Friday, 18 June 2010

and stir the dust underneath the thrust of my clicking heels.

I miss this blog. Perhaps I'll try to get it going again over the summer. That might be nice, mightn't it?

That the Science of Cartography Is Limited

--and not simply by the fact that this shading of
   forest cannot show the fragrance of balsam,
   the gloom of cypresses
   is what I wish to prove.

   When you and I were first in love we drove
   to the borders of Connacht
   and entered a wood there.

   Look down you said: this was once a famine road.

   I looked down at ivy and the scutch grass
   rough-cast stone had
   disappeared into as you told me
   in the second winter of their ordeal, in

   1847, when the crop had failed twice,
   Relief Committees gave
   the starving Irish such roads to build.

   Where they died, there the road ended

   and ends still and when I take down
   the map of this island, it is never so
   I can say here is
   the masterful, the apt rendering of

   the spherical as flat, nor
   an ingenious design which persuades a curve
   into a plane,
   but to tell myself again that
   the line which says woodland and cries hunger
   and gives out among sweet pine and cypress,
   and finds no horizon

   will not be there.
.                     -- by Eavan Boland.