Category: Uncategorized

  • Ágnes Nagy’s Poetic Prose translated by Hugh Maxton.

    From ‘Leaf-Stalks’ “Yet I would not dismiss the nonentities. The things that nearly are not. Journey of woodbine, ampelopsis on the ancient walls (of garden and its house), clutch of tendrils and trailing plants, the shuffling of their minute paws, with pads of suction for terminals of their thread-like minute fingers, and claws, green zig-zag path of lizards…

  • Some EBB.

    To George Sand A Recognition “True genius, but true woman! dost deny Thy woman’s nature with manly scorn, And break away the gauds and amulets worn By weaker women in captivity? Ah, vain denial! That revolted cry is sobbed in by a woman’s voice for -lorn!– Thy woman’s hair, my sister, all unshorn, Floats back…

  • The Poetics of Engagement: Marianne Moore.

    This Book Of Marianne Moore‘s Prose is entitled  The Poetry Of Engagement, edited by Grace Schulman, University of Illinois Press 1986. I have printed one other piece by Moore on this blog. I tend to ignore critique except to contextualise the social and historical life of the poet, those movements that brought the writer to settle…

  • Feis Teamhra

    There is to be a celebration of Poetry and Song on the Hill of Tara on the 24th of August 2008. It will mark the beginning of Heritage Week. I am putting a link onto the blogroll beneath the Ardsallagh Petition which links into the advertisement to the celebrations. The image attached to this note is one of…

  • ‘Nach Aoibhinn Do Na hÉiníní’ from An Duanaire (1600-1900)

    “Nach aoibhinn do na héininí a éiríos go hard ‘s bhíos ag ceiliúr lena chéile ar an chraobh amháin, ní mar sin dom féin is dom chéad míle grá is fada óna cheile bhíos ár n-éirí gach lá. Is báine í ná an lile, is deise í ná an sceimh, is binne í na an…

  • ‘Dreamboats’ a Ballad by Margaret Atwood.

      Sleep is the only rest we get; It’s when we are at peace: We do not have to mop the floor And wipe away the grease. We are not chased round the hall and tumbled in the dirt by every dimwit nobleman Who wants a slice of skirt. And when we sleep we like…

  • “The Unnameable” by Lovecraft.

    There really is nowhere quite like Barcelona to sit and read horror stories. I didn’t get very far with Lovecraft ‘cos he was scary, though of a recognisable horror genre … I did not dwell long on the story, finding the atmosphere vaguely repressive and samey (everyone is after all entitled to response to literature and Poe always seems to…