Peter O’Neill

Two poems for Emmeline Launay

Three Poems for Caroline Minot

 

 

 

Two poems for Emmeline Launay

 

Burlesque

 

The only religiosity I feel is when I am in your company.

All the rest is sheer ennui, or fatigue. A pain!

Blood and death coagulate in the mercy cup,

And I can hear the secret mind’s cry in a century’s turning.

 

You prey upon my mind like a vulture with a carcass,

Bringing a certain cadaverous thrill to my thoughts.

O lie down beside me an give into the murder,

Lie down beside me and be my partner in crime.

 

Of course, the whole scene is entirely ridiculous.

And yet, somehow your head happens to fit so perfectly,

Glaring in at me with those two pitiless lamps you have for eyes,

And which emanate such an unquiet vehemence that I cannot but be moved.

 

Older than Africa, and darker than any human heart,

Your movements coarse their way down through me

Leaving me to roam about like some drunken Napoleon,

Who wakes up beside GiZa, staring at the Sphinx.

 

 

The Nomad

 

Like a mirage you appeared, an oasis upon the horizon.

Blinded by your sun, I staggered forward; dying of thirst

And mad with the promise.

 

 The journey from A to B was hazardous,

I fell down on countless occasions due to sheer human weakness,

But the rewards offered appeared to be so great that I pulled through.

 

After having suffered tribal attacks,

Whole fevers of sporadic rage compounded with jealousies,

I finally achieved the ultimate prize of position B.

 

Now, on my hands and knees,

You can observe me grasping whole fistfuls of sand.

 

 

 

 

Three Poems for Caroline Minot

 

Milton

 

On first contact it was as if we were both thrown

From a cliff, and holding onto one another,

As unforgiving angels, we wrestled together

Seemingly oblivious to our fall, so concerned

Were we in our own actions. Until we reached

The furthest edge of the abyss where we then

Finally crawled away from one another, in shame,

To nurse our wounds after the inextinguishable

Pain, which boiled lava like in the blood,

Intoxicating the brain to a feverish cancer.

Until, eventually, time passed, merciful heavens!

And with it our emotions mellowed,

And we could witness the sea again, and not recoil.

I still smile when I think about you, little devil.

 

 

The Mona Lisa 

 

I still get glimpses of you, Artic reflections

Of sunlight, despite the incalculable distance

Which separates us, and that seems to be

Encompassed now in your smile.

 

There you are then, your image trapped

By the hunter in my head, caught up

In the newer territory of neurons and cells,

Where you roam, an artful maladie.

 

I nurture this image of you,

The richest of collectors, and proud

Possessor of my very own immortal.

 

Through the smooth corridors of urbane

Domesticity I go to sometimes view you,

Secretly applauding how magnificently you’ve been framed.

 

 

Needles

 

Your indifference is magnificent,

And as impenetrable as a chasm, or cave.

Your presentation is like some obscure window

With a view to nowhere,

Which, admittedly, has its particular charm too.

White flour like sands, wooden slats, pine trees...

These are just a part of your lingering charms,

Which continue to haunt me.

So that I appear to be lost in a nameless country,

Without a map, whose compass is Northless.

For it is here where your spirit,

Like some Arabian genie,

Is forever unleashed.

 

 

These works have all been published previously by A New Ulster.

 

 

Peter O' Neill was born in Cork in 1967. After spending the majority of the nineties living in France, and experience which was to have lasting impact on his writing, he returned to live in Dublin which became the subject of a trilogy: The Dark Pool, soon to be published by MGv2>publishing, Fingal, and Dublin Gothic, soon to be published by Kilmog Press.

His debut collection, Antiope (Hammer & Anvil Books, 2013) was received to critical acclaim. 'Certainly a voice to be reckoned with.' Brigitte Le Juez ( Beckett avant la lettre, Grasset, 2007). It was followed by The Elm Tree (Lapwing Publications, 2014) which was also very well received. ' A thing of wonder to see.' Ross Breslin (The Scum Gentry ).

He holds a BA in Philosophy and a Masters in Comparative Literature, both having been awarded by Dublin City University. He is currently editing issue 81 of MG 'Transverser'.

 

His latest collection of transversions of Baudelaire, The Enemy, is forthcoming from Hammer & Anvil Books in late March.