Poems Of Patrick Kavanagh

New Haven

I was delighted to see this thread! I have only lately gotten acquainted with some of Kavanagh's poems. Then at Christmas I was given three different anthologies of Irish poetry.

...So... suddenly I am rich in the likes of Patrick Kavanagh, Austin Clarke, John Montague etc. etc.

Here's a Kavanagh poem that I like:




"Iniskeen Road : July Evening"

The bicycles go by in twos and threes--
There's a dance in Billy Brennan's barn to-night,
And there's the half-talk code of mysteries
And the wink-and-elbow language of delight.
Half-past eight and there is not a spot
Upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown
That might turn out a man or woman, not
A footfall tapping secrecies of stone.

I have what every poet hates in spite
Of all the solemn talk of contemplation
Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the plight
Of being king and government and nation.
A road, a mile of kingdom, I am king
Of banks and stones and every blooming thing.

jjorge:
He's new to me too!

Sanctity

To be a poet and not know the trade
To be a lover and repel all women;
Twin ironies by which great saints are made,
The agonising pincer-jaws of Heaven.


Patrick Kavanagh ( 1936 )

"In Memory Of My Mother"


I do not think of you lying in the wet clay
Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
You walking down a lane among the poplars
On your way to the station, or happily

Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday-
You meet me and you say:
'Don't forget to see about the cattle-'
Among your earthiest words the angels stray.

And I think of you walking along a headland
Of green oats in June,
So full of repose, so rich with life-
And I see us meeting at the end of a town

On a fair day by accident, after
The bargains are all made and we can walk
Together through the shops and stalls and markets
Free in the oriental streets of thought.

O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is harvest evening now and we
Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
And you smile up at us - eternally.
( Patrick Kavanagh)