Monday, 24 February 2014
SIBYL WITH GUITAR
(c) Medbh McGuckian
When I look back I don't know
If there have been any nights,
Even any difference in light. I don't
Hear the city the way I used to,
When there was something in me
That could catch fire, like long ago
Waiting for a kiss. The moon hides
In the throat of the tone of the yellow
Bell, I am willing that the seasons
Wear me out. Dead-eyed angel,
Lying on her side, white in the daring
Dark, her death is the smallest sadness
She was able to cause. A folding
Of hands, as if every place knows
About all the others: the patience
Of a summer in the rebellion
Of her skin; a milky rush
In the curves of a riverbank.
Published in Vallum 7:1, "Futures," 2009.
Tuesday, 18 February 2014
Sad news, the passing of Mavis Gallant, a literary great...
Tuesday, 4 February 2014
LADDER TO THE MOON
(c) X.J. Kennedy
If I had a ladder that reached to the moon
Up its millions of rungs I'd go.
Up higher than ever the clouds can fly
Till the earth was a ball below.
I'd put on my warm wool winter coat
And my long scarlet scarf in case
While I climbed my ladder right up to the moon
It should start to snow in space.
I'd sidestep a couple of shooting stars
I'd stand on the steepest hill
At the top of my ladder to the moon
If only the moon stood still.
(Published in Vallum 6:2, an issue devoted to children, "Play and the Absurd."