CIARAN CARSON

Tib's Eve

There is a green hill far away, without a city wall,
Where cows have longer horns than any that we know;
Where daylight hours behold a moon of indigo,
And fairy cobblers operate without an awl.

There, ghostly galleons plough the shady Woods of True,
And schools of fishes fly among the spars and shrouds;
Rivers run uphill to spill into the starry clouds,
And beds of strawberries grow in the ocean blue.

This is the land of the green rose and the lion lily,
Ruled by Zeno’s eternal tortoises and hares,
Where everything is metaphor and simile:

Somnambulists, we stumble through this paradise
From time to time, like words repeated in our prayers,
Or storytellers who convince themselves that truths are lies.

Available from Amazon.co.uk:

Breaking News (Gallery Press, 2003)
The Inferno of Dante Alighieri (Granta, 2002)
Selected Poems (Wake Forest Uni Press, 2001)
The Twelfth of Never (Picador, 1999)
Opera Et Cetera (Gallery Press, 1996)
First Language (Gallery Press, 1993)
Belfast Confetti (Bloodaxe, 1990)
The Irish for No (Gallery Press, 1987)

Gallery Press | Bloodaxe | Granta | Picador