Gold Friend (Turas Press, 2020). I recorded a version of it for Lyric FM (RTÉ) in late 2019. Thanks to Eithne Hand for recording the poems and to Evelyn Grant for broadcasting the first poem on 07/03/2020. The second poem in this short series will be ‘Aluine’s Gardens‘ from Cycles (Lapwing Press, 2013) will be broadcast in May 2020, link here. Poetry File – RTÉ (Podcast) Online URL: https://www.rte.ie/radio1/podcast/podcast_evelyngrantdrive.xml
Chris Murray 