Reading some poetry this winter.
Two books from around 1959, a little before I was born. Reading poetry helps me with my short stories, which I am now working on everyday. My interest in confessional poetry goes back to a class in college titled “Modern Poetry,” taught by Dr. Frank Bliss. I will write more about this later.
The front quotation in in Heart’s Needle always seemed cool to me. I read this book first in college – I think I was too young to understand all the pain from divorce and children, but I understood the craftsmanship of this book.
The front quotation, from Irish mythology:
For Cynthia
When he would not return to fine garments and good food, to his houses and his people, Loingseachan told him, “Your father is dead.” “I’m sorry to hear it,” he said. “Your mother is dead,” said the lad. “All pity for me has gone out of the world.” “Your sister, too, is dead.” “The mild sun rests on every ditch,” he said; “a sister loves even though not loved.” “Suibhne, your daughter is dead.” “And an only daughter is the needle of the heart.” “And Suibhne, your little boy, who used to call you “Daddy”—he is dead.” “Aye,” said Suibhne, “that’s the drop that brings a man to the ground.”
He fell out of the yew tree; Loingseachan closed his arms around him and placed him in manacles.
—AFTER THE MIDDLE-IRISH ROMANCE, THE MADNESS OF SUIBHNE