Monday 11 November 2019

2 Poems by Ted McCarthy


And later, when, unnoticed by the rest of us,

music slipped finally from your mind

and your fingers, so nimble once, so sure,

settled as if by gravity into their unfamiliar rest

only your eyes reacted, fastening on light

or moving side to side, the slightest flickering

as if skimming a score you already knew by heart.

(i.m. Seamus Heaney)

Leave the ferry to plough its strait

one car at a time; turn instead, a mile

along the shore, to a graveyard ringed with birdsong,

each call a different colour. This is the end,

the centre, a stillness crushed elsewhere in the searching;

a border, too, tilth held at arm’s length,

a strip for the old gods, a ribbon for the curlew.


Ted McCarthy is a poet and translator living in Clones, Ireland. His work has appeared in magazines in Ireland, the UK, Germany, the USA, Canada and Australia. He has had two collections published, 'November Wedding', and 'Beverly Downs'. His work can be found on

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