A little bit of Culture...  Poetry from soc.culture.irish

Poetry of Ireland  (Irish poets writing in English)

Posted by K E Dennis
on:    5 November 1999

“Sassy Swashbuckler"  wrote:

         >Eala, you have enticed me back at least for a post or two . . . .here's          
         >a very interesting poem with some references to the sea.
 
[snipped “The Cave,” by Mary O'Malley]

A post or two wouldn’t really be enough, don’t you think?  You might miss  some more poetry on the sea – like this one, for example.

You’ll note it has particular relevance to s.c.i. in one or two places.

The Atlantic Ocean
Eavan Boland

An Origin Like Water: Collected Poems, 1967-1987
New York:  W. W. Norton & Co., 1996

This stone, this Spanish stone, flings light
Like acid in my eyes. Walls splice the day.
Our freighter chokes, then belches anthracite,
Fresh water up by noon. We are away.
      A shrivelled Europe faces
      Starboard. Our guzzling boat
      Bloats on fish, swallows, chases
      The anchor down its throat.

Waves are conjurors, splashes sleeves,
Up which aces of past and future hide.
One man finds love, another what he grieves
By watching. To me they are another side
      Of life, not one to do
      With retrospect or manners
      But with the ballyhoo
      Of war, the hoist of banners.

Out of this ocean now, its menacing storms,
Out of its cryptic structures, its tribal
Tides, out of its secret order, from the cabal
Of trade wind and water, look, a Soviet forms!
      A squad of drops batters
      The sky for a second, wears
      Out its force, then turns and tears
      Each imperial crest to tatters.

The waves are agitating now, the sea
Itself becomes the theatre of the battle.
Lesser waves congregate, they settle
On a policy for all. All agree
      Not to abandon their will
      To fight, their fierce airs
      Their stormy posture until
      Victory is theirs.

So what has started well can flourish still,
As for example, underneath the tide
The marvel of structured self-protecting coral -
Now a milestone, sure to be a guide
      To the she-whale, the sperm-whale nosing
      Clear of the shark, the porpoises
      Braceleting the ships’ bows.
      The octopus intricately dozing.

No wonder it beats like an alternate heart in me,
No wonder its drops fill and fall from my eyes
In familiar drops. It’s in the family.
At last I see, at last I recognize
      In its wild station,
       Its ice and riot, its other
      Prowess, of my revolution
      The elder brother.


--- The End ---

Questions? Comments? -K. E. Dennis

Poetry of Ireland   (Irish poets writing in English)

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