Conamara Blues by John O'Donohue

By John O'Donohue

During this new choice of poetry, John O'Donohue explores the usual and emotional panorama of his local Conamara County, revealing a pastoral imaginative and prescient that's either own and common, mystical and of this international. O'Donohue's instinctive wisdom of the contrasts of his land -- its locations of sunshine and darkness, its pursuits and its stillness -- is magically delivered to lifestyles in his richly lyrical but deceptively obvious language.Translating the wonder and attractiveness of Conamara right into a language exquisitely attuned to the beauty of the typical, O'Donohue takes us on a relocating trip via actual and imagined worlds. Divided into 3 elements -- Approachings, Encounters, and Distances -- Conamara Blues instantaneously reawakens a feeling of intimacy with the wildlife and a sense of ask yourself on the secret of our dating to this global. no matter if exploring the silent, everlasting reminiscence of Conamara or concentrating on the ability of language and the vagaries of human desire and keenness, O'Donohue tenderly finds the delicate vulnerability of affection andfriendship. the result's a musical, transcendent, and deeply relocating sequence of poems that exemplifies O'Donohue at his finest.Written with penetrating perception and distilled transparence, Conamara Blues bargains a unique and lasting creative imaginative and prescient of a panorama of wish and threat -- powerfully showing the mastery of a poet on the top of his lyric powers.

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He dwells beside her, anxious and alone. Hopes when this ends, he will reach her again. They search the crowd for the child who is gone. He tells the strangers that it is his son. 41ç ? The Sorrowful Mysteries ç The Agony in the Garden Whatever veil of mercy shrouds the dark Wound that stops weeping in no one, cannot Stop the torrent of night when it buries thought And heart beneath the black tears of the earth. Through scragged bush the moon discovers his face, Dazed inside the sound of Gethsemane, Subsiding under the weight of silence That entombs the cry of his terrified prayer.

At your cadence of voice a bird stirs in the heart, Its wings spread such brightness nothing can hold its form. You are no longer from here, yet you still linger In the lightness, wed to the dance you awaken, As if in drudged-down lives, the song of your new hands Could raise the soul towards horizons of desire. You slip through a door of air. Memory comes home, Bright as a dead tree drawn to blossom by the moon. 48 The Descent of the Holy Spirit Somewhere in our clay remembers the speed of cold, Overtaking the surge of colours with grey breath, And the shudder of fields, as they smother beneath The white infinity of ice paralysing the world.

The Sorrowful Mysteries ç The Agony in the Garden Whatever veil of mercy shrouds the dark Wound that stops weeping in no one, cannot Stop the torrent of night when it buries thought And heart beneath the black tears of the earth. Through scragged bush the moon discovers his face, Dazed inside the sound of Gethsemane, Subsiding under the weight of silence That entombs the cry of his terrified prayer. What light could endure the dark he entered? The void that turns the mind into a ruin Haunted by the tattered screeching of birds Who nest deep in hunger that mocks all care.

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