菊地／菊地

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1 Matthew Sweeney, Black Moon B E Lyrikline Lyrikline SAP Lyrikline HP

2 Franz Kafka, Black Moon

3 A Dream of Maps T S Georg Trakl, Blue Shoes The Flying Spring Onion T S First collection vies with established names for TS Eliot prize

4 FatsointheRedSuit, Up on the Roof, New Faber Book of Children s Verse, Fox Jo Shapcott,Emergency Kit,Best of Irish Poetry John Hartley Williams Writing Poetry, Seamus Heaney,

5 Peter Nijmeijer, Het Ijshotel, Jan Wagner, Rosa Milch, The Doors

6 The Doors Behind the door was another door and behind that was another. The first door was black, as befitted a four-storey Georgian house on a street shaded by oaks. The second door was the grey of the sky before rain. The third door was blue, or blue- green let s say cobalt with a stiff black wrought-iron handle which took the shape of a mermaid instead of a dog or a dragon. Or the rattlesnake I expected to rear up, hissing, at me when I crossed the threshold. No chime announced me. No animal or person met me. The corridor I looked down was lined with male portraits. The rugs had embroidered females. Sweeney, Black Moon London: Cape,, pp..

7 The ghost of incense haunted the air I hardly breathed. I took a couple of half-steps then stood there, listening. I heard the portraits breathing and from some distant room a cuckoo clock cuckooing. My smile turned into a cough that echoed off the walls and infiltrated the house. The women on the first rug were grinning at me. All the eyes in the portraits were turned my way. I looked back at the door heard the lock click, then beyond another lock, then another. oak

No chime announced me stood there, listeningghosthaunted WalterdelaMare, The Listeners no one descended to the Traveller; / No head from the leaffringed sill/

8 No chime announced me stood there, listeningghosthaunted WalterdelaMare, The Listeners no one descended to the Traveller; / No head from the leaffringed sill/ Leaned over... Seam O Brien, W H W. H. Auden, ghost haunted The Quest for Reality Reality and Unreality in the Poetry of Walter de la Mare and Matthew Sweeney

9 ghost ghost Alison Brackenbury Tower Poetry Home Page,Marchhttp://

10 Exiled, Sanctuary, Signature Captured Snowy Owl The Fire The Fire The fire was chasing me so I ran, stopping only to try each door I reached but all of them were locked, their windows kept inside. And on the doors, the Russians Sweeney, Black Moon,p..

11 Lenin, Stalin, Khrushchev, Andropov glared at me, as the fire roared and hissed. I could smell the air of hell, and myself roasting. I ran, stopping at Gorbachev whom I threw myself at. He smiled on. I tried again. Nothing, a dislocated shoulder. The fire was at my arse, so I galloped on, past Yeltsin, past Putin, shouting now, as if anyone could hear me, as if anyone would care. hissing

12 myself roasting myself roasting arse Princess, The Bridal Suite, Insomnia, Black Moon Grammar has gradually simplified, and the occasional eccentricity of phrasing has been excluded. Much of Black Moon has a bony, utilitarian feel, as though intended for readers and listeners Sweeney is a superb reader without much English. O Brien, Guardian

13 fire fire fire Underground Underground He lived in a hole in the ground, down a ladder, in the bottom room. This was large but low-ceilinged. Wooden beams kept the earth up, rugs were draped on the caked walls Sweeney, Black Moon, pp..

14 apart from the one with the fresco he d done the winter of the shootings. The other rooms were mostly empty though sometimes strangers stayed then he d know to remain underground. When he went out it was usually night He hunted with the owls, the foxes. He d go to the spring in the forest, fill two five-liter bottles. He d find mushrooms at first light. He fussed over his homemade wine favoured chestnut and elm-root. Sometimes a badger straying across his concealed roof would hear the music he played. Once a mole came to visit him. He captured it, forced it to be his pet. He wrote and read by lamplight writing in the morning, reading all through the night. He wrote about the terror campaign. He read about easier times. Long ago he d lived with a woman in a high windy flat,

