Reviews
In this, her fifth collection, community is renounced for the solitude of the mystic.
Hardie's heaven is pure serenity; in her opening poem, she admires the cold eyes of seagulls that 'call out to something inside me / that is empty and fearless and firece.'
Always mindful of the pastoral calendar, Only This Room moves from harvest to mid-winter and the gathering of the dead . . . at home in her favoured haunts such as Ballinskelligs Bay, the 'luminous ground for this drifting, this talking' catches flame once again.
— Selina Guinness, The Irish Times, 1 January 2010
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