#patrick kavanagh

[havingapoemwithyou]

wet evening in April by Patrick Kavanagh

[sitting-on-me-bum]

The grey currawong is found in Lutruwita/Tasmania and mainland Australia but is absent from the Bass Strait islands.

Patrick Kavanagh

[metamorphesque]

On Raglan Road, Patrick Kavanagh

[ends-2-beginnings]

"For years I have been caught between the two stools of security on the land and rich scented life on the exotic island of literature.

I wasn't really a writer.

I had seen a strange beautiful light on the hills and that was all."

—PATRICK KAVANAGH

(Irish poet, b. 1904)

[busyasabbee]

TRC characters as poems (specifically poems I studied for leaving cert English because I don't really know any other ones lol)(also I will not be elaborating on some of them cause they are vibes based)

Gansey- Antarctica by Derek Mahon

Whelk - After the Titanic by Derek Mahon (largely because when studying Mahon we compared these poems and it reminds me of how Gansey was willing to sacrifice himself for the ley line when Whelk sacrificed others )

Blue and Maura - the pomegranate by Eavan Boland (this is the one that inspired the post and one of my favourite poems its just so THEM)

Ronan - museum of obsolescence by Tracy K Smith (specifically in td3 with bryde)

Adam - shancoduff by Patrick Kavanagh (smthing Abt hiw he won't leave home despite te abuse because even tho it's bad it's *his* idk this one may be a stretch)

Blue - Outside History by Eavan Boland (it's so her ,trust)

Niall and Mór - Love by Eavan Boland

I might add more later I just needed to get these bees out of my brain.

[goneahead]

~~Patrick Kavanagh

[wellconstructedsentences]

The birds sang in the wet trees And as I listened to them it was a hundred years from now And I was dead and someone else was listening to them. But I was glad I had recorded for him the melancholy.

Wet Evening in April by Patrick Kavanagh

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Convenevole da Prato, Carmina regia : Address of the City of Prato to Robert of Anjou.  Pegasus.  f.28v

Royal MS 6 E IX  :: Image from the British Library Manuscript Website

* * * *

“My soul was an old horse Offered for sale in twenty fairs... I cried, 'Who will bid me half a crown?' From their rowdy bargaining Not one turned. 'Soul,' I prayed, 'I have hawked you through the world Of Church and State and meanest trade. But this evening, halter off, Never again will it go on. On the south side of ditches There is grazing of the sun. No more haggling with the world....' As I said these words he grew Wings upon his back. Now I may ride him Every land my imagination knew.” ― Patrick Kavanagh