MOYRA DONALDSON / CARNIVOROUS
This book is to savor, a volume to return to as the poems reveal their fullest meanings. Behind all the work is that 'small, secretive animal of self' that Donaldson captures.
— Maria Wallace
2019 / 72 pages / €12
Cover photo: Witaya Ratanasirikulchai / Dreamstime.com
(click to view cover)
By Moyra Donaldson
MOYRA DONALDSON is an award winning and critically acclaimed poet and creative writing facilitator from County Down. She has published seven collections of poetry including a Selected Poems and her awards include the Women’s National Poetry Competition, The Allingham Award, Cúirt New Writing Award, North West Words Poetry Award and the Belfast Year of the Writer Award. She has received four awards from ACNI, including the ACES award in its inaugural year. Also widely published in magazines, journals and anthologies in both Europe, Australia and the USA. Her poems have featured on BBC Radio and television and on American national radio and television and she has read at festivals in Europe, Canada and America. Other projects include a collaboration with photographic artist Victoria J Dean resulting in an exhibition and the publication Abridged 0 -36 Dis-Ease, and a collaboration with artist Paddy Lennon, Blood Horses, culminating in a limited edition publication of artworks and poems.
It’s as if we might have made them up.
Like the night we camped on a hill in Donegal, above
the sea and under a clear sky, watching the Perseids
smear sudden streaks of brilliance across our holiday
and it was like eternity or timelessness or time
or something; our two young daughters, awake
after midnight and watching with us. They both
remember too — I’ve asked. Even after twenty years,
light is still seared across their retinas; the night when…
Ferns lodge the wall; foxglove and mullein
spike through stones; something starred
with dark blue and yolky yellow flowers
creeps through the hedge and climbs.
Horseradish un-tidies the lawn; planted
by birds, trees colonise flower beds; buddleia
blown by the wind to stony crevices, roots
and blossoms, as once, imported, it followed
the railway lines, using the pull of air
from trains to escape from the big houses,
make its way across the countryside.
So it is that exotics become weeds.
I read of a couple who became
lost amongst the rhododendrons.