Sunday, September 28, 2014

Seamas Carraher- A Poem


Mention now these
in their unredeemable stares
who swear with their sweat
worked long and harder
as cold as ice cut fog
into their chests
for these precious minutes
nailed like Hegel’s mask on
the cover of a book,
how we slaved and saved
each of these oddments.
You, who would give everything
but the meditation of ruin
leaving your ghost
to God
and your children to damp clay.
A book, a mothtorn cloth
of Engels facing a vase of dead
rich in their assorted ruin
as if such trivia in the
unmentionable heart of our
could wake history
a minute too soon,
believing in the quiet and
careless desperation
of dying men
(that it had all mattered):
a light pulled from its opaque
as also this, our antithesis
in these cheap and gaudy images
for us
who are all men labouring
with their own despair.

Séamas Carraher was born in Dalkey, Ireland in 1956. He lives on the Ballyogan estate, south of Dublin city, near the Dublin-Wicklow mountains, at present. 

No comments:

Post a Comment