Tag: Edward Clarke Poetry

  • Poetry: Edward Clarke

    At Rudy’s Bar, Alassio
    (After Thomas Hardy)

                           O how could I order that tuna and chips,
                           And sip my beer and gaze at yachts and cruise ships
    Beyond the tops of changing booths and beach umbrella tips;

                           And glimpse and catch the sea’s soughing of old truths
                           Through exhaled smoke of bronze Italian youths
    And cries of a fat child a made-up plastic granny soothes;

                           And not think of a Romantic poet’s pyre,
                           Or Claude’s Seaport, which Turner set on fire,
    Or brine-drenched heroes Neptune saved from Aeolus and Juno’s ire.

                           But I confess it took an old tourist’s poem,
                           And my desire to make his tercets my own,
    For me to see this sea transcending our own and Aeneas’ Rome.

                           When we were on our way down here through Nice
                           We saw b-boys do flares, headspins, then freeze.
    On Friday nights the promenade is checked by Finance Police.

                           But all the while, at the sandy edge of sight,
                           On feathery legs of old, gods roll from the night,
    And we would sense them could we still perform the proper rite.

    Feature Image created by Daniele Idini.

  • Poetry – Edward Clarke

    Assembly

    One morning during the first week of Advent,
    _                                   When I was possessed,
    After a birthday’s dark exhilarations,
    _          By a terrible kind of nervousness,
    We saw, on stage, the judgement of our son,
    Before his class, the Egyptian pantheon.

    I was chosen, he said, to be mummified today:
    _                                    My life was cut short
    While I was out in my papyrus boat,
    _            Hunting hippos (a dangerous sport).
    Then they took the brains out of this son of ours,
    And placed his viscera, like pasta, in cardboard jars.

    As in the womb of Advent, I’d put myself
    _                                   In that small space
    In which they shut him, cured and bandaged up,
    _            And pray to God I feel the grace
    Of Christmas, afloat inside its heavily
    Expectant bustle, remote as a vessel at sea.

    And what strange afterlife shall I find there,
    _                                   On stage, when they lead
    Me out, to weigh my heart against its feather?
    _           Wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid
    In this book’s manger, roughly I perceive
    Angels, livestock, and men, the gifts you’ll leave.

     

    Image: Lighting of O’Connell Street Christmas Tree, Garda Band (1988), Dublin City Library And Archive.