Kerry Hardie's We Go On reviewed in The Irish Times, The Tablet & online in The High Window; interviews on Books for Breakfast podcast & on RTE Radio 1's Poetry People.
Launch reading by Fleur Adcock, Kerry Hardie and Aoife Lyall
Fleur Adcock, Kerry Hardie & Aoife Lyall launched their new collections online on Tuesday 20 February 2024. Now on YouTube. All three poets featured on Books for...
There’s a band of black weather under the rim of the sky,
then a shimmer of light, spreading the face of the sea.
A man walks a dog and gulls drape themselves
on the unseen flow of bright air –
and it feels like everything’s happened already,
everywhere people are fighting to board the last plane,
though the man is still walking the dog and more gulls
settle and stud the roof of an empty shed
and maybe it’s always been this way,
with everyone sure of their own redemption,
though it’s dark out there, we’ll still muddle through
and it’s somebody else who’ll fall off the edge of the world.
*
Witness
I am watching the garden, its grave beauty,
the narcissi, their frail green spears,
loitering the April dusk.
And jackdaws, standing on the empty chimney,
their bright intelligence, their blue-black gloss,
their bird-ness, their thick, throaty laughter.
Ah world, you don’t know,
you don’t care,
whether I love you or not.
*
In the End It Is a Very Private Struggle (for Michael Casey)
How you must yearn to escape
the discipline of a sick body,
the feeding and cleaning and sprucing,
appointments, apologies, drugs,
the duty of always explaining,
pretending that all’s almost fine.
Outside, the air flickers swallows.
Skies, wiped clean with September.
Body – listen – let go.
*
Metamorphosis
That morning in the winter classroom
an orange was divided, handed round.
The children spat the pips onto the desks.
Not me, I swallowed mine, the teacher
grabbed me by the arm, shook hard, and swore
they’d sprout inside and I would be a tree –
I looked. Already there was new bark on my wrists,
fresh twigs were bursting from my stiffening hands,
my flesh began to flutter in its shift of leaves.
Oh joyousness, this stepping out
from my hot sausage-skin of human-ness
tight-packed with blood and veins and organs.
Minute by minute I grew stronger, greener,
till I was tree and tree was me,
and all the room was perfumed with the smell
of orange blossom, Easter, far Seville.
The vision dimmed. Damp wool and chilblain itch.
But still the faintest tang of citrus on the air.
Contents List
9 Search
10 Tangled
11 Elsewhere
12 We Go On
13 On Trauma, Sickness, Loss
15 The Task
16 Grief
17 At the Château Lavigny, Switzerland
18 Where Do We Live
19 Walls Are Meant to Fall Down
20 How Was It That You Stayed So Long?
21 Whose Is the Song?
22 We Disassemble That First Home
23 Anniversary
24 September Light
25 The Coracle Called Trust-Me
26 Anxiety
27 Against Darkness
28 Thirteen
29 The Muse Is a Red Dog
33 Breakdown
34 And I’m wondering how it has come to this,
35 Achill Lines
36 The Courage Coin
37 Those ‘Homes’
38 Just Another Bomb, Belfast 1974
39 Yesterday
40 The New Dead
41 Herself
42 Impasse
44 Trees in Late May
45 Small Poem
46 Cygnets
47 Pain
48 Shell People
49 Vikings
50 Black Radishes
53 The Departure
54 World, World
55 News from Ireland, 1348
56 Choosing Clothes for My Mother
58 Back Where We Began
59 Domestic War
60 John Anderson, My Jo
61 The Transparent Kaleidoscope
63 The Ground under My Feet
64 Witness
65 A Fable
66 ‘…but I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone…’
67 Borders
68 Empires
69 december’s leavings
70 In the End It Is a Very Private Struggle
71 Collecting the Colony
72 Post-war Story
73 That Box
74 Daughter of the House
75 Freshwater Swim
76 When Orange Were Spanish
77 Making Sense of Things
78 Inviolate