Wednesday, July 9, 2014

The West

Towards Hag's Head (M.A. Reilly, Cliffs of Moher [Aillte an Mhothair] Liscannor, Ireland 2008)
The last time I was in Ireland, I convinced my husband to drive across the country so we could see the Cliffs of Moher again.  We were in Dublin for a few days as I was presenting a paper and we had just one day where we could take a drive before heading back to the States.  It was September.  

The Peninsula
by Seamus Heaney
When you have nothing more to say, just drive
For a day all around the peninsula,
The sky is tall as over a runway,
The land without marks, so you will not arrive
But pass through, though always skirting landfall.
At dusk, horizons drink down sea and hill,
The ploughed field swallows the whitewashed gable
And you're in the dark again.  Now recall
The glazed foreshore and silhoutted log.
That rock where breakers shredded into rags,
The leggy birds stilted on their own legs,
Islands riding themselves out into the fog.
And then drive back home, still with nothing to say
Except that now you will uncode all landscapes
By this; things founded clean on their own shapes
Water and ground in their extremity


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