We're delighted to present a quartet of poems from Noble Rot, the latest collection from poet D.S. Maolalai, published by Turas Press.
These poems, alternately witty and poignant, trace the journey of a young poet as he moves into a new stage of life musing on the challenges and joys of the present and the uncertain and exciting future. The form, which reflects the writers staccato, ever-changing mood, mimics chaos but in reality is carefully crafted and controlled.
Sunflowers
their lines
scrape a frost
from the fresh
breath of morning,
graceful as a dancer
in the russian
ballet. they turn
in short loops,
moving joists;
taking weight,
holding weight
as a balance.
and smithfield
is frozen
at seven am
with holes in the earth
as if dug out
by badgers. the sink
of foundations. new building
potential – oak trees
and sunflowers
waving bare stems.
and walking, I delight
in the vision
of building sites
the way people
take joy
out of flowers
grown well. I've been
to a flower-show;
seen tabled
arrangements:
geraniums,
sunflowers,
second-place
tulips. never understood
the appeal. cranes
drawing bricks
up from nothing
to arrangements.
looping circles
with the steadiness
of hawks above rats.
No skyline
sky tonight
like underdone eggs, and soft all over.
and I don't know
if I've ever
thought this before. but tonight, seeing dublin
from the coast at kilbarrack,
I saw it resting
easy on the wicklow hillsides. here
there’s horizon
but we have no skyline –
cities with mountains
never do. sloping
up smooth, piled lumpy
and curving like butter
in the morning on a rounded blade
butterknife. I remembered toronto
and new york, those jagged,
key edged reliefs. then pulled sharply on the leash
and glanced downward. the dog had been squatting;
she looked at me offended. we both stood there,
surrounded by shadows,
waiting for her to finish
in a world with no edges
like ice-cubes on a hot day.
A weak candle
taking the coast road
from town to kilbarrack
as one would pick up their change
from a counter; casually, without
any flourish. and the car moves steady,
natural as a trotting dog. once
I took this route
to visit an old girlfriend.
this was college –
she lived in bayside
with some friends
and I'd take the occasional trip. now
it's just homeward, and she's in England
somewhere, and happy, a long time
with someone else. to my right
the sky darkens
in contrast to the sun – amber firing
all over Ireland, like a weak candle
flicking a dark room. I try the radio,
then turn it off, lean back
and absorb the evening. I've just dropped off
my current girlfriend
to ringsend; something
like betraying her,
this dwelling on the past.
but the mind goes
where the mind goes;
certain directions
all the time. you can't stop it,
any more than horses. and daylight goes down too,
goes behind clontarf,
casts shadows of trees
toward england.
Somebody's funeral
we throw our weight heavily
against the grass edging,
as if it were a shoulder
at somebody's funeral,
and somebody
sobbing in a church.
but of course, we
are not sobbing, and this
is no funeral – it's a mid-
summer’s party and we
are outside with the sun
out and beers
in their bottles. on the lawn,
we pull stems
and idly smoke cigarettes,
eating these hamburgers
seared on jack’s stove. we make hay
of the evening, make mild
conversation, and music
from the kitchen
spirals through the window
and circles as aimless
as flies.
such evenings! such
wild thoughts! that this
could be anything else!
Noble Rot is published by Turas Press
About The Author: D.S. (Diarmuid) Maolalai was born in Dublin and began writing poetry when he was studying English Literature at Trinity College. He spent five years travelling, living in Toronto and London and working various dispatch jobs. He returned to Dublin in late 2017. These many experiences have contributed to the flavour of the urban, cosmopolitan flavour of his work, melded with his Irish roots.
