Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Tuesday Poem - 'Waiting' by Tracy Ryan


Waiting for bog
to blossom
with white flame
of bog cotton

is groom not given
to see the dress
before the day

Knowing her only
one long cold season
is love meeting
weekdays only

or sensing no more than
the moon's dark side
thus the moon's
wrong meaning

Yet bog in continual winter
is most bog wearing nothing
but more and more water

her deep nature
bog is what bog does

And yet another launch at Collected Works of a wonderful book! This time Hoard by Tracy Ryan, joint winner of the Whitmore Press Prize. It's a deep, unfathomable book, and a shifty, slippery book. With who knows what within. So like a bog, so like a hoard within a bog. (Tracy's pronunciation of the local way of saying 'hoard' is still resonating with me.) And how much I appreciated the quiet, stringent perfection of the laying down of the words on the page.

Marion May Campbell's trenchant launch speech is published here in Cordite -
- and it pretty well covers anything else I might be moved to say about this book.


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