On translation & poetry
Here is a beautiful poem : Stillborn 1943: Calling Limbo (For Nuala McCarthy) You were born dead and your blue limbs were folded on the living bier of your mother the umbilical cord unbroken between you like an out-of-service phone line. The priest said it was too late for the blessed baptismal water that arose from Lough Bofinne and cleansed the elect of Bantry. So you were cut from her and wrapped, unwashed, in a...