More Yeats, also from his earlier work.  I think he’s calling me a witch, here, but I don’t think I’ll bother to be offended. The Withering of the Boughs I cried when the moon was murmuring to the birds:"Let peewit call and curlew cry where they will,I long for your merry and tender and pitiful […]

So, I’m increasingly obsessed with poems and songs about fiber arts.  Of course I am.  But now I’m going to start posting them here, for my own enjoyment, no matter the protest.  And we’ll just go ahead and categorize them as "wool poems" because that’s much more elegant than "poems on wool, silk, linen, cashmere, […]

Originally posted by Rachel As is want to happen with dead poets every now and then, they found another early Sylvia Plath poem. Like most of her juvenilia, it doesn’t do much for me, but read the first paragraph of the introductory essay. It’s pretty righteous. Sing it sister! (Or brother–an author isn’t actually identified.)

All I know is a door into the dark.Outside, old axles and iron hoops rusting; Inside, the hammered anvil’s short-pitched ring, The unpredictable fantail of sparksOr hiss when a new shoe toughens in water.The anvil must be somewhere in the centre, Horned as a unicorn, at one end square, Set there immoveable: an altarWhere he […]

Originally posted by Rachel   Did I mention that the thing I miss most about school is structure? That I can get twice the reading done under the deadlines of a semester than I can in a full year of non-studenthood? All of this is to say, I am a bad, bad blogger. Lanea keeps […]

<p>So, the last two important bog poems: </p> <p><strong>The Grauballe Man</strong></p> <p>As if he had been poured<br />in tar, he lies<br />on a pillow of turf<br />and seems to weep<br /><br />the black river of himself.<br />The grain of his wrists<br />is like bog oak,<br />the ball of his heel<br /><br />like a basalt egg.<br […]

So, I think every Heaney discussion should start with this poem.  I’m probably the only one who does, but since I’m at the helm for the moment, I’ll continue on apace.  Once upon a time, I gave a paper about his bog poems at an Irish Studies conference.  I used slides of the bog bodies.  […]

It’s about time we did some more work around here.  The Potomac Celtic Festival has come and gone (sheeeew), and it’s too hot to garden, and my Mom-in-law and her beau are flying back to Utah this afternoon, despite the pleading of our pets.  So I’m stepping up to the plate to crow about Seamus […]

I alluded to this poem by Paul Durcan, and I figured it would be cruel to brag on a poet’s talent without actually sharing the goods.  Particularly when I’m mentioning an Irish poet right before the Potomac Celtic Festival, which honors Ireland this year.  Paul Durcan is one of my favorite poets from Ireland.  He’s […]

I laughed my ass off reading this. All us booksellers sure do appreciate the money we’ve made off of you Mr. Brown, but oh Lordy, how you deserve it. Almost inconceivably, even.