#poet: derek mahon

[to-the-starlit-west]

Afterlives, Derek Mahon - 1975

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"There will be dying, there will be dying, / but there is no need to go into that."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[hanssloane]

Life is a dream, of course, as

we all know,

but one to be dreamt in

earnest even so.

from The Cloud Ceiling by Derek Mahon

[feytouched]

hi ieva!! i was reading through your poems and i’ve fallen in love with the way you write all over again ( . ̫.) which poet(s) do you draw the most inspiration from stylistically / are your favourites if you don’t mind me asking? :O

hi! thank you so much ;w; <33

i would say my greatest stylistic inspirations are mary oliver and mary szybist (i think these are quite transparent, they inform a lot of my personal style), as well as simon armitage (i admire the way his language flows, he makes great use of cadence in his poetry), seamus heaney and gillian clarke (big inspirations in terms of the beauty of their descriptions of nature). i also love ee cummings though most of my poetry has little in common with that style, i admire the freedom of it. and then probably my favourite poet ever, rilke: i can't even begin to reach the transcendental quality of his writing, but i can admire it and strive towards it all the same, and it's been a guide and comfort on many occasions.

other poets i like: wendy cope (of course. i was here when every other post was a quote from the orange! and it was glorious!), dorianne laux (i think her style also influenced the way i write), basho (every now and then i reread on love and barley in a single sitting and it makes me feel things), louise glück, derek mahon... just some of the names gracing my poetry shelf

obligatory 'i haven't even written any poetry in almost two years so i'm not even really a poet any more i'm just a seed in the dark waiting for the drive to write to pour over me again' disclaimer !

[daincrediblegg]

VIBRATING BECAUSE MY TIME HAS COME - I don't know my classical irish poetry unfortunately, but the Derek Mahon mentioned in that post has been my favourite poet for years and I think his work would be RIGHT up your alley! off the top of my head: After the Titanic, An Bonnán Buí, Antarctica, and Everything is Going to be All Right all strike me as croziercore. RIP Mahon you would have loved watching the terrorlads be doomed by the narrative

Scaffolding by Heaney and A Drinking Song by Yeats are a couple of other cute short poems I think you would enjoy :3

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH HOLY SHIT!!!! I fucking gobbled these poems up last night- holy fuck dude you were so right (and yo I fucking love his writing style??? what the hell???) seriously. so right about those choices (ESPECIALLY ANTARCTICA!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!). might genuinely have to pick up a book of his poetry because JESUS (and who knows? might even attempt that today!) (ALSO THOSE TWO OTHERS. HM. ADDING THAT TO A LITTLE FOLDER TUCKED AWAY FOR LADY TERROR X FRANCIS THINGS... HM...)

[judyconda]

St. Patrick's Day POETRY BY DEREK MAHON No wise man ever wished to be younger. — Swift Down the long library each marble bust shines unregarded through a shower of dust where a grim ghost paces for exercise in wet weather: nausea, gout, ‘some days I hardly think it worth my time to rise’. Not even the love of friends can quite appease the vertigo, sore ears and inner voices; deep-draughted rain clouds, a rock lost in space, yahoos triumphant in the marketplace, the isle is full of intolerable noises. Go with the flow; no, going against the grain he sits in his rocking chair with a migraine, a light in the church all day till evensong, the sort of day in which a man might hang. No riding out to bubbling stream and weir, to the moist meadow and white belvedere; on tattling club and coffee house a pox, a confederacy of dunces and mohocks — scholars and saints be d-mn’d, slaves to a hard reign and our own miniature self-regard. We emerge from hibernation to ghetto-blasters much better than our old Sony transistors, consensual media, permanent celebration, share options, electronic animation, wave motion of site-specific daffodils, closed-circuit video in the new hotels; for Niamh and Oisín have come to earth once more with blinding breastplate and tempestuous hair, new festive orthodoxy and ironic icon, their faces lit up like the Book of Kells. *Photo not mine, credits to the owner : #fairytaletuesday #fairytale #fairytaleflash #poems #poem #poetic #poet #poetry #poems #poetryofinstagram #classicpoetry #fairytalecore #fairytalepoetry #Spiritique #mindfulness #Spiritual #Spirituality #mystical #mystique #mystic #mysticisim #folk #folklore #folkspirits #folkmystic #fantasy #fantasycore #stpatricksday #irishday #stpatricks https://www.instagram.com/p/CpxBXqSygMb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[alphabetsoup-blogposts]

Be sceptical but whole-hearted; don't be shy; avoid spirits and nicotine; read Stendhal 'On Love'; trust your own instincts, even the most fugitive; and welcome to la condition humaine. Cheer up, son; oh, and above all disbelieve the cynic who tries to tell you how to behave for, as Confucius said, fine words are seldom humane.

