Derek Mahon’s rightfully one of the top 10 writers of today. The minute I saw him, I knew that he was someone special. Photographs are distant.
His poetry, specially the fresh ones he read from Goa, made me feel good inside- after a very long time.
As a translator too, he captures the flavour of the original very accurately.
An Irish poem on a game of cards played between a man and a woman with brows “like two strokes of a pen”, the skull shaped coconuts of Goa, the ceiling fan that went “round and round” brought freshness back to age old subjects.
I like the way he rhymes with sense, his poems are deceptively simple but pack a lot of thoughts and ideas.
I’m looking forward to his return, perhaps at the Jaipur Literary Festival, which may be where the Irish Literary Festival goes next.
“Never a day without a line.”
Love dovetailed crow blows
Night bowtied, daggered days wane
Still bleeds weeds kama gardens
Tears on drip trip trickle steam
Chug hug lunge to the loam
That you feed, house louse.
Space, the final frontier surrounds me
I warm in the air you breathe out, see
Blanks confront this shooter from the hip
My gaps fill with sonnet lumiere trips
As tastes ash, pink stinks, press flesheaters.
As this sun spreads red across an inked sky
Sets, defeated, that this time too, met not yours
Hides from my wrath, the night consoles
With mere manmares to snare my soul.
As I watch her flail my soul
I stop myself from running to
Catch her before she falls
She is outside me and the world’s now.
As we trail knowledge from opposite bends
I wonder whether Columbus’s world is round.
We share a sun, not sunny signs
The moon shows us her same side
Stars lit up equal hemispheres
Can I hopscotch on them to there?
As my soul unwraps itself daily
For thee to see what I be
I strip, unpeel to reach the core
When I know you are the shore.
As I fill my joint days
With aphim that is not you
I highjump over curdled hurdles
Only to fall in night’s moonsweats.
Whether I pause the world
I see the same.
Whirlpool eyes that sucked me in
Where I circle, learning to swim.
Warring with oneself
Defeats the purposeful.
My thoughts tiptoe around you
Scared to breathe you in life
When they clatter, mind loses matter.