THIS poetry series taken from the Limerick City of Culture 2014 dedicated anthology ‘Dream of a City’ will wind down on announcement of Limerick making it from the longlist for European Capital of Culture 2020 status to short. Or not.
Meanwhile let’s mine the gold that is. What follows is one by Catherine Phil McCarthy, a woman who grew up in nearby Crecora and is former editor of ‘Poetry Ireland Review’.
This poem caught my eye because I drove the long drop down to Lahinch last night under a turquoise sky with pink mackerel stripes. There was a briny taint to the air.
With scarcely a fullstop throughout McCarthy’s words, we follow the arc of a casting line thrown into the hope of a dark ocean. Packed with verbs, we can spool in the excitement.
The First Rod: Mackerel at Inis Óirr
Cast the line off the pier,/ summer nights,/ into black stillness,/ read the dusk blind,/ Atlantic waters at full tide./ Wrist so deft and light/ arching the throw/ high and wide now,/ all six feathers kiss/ the slick surface like stars/ shooting without a trace
Where a shoal/ in its own sweet hour/ clots and ripples a current/ to the hands, charged/ at the least quiver/ to reel in the bowed line/ amid whoops and cries,/ at pains to land/ the weight of this prize,/ wriggling and twitching/ with silvery light.
