Patrick Kavanagh

Patrick Kavanagh

Patrick Kavanagh (21 October 1904 – 30 November 1967) was an Irish poet and novelist. His best-known works include the novel Tarry Flynn, and the poems "On Raglan Road" and "The GrБольше
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#the26 мин. чтения

The Great Hunger

Clay is the word and clay is the
Where the potato-gatherers like mechanised scarecrows
Along the side-fall of the hill - Maguire and his men
If we watch them an hour is there anything we can

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#стоны2 мин. чтения

Stony Grey Soil

O stony grey soil of
The laugh from my love you thieved;
You took the gay child of my
And gave me your clod-conceived

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#epic1 мин. чтения

Epic

I have lived in important places,
When great events were decided, who
That half a rood of rock, a no-man's
Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims

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#inniskeen2 мин. чтения

Inniskeen Road July Evening

The bicycles go by in twos and threes -There's a dance in Billy Brennan's barn to-night,
And there's the half-talk code of
And the wink-and-elbow language of delight
Half-past eight and there is not a

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#having2 мин. чтения

Having To Live in the Country

Back once again in wild, wet Monaghan Exiled from thought and feeling,
A mean brutality reigns:
It is really a horrible position to be in And I equate myself with Dante And all who have lived outside civilization
It isn't a question...

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#mother2 мин. чтения

In Memory Of My Mother

I do not think of you lying in the wet
Of a Monaghan graveyard;
I
You walking down a lane among the

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#apple-ripe2 мин. чтения

On An Apple-Ripe September Morning

On an apple-ripe September
Through the mist-chill fields I
With a pitch-fork on my
Less for use than for devilment

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#primrose1 мин. чтения

Primrose

Upon a bank I sat, a child made
Of one small primrose flowering in my mind
Better than wealth it is,
I said, to

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#kerrs ass1 мин. чтения

Kerrs Ass

We borrowed the loan of Kerr's
To go to Dundalk with butter,
Brought him home the evening before the
And exile that night in Mucker

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#raglan2 мин. чтения

On Raglan Road

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of th...

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#gospel1 мин. чтения

Gospel

We are the children of light, Wise, not companioned By goats In a condemned graveyard
Backward blowing Blizzards of memory Flatten out The genealogies
But here a point, The objective essence We work in
We shall not drink from the st...

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#canal2 мин. чтения

Canal Bank Walk

Leafy-with-love banks and the green waters of the
Pouring redemption for me, that I
The will of God, wallow in the habitual, the banal,
Grow with nature again as before I grew

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