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Maurice Scully lives in Dublin, Ireland and is the author of many books of poetry including Steps and Five Freedoms of Movement.  The following selections are from Steps (London U.K.: Reality Street, 1998).

"Steps," "Sonnet" and "Responsibility"  Copyright © 2002 Maurice Scully

 

Steps

 

He is moving a ladder. He is climbing it.

He is whistling. The sound of a jet. The

sound of someone sawing wood.  A cat moves

smoothly along (hammertap of hands fixing tiles

to slats) the granite coping of the cottage

in the laneway.  Stops.  Disappears over the

rooftop.

 

Downwind of your nightsky time-probing telescope's

definitely not apples, or clove oil or myrrh!

Chipped granitic plug.  Pad along past the lip

of the last grip, let fly ...

 

You'd slept well and rose immediately,

kettle on, bundle of papers out to the shed

at the end of the garden through the dewy grass.

In detail and proliferation (hoverfly's

pulsing abdomen, secret nectary opened out)

a ladybird beetle ambling past through

the proliferate grass.  Is that the word for it?

A woodlouse dropped off the door-jamb, so quiet you

could hear it drop.

 

 

Sonnet

 

In it build.  A wall of tiny, precise, bricks,

a wall of fittings, of feelings, discoveries,

evasive shadows, a wall of absence collected,

wall of tears justified, the wall of plain

speaking.  If the system locks you to the screen

it directs your life.  Leave the room.  Breathe

in.  The wall moves out a bit.  Blue pen, red pen,

the many ways through: put that in your pocket

to feel better in times of distress ... yes?

 

An old wine bottle base found in a wall

built a century ago around a house in rural Ireland

now in a case in a museum in a castle in the middle

of Ireland under my odd pink reflection

peering up; with what intention? Click. Sunlight

on a chimney pot.  A crow on a roof.  Shocked by

the shards that fly past my face here: a "career in

'development'," the "management of the poor," And

lodge in the receptive surface of the wall opposite

and disappear. 

 

 

Responsibility

 

the fid; stirps.

 

not to write very cold poetry.

 

that events of social/political significance

be witnessed seemed reasonable enough & yet.

 

ha! pro deo pro patria & the tightening knot

at the top of the spine.

 

long lines of characteristic compact crowns

suckering vigorously in hedgerows.

 

they've never had children.

 

there it is, yr ache, fibrous, gripping the

secret verbum at the basis: take, take, take,

kerfed & set into the rabbets.

 

little nude screams.

 

coda

 

in the tree's underchamber

the roots enmesh & thicken

 

(I know I know I know)

 

after white silence

the yellow growthsound

 

very         quite

delicate  listen

 


 

 

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