Page Count: 68
Publication Date: Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Cover Artwork: Rosie O'Regan
About this Book
These vivid and powerful poems are searing indictments of mealy-mouthed hypocrites; they hex anyone who stands in the path of goodness and light; and they ritualize expressions of compassion and love into powerful medicine for the head. Sophisticated and complex, they yet manage to be generous and open-hearted, much like Paul Casey himself.
Paul Casey impresses with his versatility, sophistication and wit. His poems are shape-shifters of sound and style. One moment they are quick and shiny as satellites. The next dark and thoughtful as standing stones in a circle. They range, they lope, they gallop, strident or hushed. At all times they are concerned and caring.
With words chosen as skilfully as a flint is knapped Casey relates a modernity still marked by the Neolithic at its fringes, how we are all still pressed by the historic heft of stone, how ripples radiate from each of us to affect the world around us.
Pure poetry. Unstoppable poetry. Poetry thatís necessary.
Paul Caseyís début collection is home more or less (Salmon Poetry, 2012). A chapbook of longer poems, Itís Not all Bad, appeared from The Heaventree Press in 2009. He has published poems in journals and anthologies in Ireland, the US, China, Romania, South Africa and online. Aside from writing poetry he is a multimedia artist, teacher, events director, editor, occasional filmmaker and poet in residence each May for Carechoice, a group of elderly homes in county Cork. He also edits the annual Unfinished Book of Poetry, verse written by secondary school students in Cork city and runs multimedia and creative writing courses for adults at the Cork College of Commerce. He is the founder/director of the non-for-profit poetry organisation, ” Bhéal.
Author photograph by Andy Ferreira
Read a sample from this book
The eyes are passports
as the eyes of wildcats bright beneath the moon
that say, we are from here
as oxygen water sun are
arctic tern, shearwater, sandpiper, godwit, wheatear
as monarch, the humpback are
the probing nostrils of newly acquainted
rhino, hundreds in the pitch black at lake rendezvous
from miles every which way
dawn leaves only footprints.
Ghosts in New York, Seoul, Damascus have mouths
that sound as birds or goats sound
Who drew these lines between us?
In the daylight, their busy heads control remote bodies
passport gazes set straight ahead
this android I married
this heart that is not a phone
unquestioning, backup brain
ever-ready scrabble companion
sci-fi fantasy come true
and namer of stars
youíre a legless, personal typist in longhand
radio, mp3 player, home theatre
bank teller and one-stop shop
master-slave umbrella for cyber rain
voice-to-text poet pad
and digital grave
you morph to a mirror in a click
Some backgammon with that coffee love?
oh torch of blackest night
oh map-master, global positioning amigo
precision time machine
dearest, life remote-control
take me now
alfalfa in cursive
so that the nib stays on the page
in continuous curlicue from the
ear of the first a to the last a's tail
in one fluid symbol of neverending
conjoined curves, I say, I write, alfalfa
and so that I may jib and tack
through the gusting of language
without pause, muscles of the
hand flowing in obescience to
the electric infinity of soundshapes
I say and write
Copyright © Paul Casey 2016