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Poem of the Week: “As for the Quince” by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill

  “As for the Quince” is an Irish-language poem written by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill (the original title “An Crann”) then translated by Paul Muldoon into English. In the weeks when spring first dares to remind us that Nature’s sometimes subtle rhythms impact our entire wellbeing, this poem is a timely reflection of growth and loss….

Remembering Thomas Kinsella

When we returned to the office after the holiday break, Thomas Kinsella’s photo had fallen from the wall. Whether by poetic coincidence or something else, it coincided with his passing in late December, and the absence that has since been felt. As we’ve started the new year, we’ve reflected on Kinsella’s legacy, not only in…

Poem of the Week: “Border Lake” by John Montague

The farther North you travel, the colder it gets.
Take that border county of which no one speaks.
Look at the straggly length of its capital town:
the bleakness after a fair, cattle beaten home.

Poem of the Week: Extract from “Trials of the Written” by Andrée Chedid

One would like, first, to conciliate dawn, render firm the soil of gentleness, before colliding with the smooth bark of the page, before entering the unsheltered flatlands.

Poem of the Week: “Alzheimer’s Villanelle” by Leontia Flynn

‘I wish he’s had a heart attack instead’,
Jonathan Franzen wrote about his father,
of the slow, quick-slow disease that left him dead.

Poem of the Week: “O Rome” by Thomas Kinsella

O Rome thou art, at coffee break, O Rome
Thou also art a town of staring clerks,
Staring the azure window at mid-morning,
Commemorating something in a daze.

Poem of the Week: “Lazarus Risen” by Peter Sirr

Lumbering out into the hectic light
like some dishevelled beast, I found myself
notorious, and would have turned back
but that cool and candid gaze unstitched
my shroud till it fell in shreds about me
and I walked among my weeping, bewildered kin.

Poem of the Week: “The mornings you turn into a grub” by Ailbhe Darcy

it begins with the heart.
You lie listening to the thunder
of bin men hoisting garbage larvae
from outside every house. Your housemate
showers, bangs things, jangles keys, moves
away at a trot.

Poem of the Week: “Dans l’étendue/In the distance” by Philippe Jaccottet

In the distance
nothing but shimmering peaks

Nothing but ardent glances
interweaving

Blackbirds and doves

Poem of the Week: “Santo Spirito Lands on Mars” by Medbh McGuckian

Looking at the picture seems almost a form of trespass:
it would never have shown itself as it did,
this finely chiselled scene, a red, cobbled road,
rust-red tiles that shiver in ordinary sunrays.