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Filíocht Nua: New Poetry

Filíocht Nua: New Poetry Fred Johnston let in memoriam: John Hogan, poet, d. August 20, 2019 Take today and square it in a frame Let visitors see it first thing in the door Give it prominence, yesterday was not the same Tomorrow’s a loose-hinged door Today things happened: sign your name. We should be so lucky when the time Comes, to know our margin when it’s set er Th e’s nothing else to do but pass the time Or hang a notice on the heS a pr ace t: To Let Rough-swaddled in a gin-and-lime It’s damnably hard, this long sitting here Waiting for an answer, no questions asked It comes to all of us, there or here, Or in the middle, and all we’re tasked With is to find a decent dark suit to wear It’s timetables now, and the weight of time And a handful of pebbled untillable earth Faces unmissed for years, a sublime Sense of déjà vu, but never rebirth A convulsion of hands, the need for reason, rhyme. new hibernia review / iris éireannach nua, 23:4 (geimhreadh / winter, 2019), 72–78 Filíocht Nua: New Poetry canicule This is the weather when dogs die in locked cars Tarmac melts http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png New Hibernia Review Center for Irish Studies at the University of St. Thomas

Filíocht Nua: New Poetry

New Hibernia Review , Volume 23 (4) – Mar 4, 2020

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Publisher
Center for Irish Studies at the University of St. Thomas
Copyright
Copyright © The University of St. Thomas.
ISSN
1534-5815

Abstract

Fred Johnston let in memoriam: John Hogan, poet, d. August 20, 2019 Take today and square it in a frame Let visitors see it first thing in the door Give it prominence, yesterday was not the same Tomorrow’s a loose-hinged door Today things happened: sign your name. We should be so lucky when the time Comes, to know our margin when it’s set er Th e’s nothing else to do but pass the time Or hang a notice on the heS a pr ace t: To Let Rough-swaddled in a gin-and-lime It’s damnably hard, this long sitting here Waiting for an answer, no questions asked It comes to all of us, there or here, Or in the middle, and all we’re tasked With is to find a decent dark suit to wear It’s timetables now, and the weight of time And a handful of pebbled untillable earth Faces unmissed for years, a sublime Sense of déjà vu, but never rebirth A convulsion of hands, the need for reason, rhyme. new hibernia review / iris éireannach nua, 23:4 (geimhreadh / winter, 2019), 72–78 Filíocht Nua: New Poetry canicule This is the weather when dogs die in locked cars Tarmac melts

Journal

New Hibernia ReviewCenter for Irish Studies at the University of St. Thomas

Published: Mar 4, 2020

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