The Ghost of Meaning

Here is some contemporary Irish poetry for St. Patrick’s Day. Enjoy.

Evening at the Kuerners, by Andrew Wyeth

The Season

The edge of spring.
The dark is wet. Already
stars are tugging at
their fibrous roots:

In February
they will fall and shine
from the roadsides
in their yellow hundreds.

My first child
was conceived in this season.
If I wanted a child now
I could not have one.

Except through memory.
Which is the ghost of the body.
Or myth.
Which is the ghost of meaning.

–Eavan Boland, from Daughter

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