February 2014

I’m writing just after an encounter
With an English journalist in search of  ‘views
On the Irish thing’.  I’m back in winter
Quarters where bad news is no longer news,

Where media-men and stringers sniff and point,
Where zoom lenses, recorders and coiled leads
Litter the hotels. The times are out of joint
But I incline as much to rosary beads (more…)

My window shews the travelling clouds, 
Leaves spent, new seasons, alter'd sky, 
The making and the melting crowds: 
The whole world passes; I stand by. (more…)

A man sets out to chart the world. Through the years, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, tools, stars, horses and people. Shortly before his death he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the images of his own face.

there is an old saying:
that those whom the gods wish to
they first make

driving the freeways
each day
it appears to me
the gods are getting
to destroy the entire
of Angels.

Fu Inle means ‘After moonrise’. Rabbits, of course, have no idea of precise time or punctuality. In this respect they are much the same as primitive people, who often take several days over assembling for some purpose and then several more to get started. Before such people can act together, a kind of telepathic feeling has to flow through them and ripen to the point when they all know that they are ready to begin. (more…)

Swallows never fly far into the ocean
and dolphins dive and breathe in two worlds.
Some favour initials on fists: vida loca;
happiness all through eternity.  (more…)

When gusts spread against the glass
on the Orient Express to Zagreb
snow separates in alphabet,
the vowels clinging to glass,
consonants slipping into drifts.  (more…)

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