15 with different glimpses of the sea. When sleep came, and it was seldom, he d often dream of this and he d wake, saying her name. It was well she wasn t living here in this country, these times. It was well she wasn t down with him in this hole in the ground. He wrote about the terror campaign. the winter of the shootings It was well she wasn t living here / in this country, these times. the winter of the shootingsshootings Bloody Sunday Crystal Night the winter of shootingsa winter when lots of shootings were carried out serious violent unrest and government put-down. E

16 It was well she wasn t... The Transformed House, Sanctuary Floating Anniversary Choir, SanctuaryWorrying Days, Up On the Roof

17 Floating He saw her floating in the Danube. She was face-up, her long hair streaming like Ophelia s. Behind her swam two cats, one big, one small. They would escort her to Romania. He wanted to dive in and follow them but he knew he couldn t swim that far. Instead, he started a high keening that soon went choral, as folk joined in even the cats contributed their wailing. By now the Danube s banks were crowded. A boat set off after her, with priests in the prow, but the engine stalled midstream. She floated on, the mob moving with her, him at the head. He took off his hat and threw it out across the water, but it fell short and floated there till a dog retrieved it. He put it back on, dripping, then waved as the walled banks gavewaytobrambles and she floated round a bend out of sight. Sweeney, Black Moon,p..

18 The Return, Sanctuary keening keening

19 keening brambles oakbramble bramble John Everett Millais, Ophelia, Wading, ASmellofFish, John Woolrich, Gustave Courbet,Le bord de mer à Palavas,

20 Brachenbury, Alison. Dark Wings: Birds with a Broken Wing by Adam Thorpe and Black Moon by Matthew Sweeney March. Collins, Lucy. Contemporary Irish Poetry A Companion to Twentieth-Century Poetry. Ed. by Niel Roberts. Oxford: Blackwell,. Cotter, Patrick. Matthew Sweeney March. De la Mare, Walter, Selected Poems. Ed. by Matthew Sweeney. London: faber & faber,. Dennis, Oliver. A Welcome Corrective: Matthew Sweeney, Sanctuary PN Review, no.,p.. Dunmore, Helen. Not Just Kids Stuff: Playing on the Lines Poetry Review, vol.,, pp.. First Collection Vies with Established Names for TS Eliot Prize Guardian, Nov.. Fraise, Lindsey. Book Reviews: The New Faber Book of Children s Verse Guardian, April. Gross, Philip. Battle Cries and Emergencies: The Faber Book of War Poetry and Emergency Kit: Poems for Strange Times TES,Oct.. Kikuchi, Rina. The Quest for Reality : Reality and Unreality in the Poetry of Walter de la Mare and Matthew Sweeney Hikone-Ronso no., pp.. Laird, Nick. Climing into the Manhole: SmellofFish, Matthew Sweeney TLS,March. Lyrikline. March. Mackie, Patrick. Slick and Eclectic: Matthew Sweeney, Selected Poems & Ruth Padel, Voodoo Shop PN Review no.. p.. O Brien, Sean. To the Bone: Sean O Brien finds Matthew Sweeney s pared-down verse, Black Moon, is grim as death and bitingly funny Guardian, August. Poetry InternationalWeb. March. Styles, Morag. Poetry: Friendly Matches, It Takes One to Know One, Up on the Roof: New and Collected Poems TES,June.

21 Sweeney, Matthew. ASmellofFish. London: Cape,.. Black Moon. London: Cape,.. Blue Shoes. London: Secker & Warburg,..Cacti. London: Secker & Warburg,.. Fox. London: Bloomsbury,.. Het Ihshotel, trans. by Peter Nijmeijer. Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Atlas,.. Rosa Milch, trans. by Jan Wagner. Berlin: Verlag,.. Sanctuary. London: Cape,.. Selected Poems. London: Cape,.. The Bridal Suite. London: Cape,.. Up on the Roof: New and Collected Poems. London: faber & faber,., and Jo Shapcott. Eds. Emergency Kit: Poems for Strange Times. London: faber & faber,., and John Hartley Williams. Writing Poetry. Chicago: Contemporary,. Trahms, Gisela. Donegal auf der Brust: Matthew Sweeney, Rosa Milch Title. mode=thread&order thold Feb. Writersartists.net. March. SAP

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