Gangs of Shadow
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About this ebook
There is a reaching for the unsayable throughout this collection, whether it is thinking about the future, people's inner lives or the shadows of place, O'Neill is wholeheartedly engaged with the unfathomable nature of living. To read these poems is to be part of his exuberance for the physical and visual experience of living, be that lying in a field, being with loved ones or watching the movement of light through a day. Each moment is brimming with imagery of its past and future, so these poems bring out the mutability and movement that both blurs and pinpoints events.
Michael O'Neill has lectured at Durham University since 1979, where he is a Professor of English. He co-founded and co-edited Poetry Durham from 1982 to 1994. His critical studies include The All-Sustaining Air (OUP, 2007), an exploration of Romantic poetry's influence on poets since 1900. His first collection The Stripped Bed, was published by Collins Harvill in 1990, Arc published his second collection, Wheel, to critical acclaim.
Michael O'Neill
An Adams Media author.
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Book preview
Gangs of Shadow - Michael O'Neill
CONTENTS
The Garden
Louis MacNeice
Shadows
Even If
Intimates
Cluny
For Whom
You
Happy Birthday
Lift
Detained
Chapter and Verse
Memory (after Rimbaud)
Twice
The Baths of Caracalla
Editing
Let It Happen
Never
Companions
Near Flatford Mill
Tryst
Until
Money
Pilgrims
The Voyage (after Baudelaire)
Loose Change
Scalinata della Trinità dei Monti
Secret Agent
Meeting (from Dante, Purgatorio XXI)
Human
The Call
Trilogy
Departure
Belief
Towards Sixty
Diagnosis
Convergence
Beatrice Cenci
The Rival
And These Too
Two for Millie
Lesson
So It Goes
Three for the NHS
Snowbound
Memorial
Georg Trakl
Covenant
Elsewhere
Sirmione
Biographical Note
THE GARDEN
There was, there had to be, a garden.
Traffic noises eddied, but it gave space
for citizens to refresh themselves,
overlooked by the palace.
Police occupied toy
sentry-boxes; behind, there must have been
briefings, e-mails, people having their say.
Beyond, though, parents helped their children
launch yachts across a wind-crisped pond, then hook
them back to safety with a long stick.
It is, a poet wrote, the nearest thing
to the idyll we deserve; we are allowed
once more to enter Eden as of right.
Many who came to the city stayed
on for the garden; drank coffee,
glimpsed meaning in the vague, arranged horizon.
One day the notices appeared: The garden
has been closed; you are advised that entrance
is unauthorised and will result in prosecution.
And then another day a message read:
By order of the undersigned (whose names
include those who roam elsewhere, being dead)
the garden is, it had to be, abolished.
LOUIS MACNEICE
That saturnine, mercurial Irishman
would sit in bars and scribble lines
on beer-mats, not bothering tra-la to scan
mechanically or fret about his rhymes.
His ear pitch-perfect, he would dive
into the flux with gusto and delight
in revelations of the cave
while ironizing Plato’s radiant light.
Who else comes close to coming close
to showing what a lyric might amount to,
a miracle of freedom you can parse,
elegance topped by sprezzatura?
Who else can match his dash
or darkness? Before Charon sticks
his oar in (‘if you want to die’), I’d wish
to praise his maker with words tricked
into place like a cab that finds
its destination in a room
that holds reflected doubles, or like minds
kindling a shared thought into flame.
SHADOWS
You stop on a bridge
towards the edge of town,
dusk already settled
over shadows from willows
angling out of the river banks.
Something to do with
the recent appointments,
perhaps, the fact-sheets of
advice, and the chances this
way and that, but, without warning,
you seem to see your own spirit
balloon beyond your lips
and spread itself as an indistinct
shadow above the mass
of shadows gathered in the water.
A couple passes, laughing.
You look at your BlackBerry,
might be a man with a life
that needs guiding through
dates, meetings and even a
decision once in a while. But
that’s only, you sense, with a chill
at the edge of your thoughts,
make-believe – the truth’s
your essence drifting
off into the night air,
unable to