Publishers of Irish Poetry and Drama

Poem of the Month

From Up Here

The forest floats over the land,
the island slides across the sea;
they appear less firm than the shadow
cast by the plume of steam
voluminous over the power station:

nothing stable except for the gleam:
a flame distilled, neat
as the glare of the lighthouse, pointing,
speaking directly as the sun
to the eye it beckons, its brief

slanted tale of deep distance
surfacing for the instant: this
is real, it says, like
the hours of your past,
those roots with their population
of slugs and slaters.

by Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin
from The Boys of Bluehill (2015)

Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin (Photograph by Brian-McGovern)