#Irish #NobelPrize #XXCentury #XXICentury
As a child, they could not keep me… And old pumps with buckets and win… I loved the dark drop, the trapped… Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss… One, in a brickyard, with a rotted…
And some time make the time to dri… Into County Clare, along the Fla… In September or October, when the… And the light are working off each… So that the ocean on one side is w…
Her scarf a la Bardot, In suede flats for the walk, She came with me one evening For air and friendly talk. We crossed the quiet river,
When all the others were away at… I was all hers as we peeled potato… They broke the silence, let fall o… Like solder weeping off the solder… Cold comforts set between us, thin…
We have no prairies To slice a big sun at evening— Everywhere the eye concedes to Encrouching horizon, Is wooed into the cyclops’ eye
Late August, given heavy rain and… For a full week, the blackberries… At first, just one, a glossy purpl… Among others, red, green, hard as… You ate that first one and its fle…
As if he had been poured in tar, he lies on a pillow of turf and seems to weep the black river of himself.
A rowan like a lipsticked girl. Between the by-road and the main r… Alder trees at a wet and dripping… Stand off among the rushes. There are the mud-flowers of diale…
Here is the girl’s head like an ex… Oval-faced, prune-skinned, prune-s… They unswaddled the wet fern of he… And made an exhibition of its coil… Let the air at her leathery beauty…
The timeless waves, bright, siftin… Came dazzling around, into the roc… Came glinting, sifting from the A… To posess Aran. Or did Aran rush to throw wide arms of rock around…
Our shells clacked on the plates. My tongue was a filling estuary, My palate hung with starlight: As I tasted the salty Pleiades Orion dipped his foot into the wat…
He would drink by himself And raise a weathered thumb Towards the high shelf, Calling another rum And blackcurrant, without
I sat all morning in the college s… Counting bells knelling classes to… At two o’clock our neighbors drove… In the porch I met my father cryi… He had always taken funerals in hi…
“We were killing pigs when the Yanks arrived. A Tuesday morning, sunlight and gutter-blood Outside the slaughter house.
On the grass when I arrive, Filling the stillness with life, But ready to scare off At the very first wrong move. In the ivy when I leave.