Derek Mahon.
Today, the death of the great Irish poet Derek Mahon was announced. It inspired me to try and capture the passing relationship I had with the words of his poem A Disused Shed in County Wexford. I read it when I was young and felt a poet was something to be.
Although the ambition has borne little fruit, it remains a fascination. It seems to call me back but I am aware that I am an amateur versifier - while Derek Mahon made phrases that change how you see the world.
Thoughts upon hearing of the death of Derek Mahon
"Web-throated, stalked like triffids, racked by drought
And insomnia, only the ghost of a scream
At the flash-bulb firing-squad we wake them with
Shows there is life yet in their feverish forms."
When first I read these words there was a shiver
of recognition.
Once, opening the small door
into the unconverted eavesliding attic
Confusion turned to fascination
And a slight unease.
The creeper from the front of the house
Had grown into the dark
White, grasping,
like roots above ground
searching for sustenance in the air.
Triffids, I thought
Reaching for my sleeping throat
Marooned in the bloodless dark.
Now it feels that I have sprouted
In the dark
Poems without soil.
As you enter the wordless mouth-shuttering clay
I wonder will my unflowered stems
Ever feel the sun.
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