Tagged: “The Winter Sleep of Captain Lemass”
BEST OF 2013: WFU Press Style
It’s that time of year again. Christmas trees are going up, people are frantically searching for just the right present, holiday plans are being made and, of course, The Best Of lists are being released all month. Maybe you watched that video about the best of Youtube in 2013 or heard Miley Cyrus was named…
Continue ReadingFingers Crossed for Harry Clifton!
We’re delighted that Harry Clifton has been nominated for the Irish Times Poetry Now Award for 2013. Clifton is nominated for The Winter Sleep of Captain Lemass; he previously won this most prestigious award in 2008 for Secular Eden. Winners will be announced on Sept 7. Stay tuned for the results! –Megan Latta
Continue ReadingBut who is Captain Lemass?
Currently at the press, we are looking forward to releasing Harry Clifton’s new book The Winter Sleep of Captain Lemass. When first hearing this title, the name Captain Lemass seems so lyrical that many assume it must be a fictional name. However, some researched revealed that Clifton is actually referring to Captain Noel Lemass, the…
Continue ReadingHarry Clifton: An Irishman Abroad
Though poet Harry Clifton is a native Dubliner and currently lives in Ireland, he has spent much of his adult life on the move. Clifton grew up in Ireland and attended University College Dublin, but left the country when he was twenty-five to teach at a teacher training college in Post-Civil War Nigeria. From there…
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Lara Marlowe, author and Washington correspondent to The Irish Times, stated in an interview with the Irish Echo that you’re Irish if “you delight in language, enjoy good company and never lose touch with the sadness that runs through all things.” Although Marlowe is American, she maintains a residence in Ireland and is a world-traveled journalist. In the interview, Marlowe…
Continue ReadingPoem of the Week: “Pipistrelle” by Harry Clifton
Pipistrelle At no point, in the whole of that northern night, Was there total eclipse of light, Only a yellow streak, low down in the sky Against which little squeaks, subliminal cries Would dash themselves, so to speak— The pipistrelles. Hours later, dawn would break To the sound of illegitimate shots In the field nearby….
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