[theshatterednotes]

Derek Mahon, Irish poet

[larimar]

Derek Mahon, Irish poet passed away today. This poem gave solace to the people of Ireland during the COVID lockdown. I hope it gives his family solace now... Rest in peace.

[anthonywilson]

Poem of the year?

Poem of the year?

Before I start, I want to say that this is not about stats. This is not about stats. What this is about is connection and emotion and wanting to put something out into the void that can help make everything a little bit, just a little bit more bearable. That is the point of this. Not stats. Having said that, this is also absolutely about stats. The stats of one poem, one blog post, that have…

[to-the-starlit-west]

As It Should Be, Derek Mahon

[gloop-augustus]

Everything is Going to Be All Right by Derek Mahon

How should I not be glad to contemplate

the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window

and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?

There will be dying, there will be dying,

but there is no need to go into that.

The poems flow from the hand unbidden

and the hidden source is the watchful heart.

The sun rises in spite of everything

and the far cities are beautiful and bright.

I lie here in a riot of sunlight

watching the day break and the clouds flying.

Everything is going to be all right.

[hanssloane]

[theuniverseproject]

The sun rises in spite of everything and the far cities are beautiful and bright.  I lie here in a riot of sunlight Watching the day break and the clouds flying. Everything is going to be alright

Derek Mahon (Northern Irish poet, b.1941)

[spottersplace]

A Book List of Ten Recently Departed Poets

https://bookshop.org/lists/ten-poets-who-recently-left-the-stage

[sulsulellison]

Hello! I’d like to request some Neil perry x socially anxious!gn!reader (hcs or a one shot whatever works for you)

I’m generally not good at talking to people and even though I think it’s be super cool to hang out with the dead poets I feel like my social battery would drain super fast so I’m wondering how you think Neil would help and/or react to that

(Feel free to ignore and rember to stay hydrated!)

social situations

Neil perry x socially anxious!gn!reader

word count: 440

warning: social anxiety, drinking

hope you enjoy! and stay hydrated too :D

you and neil had been dating for some time and he had come to understand that you have social anxiety

when you first told him, he went to todd to learn some more ways to possibly help and comfort you

since then he’d try different methods to figure out when your social battery was low and ho to help without being overbearing or obvious about it

during a late night in mid october, the poets were all huddled in the cave and reading eerie poems and prose in the spirit of halloween

drinks were passed around and coats were wrapped around each other, you and neil sitting together with a blanket sprawled across your laps

pitts went first and read ‘I felt a Funeral, in my Brain’ by Emily Dickinson

neil had read ‘The Dream Play’ by Derek Mahon

it was finally your turn

you decided to go with a classic, ‘The Raven’ by Edger Allen Poe

when you started, it wasn’t that bad, the bubbly atmosphere was contagious as you (over) dramatically read the poem

but you were quickly proven wrong, your position started to feel uncomfortable and your fingers started to press and crease the pages of the book

you hoped no one would notice but you should have known better

neil put his hand on you leg and gave it three light taps, hoping it would be reassuring

it was but only for a moment

you were starting to struggle with your words and no longer looked up from the paper

you were awaiting it inevitable end but when it finally came, you still felt on edge

knox started to read but you couldn’t focus on what he was saying, you were no longer enjoying yourself and the beer wasn’t helping

the need to breath became more erratic, all noise leaving the room

social battery starting to hit 1%

you were lost in you head, that was until neil pulled you into a hug and kissed you forehead

you tried to match his breathing, hoping the rise and fall will calm you down

he remained hugging you the rest of the night

the other poets had caught on by now and toned things down but continued to read poems and talk with each other

still uneasy, you and neil had left the meeting slightly earlier and went up to neils dorm room

the remainder of the night was spent with you and neil sitting in comfortable silence on his bed

the next morning you felt more at easy and a little more eager to talk and joke with everyone