Actress by Anne Enright (2020) So all right. Here she is, Katherine O’Dell making her breakfast, requiring her breakfast from the fridge and the cupboards, some of which delight her and …
It is 1850 and my great great grandparents and their children take the road from Limerick to Cork. They hire a trap from the local smithy. Here at the Cork …
The Hermitage translated from Irish 9th century by Frank O’Connor Grant me sweet Christ the grace to find - Son of the Living God! - A small hut in a lonesome spot To make …
The Shepherd's Hut by Tim Winton (2018) Everyone has a Tim Winton story – or so it seems – especially those of us who have called ourselves West Australian at some …
I remember Professor Elizabeth Webby at Sydney University teaching Australian poetry. I had lived and worked in a remote mining town as well as traveled extensively through the outback …
Terra Australis by James McAuley (1942) Voyage within you, on the fabled ocean, And you will find that Southern Continent, Quiros’ vision – his hidalgo heart, And mythical Australia, where reside All things in their …
The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers (1946) She was in so much trouble that she thought it was better to stay at home - and at home there was …
Recently, I traveled out to Clonmacnoise. A Sunday morning, grey watercolors soggy above and verdant cold green mush below with the River Shannon bending with lazy insouciance this way and …
Lightenings viii by Seamus Heaney (1991) The annals say: when the monks of Clonmacnoise Were all at prayers inside the oratory A ship appeared above them in the air. The anchor dragged along behind …
Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell (2020) “The apples are turning on their heads; stalks are appearing from undersides, calyxes are facing sideways, then back, then upwards, then down. The pace of the …
Each time I have gone to Russia I make my way to Anna Akhmatova’s home in St Petersburg. She is one of the great Russian Silver Age poets (early 20th …
I wrung my hands under my dark veil by Anna Akhmatova (1911) Translated by Stanley Kunitz I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . . "Why are you pale, what makes you …
