His Country Is Calling Me

Libby Hart

And when I say his country,
I mean the sweet, sad earth of line and skin. Track of bone, of limb.
His country is calling me.

And when I say his country,
I mean that haunt of eyes, cliff of smile. Lea of uncut hair.
I mean that crowded city of heart. His knoll of soul.

I mean blood roar. I mean lush beat.
Each hammer and drum.
Its heat – a chant, a spell.

Page 38, Poetry Ireland Review Issue 117
Issue 117

Poetry Ireland Review Issue 117:

Edited by Vona Groarke

Issue 117 includes new poems from over twenty five poets from Ireland, the UK, the US and elsewhere, along with three new poems by Michael Longley, one of the UK’s foremost contemporary poets. The issue features reviews of more than twenty new poetry collections, including books by Seamus Heaney, Paul Muldoon, Claudia Rankine, Louise Gluck, Eavan Boland, Dennis O’Driscoll and Dermot Healy. Interviews include a feature on photographer, Seamus Murphy, about collaborating with musician and poet PJ Harvey and poet Eliza Griswold on separate publications, as well as an interview with Welsh poet Gwyneth Lewis by Colette Bryce. Colour plates include photography by Seamus Murphy and artwork by Niamh Flanagan.