Heres a favourite poem by Paula Meehan, Irelands Professor of Poetry. I will be talking about this poem at the Carlow College/Visual conference in Carlow College tomorrow. The talk is on at 9.00 p.m. in Therry Hall. My Father Perceived as a Vision of St Francis It was the piebald horse in next doors garden frightened me out of a dream with her dawn whinny. I was back in the boxroom of the house, my brothers room now, full of ties and sweaters and secrets. Bottles chinked on the doorstep, the first bus pulled up to the stop. The rest of the house slept except for my father. I heard him rake the ash from the grate, plug in the kettle, hum a snatch of a tune. Then he unlocked the back door and stepped out into the garden. Autumn was nearly done, the first frost whitened the slates of the estate. He was older than I had reckoned, his hair completely silver, and for the first time I saw the stoop of his shoulder, saw that his leg was stiff. Whats he at? So early and still stars in the west? They came then: birds of every size, shape, colour; they came from the hedges and shrubs, from eaves and garden sheds, from the industrial estate, outlying fields, from Dubber Cross they came and the ditches of the North Road. The garden was a pandemonium when my father threw up his hands and tossed the crumbs to the air. The sun cleared OReillys chimney and he was suddenly radiant, a perfect vision of St Francis, made whole, made young again, in a Finglas garden. Paula Meehan - See more at: dedaluspress/mysteries_sample#sthash.9isEogSA.dpuf
Posted on: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 21:49:11 +0000
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