When he had asked his friends to stay aware
and gone in the night a little way away
to think on his life and about what was to come,
the man was suddenly overcome by fear
and his heart grew sorrowful and heavy.

The hills are white, the gardens white with frost.
An icy wind cuts in along the quay
and chills the earliest Holy Week in years;
and during the longeurs of these final days of Lent
what am I reading? Poetry from the wars.

The hour is at hand. The orders have come in.
Somewhere a room whose threshold I must cross
has been prepared: an oxytocin drip 
waits with the gas and air and suture tray
beside a snow-white bed. Let this cup pass.

Il tema pasquale intrecciato con ironia all’eterno struggimento di ogni poeta… Una poesia imperdibile, from Ireland!

L’Autrice e il suo sito

La raccolta da cui è tratta la poesia: Profit and Loss (2011)

Una recensione a Profit and Loss


 Leave a Reply

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>



Questo sito usa Akismet per ridurre lo spam. Scopri come i tuoi dati vengono elaborati.

© 2018 fulviocortese.it Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha