AOIFE REILLY / REVOLUTIONS OF HUMMING THINGS
These are poems that combine joy and conflict seamlessly, that are pensive and lyrically woven, while all the time bearing testimony to the strength of a poetic voice that is Aoife Reilly's.
— Enda Wyley
2020 / 80 pages / €12
Cover art: Curtis Bartone
(click to view cover)
Revolutions of Humming Things
by Aoife Reilly
AOIFE REILLY grew up in Laois and now lives in Kinvara, County Galway. She studied Irish language and history at UCD before training in primary teaching and subsequently, psychotherapy. She has travelled throughout Africa, where she studied percussion and dance. Aoife has been shortlisted in many competitions including the Doolin Writer’s Competition, Over the Edge New Writer of the Year (2015 & 2018) and Galway Hospital Poems for Patience (2018), and in 2016 she was selected to read as part of the Cúirt/Over the Edge New Writing Showcase. Her poetry has been widely published in print and online journals in Ireland and overseas, and in 2017 her pamphlet Lilac and Gooseberries was published by Lapwing Press. Revolutions of Humming Things is her debut collection.
One chord of that song and I’m back there.
We were free and we knew it,
women and wild horses
at the earthen house by the lake
living life in a Dali painting.
Dusk was pink and the petrified trees
lived their calm lives on water, watching
our frenzy of nothing to lose and everything
to find in that hot blue expanse,
starting our lives with the loud music of beginnings
not knowing then how the light on that lake
keeps dancing us back to opening,
The Heart of a Horse
Free of moral dilemma or agenda,
they gallop over the dried-up lake
They do not wait for the sun to reach earth,
hovering instead over the land
on pink limestone nights with elegance
enough to make a human heart shatter.
It must be easier to be a horse,
free from fighting solitude
inhabiting a wall of steady muscle,
solid gaze into yellow iris
with velvet mouthfuls of silverweed.
I would like to be a foal among them
legs like matchsticks holding the body open,
heart three times a human’s size
stretched in vulnerability above the daisies.
In a dizzying mouthful of summer,
whitethorn is scent made visible
and we do not have to sing sonnets
into stars and satellites,
when the whole world is witnessed
in the eyes of a horse
riding into sea sounds and earth songs
all the way to meet the source
without seeking it through disaster.