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The poems in Eavan Boland's new collection consider questions of inheritance and identity, of what is handed down and what is lost. Boland's poems are acts of preservation: they are aware of the significance of objects, memories, words, in keeping alive what we would 'otherwise lose / without thinking'. At the same time, they are a holding to account, addressing the damage wrought by that other inheritance, 'the art of empire', 'the business ... of colony'. In the title sequence, Boland seeks to restore voice and place to those who, like her grandmother, 'lived and died outside history', skilled in '... silence'.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014
EAVAN BOLAND
The outsider will say, ‘in fact, as a woman, I have no country’.
Virginia Woolf
Acknowledgements are made to the editors of the following publications in which some of these poems appeared: The American Scholar, The Guardian, The New Republic, The New Yorker, Ploughshares, PN Review, Poetry, The Threepenny Review, Tin House and The Yale Review.
‘Amethyst Beads’ appeared in the Academy of American Poets’ ‘Poem-a-Day’ programme.
‘A Soldier in the 28th Massachusetts’ first appeared in Lines in Long Array, the US National Portrait Gallery’s commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the Civil War.
‘Becoming Anne Bradstreet’ was published in Shakespeare’s Sisters: Women Writers Bridge Five Centuries (Folger Library, 2012).
‘A Wife’s Lament’ was published in The Word Exchange: Anglo-Saxon Poems in Translation (W.W. Norton, 2012).
‘The Port of New York: 1956’ first appeared in A Poetic Celebration of the Hudson River, sponsored by the Port Authority of New York (Carcanet Press, 2009).
My thanks to Jill Bialosky, Kevin Casey, Michael Schmidt and Jody Allen Randolph.
The ratio of daylight to handwriting
Was the same as lace-making to eyesight.
The paper was so thin it skinned air.
The hand was fire and the page tinder.
Everything burned away except the one
Place they singled out between fingers
Held over a letter pad they set aside
For the long evenings of their leavetakings,
Always asking after what they kept losing,
Always performing – even when a shadow
Fell across the page and they knew the answer
Was not forthcoming – the same action:
First the leaning down, the pen becoming
A staff to walk fields with as they vanished
Underfoot into memory. Then the letting up,
The lighter stroke, which brought back
Cranesbill and thistle, a bicycle wheel
Rusting: an iron circle hurting the grass
Again and the hedges veiled in hawthorn
Again just in time for the May Novenas
Recited in sweet air on a road leading
To another road, then another one, widening
To a motorway with four lanes, ending in
A new town on the edge of a city