Embed Size (px)
Citation preview
University of St. Thomas (Center for Irish Studies)
ŠMUKÝŘKAAuthor(s): Justin QuinnSource: New Hibernia Review / Iris Éireannach Nua, Vol. 13, No. 1 (EARRACH / SPRING 2009),pp. 44-45Published by: University of St. Thomas (Center for Irish Studies)Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25660848 .
Accessed: 21/06/2014 10:44
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp
.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].
.
University of St. Thomas (Center for Irish Studies) is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extendaccess to New Hibernia Review / Iris Éireannach Nua.
http://www.jstor.org
This content downloaded from 62.122.79.90 on Sat, 21 Jun 2014 10:44:12 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Filwcht Nua: New Poetry
SmukyIka
Here is the track. It goes
beneath the call of crows into the nearby woods.
Here is the bus-stop and
near its shelter stand
two lads in hoods.
In gradual enlargements
houses and apartments
take old farmlands, but
for now they still persist. There must be in their midst a Nissen hut.
Dog and other ordure.
It is a kind of border that makes me suddenly
more wakeful: here's a stranger
going from or towards some danger, as he nears me.
The light and wind and trees shift a little then freeze an opening in the air:
a marvellous azure grace
unfolds itself in space everywhere.
Before I step through it the branches tilt a bit, the sun goes, the wind stops,
everything quickly hushes, and now these point-blank bushes
become a copse.
44
This content downloaded from 62.122.79.90 on Sat, 21 Jun 2014 10:44:12 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Filiocht Nua: New Poetry
The thorns and nettles mesh
cutting into my flesh and closing down the track.
Burdocks brush my chin.
Something further in
pushes me back.
Old bricks, some rusting fences and roads to old defences?
the gun emplacements gazing down upon the plains south of the city; cranes on wasteground, grazing.
A burnt-out barracks shows
some signs of life: clothes have been hung out to dry
and radishes are growing.
The light is slowly going. I keep an eye
out for the inhabitant as I begin to slant
homewards, with quickened stride
to the apartment, our ledge of concrete on the edge of the steep hillside.
Below it there's a valley? a road, a leafy alley.
Occasionally in the night headlights spook the trees.
Now and then a breeze.
I switch off the light.
45
This content downloaded from 62.122.79.90 on Sat, 21 Jun 2014 10:44:12 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
