Brendan Kennelly (1936–2021)
Autore di The Penguin Book of Irish Verse
Sull'Autore
Brendan Kennelly has been Professor of Modern Literature at Trinity College, Dublin for the past 30 years.
Fonte dell'immagine: Kennys Bookshop and Art Galleries
Opere di Brendan Kennelly
Collection one getting up early 1 copia
Shelley in Dublin 1 copia
Opere correlate
Literary Imagination, Ancient and Modern: Essays in Honor of David Grene (1999) — Collaboratore — 7 copie
Etichette
Informazioni generali
- Data di nascita
- 1936
- Data di morte
- 2021-10-16
- Sesso
- male
- Nazionalità
- Ireland
- Luogo di nascita
- Ballylongford, County Kerry, Ireland
- Luogo di morte
- Listowel, County Kerry, Ireland
- Istruzione
- Trinity College, Dublin (PhD)
- Attività lavorative
- poet
novelist
professor emeritus (Modern Literature) - Organizzazioni
- Trinity College, Dublin
- Premi e riconoscimenti
- 2010 Irish PEN Award
Utenti
Recensioni
Potrebbero anche piacerti
Autori correlati
Statistiche
- Opere
- 41
- Opere correlate
- 3
- Utenti
- 485
- Popolarità
- #50,913
- Voto
- 3.8
- Recensioni
- 1
- ISBN
- 78
Unfortunately, it's almost impossible to get in America—but Wychwood just found a copy for me! *rejoices*
For those of you who can't find it, here's a small taste/poor substitute—my favorite poem from the book:
"No Image Fits"
I have never seen him and I have never seen
Anyone but him. He is older than the world and he
Is always young. What he says is in every ear
And has never been heard before.
I have tried to kill him in me,
He is in me more than ever.
I saw his hands smashed by dum-dum bullets,
His hands holding the earth are whole and tender.
If I knew what love is I would call him a lover.
Break him like glass, every splinter is wonder.
I had not understood that annihilation
Makes him live with an intensity I cannot understand.
That I cannot understand is the bit of wisdom I have found.
He splits my mind like an axe a tree.
He makes me heart deeper and fuller than my heart will dare to be.
He would make me at home beyond the sky and the black ground,
He would amaze me with the light on the brilliant sand,
He is the joy of the first word, the music of the undiscovered human.
Undiscovered! Yet I live as if my music were known.
He is what I cannot lose and cannot find
He is nothing, nothing but body and soul and heart and mind.
So gentle is he the gentlest air
Is rough by comparison
So kind is he I cannot dream
A kinder man
So distant is he the farthest star
Sleeps at my breast
So near is he the thought of him
Puts me outside myself
So one with love is he
I know love is
Time and eternity
And all their images.
No image fits, no rod, no crown.
I brought him down.… (altro)