Haunt

The title poem of my next collection, Haunt, was published in today's Irish Times, along with a number of poems by other poets, and is now online (see link) though the formatting has been sacrificed: it should be in quatrains. The picture is also a bit unfortunate (I look like an unmade bed), but it was gratifying to see the poem roosting there in good company. 

Some great responses to it on Twitter, a couple of people quoting lines/phrases, such as Eleanor Hooker, who quoted the line, 'Is a ghost any less a ghost if it's a dream?' and said: 'Gosh, so many of us know this poem in their heart.' This kind of spontaneous 'click' means a lot to me, and, I imagine, most poets/writers; that something brought to shape in one's own head (completely in the dark so to speak) when eventually released finds its mark: a common ground, a shared darkness. The book will be launched in the Irish Writers' Centre on Tuesday 3rd March. 

I have set myself something of an impossible task, to write one couplet/micro-poem per day for a year. These will inevitably relate to each other but will probably not be a sequence as such. We'll see. It will probably be far more difficult than taking a moderately interesting photograph. 

I was going to head downtown to catch the last light but it suddenly occurred to me to return to that place beyond Enniskerry where I'd seen the starlings a few days ago. I expected them to have moved on but as I emerged uphill through a kind of tree-tunnel, there they were, coating the wires and trees, as before. So I wrote this (now redrafted):

Beyond Enniskerry, winter trees bare the dark wicks
of starlings: an uneasy cloud, twilit. 

Driving home, I received a call: Sam's phone. It was our son, who wanted to tell me he liked the poem and thought others would too because they might not have met their grandfathers. He also said he wished we'd met 'our' grandfather, which confused me for a moment till I realised he meant my father. Again, these spontaneous words meant a great deal to me.

 

Pat came over later and stayed the night, a rare occurrence now. We watched Wolf Hall, my second viewing. Impressive, we both thought, a refreshingly earthy vision of the Tudor world, its lethal court life and intrigues. Great dialogue (though rather 21st century) and I loved the way the director Peter Kosminsky  appears to have opted for (mostly) natural lighting, whether it's the blurred, narrow depth of field of intimately candlelit interiors or the heavy-draped, abruptly sun-blasted daylit rooms. Mark Rylance excellent as Cromwell I thought, Jonathan Pryce equally outstanding as as Wolsey and Damian Lewis scarily charming as Henry. I also loved Bernard Hill as Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, simmering with anger and impatience and jingling with heavy metal objects (keys, presumably).