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Blue Cards
Winter mornings he was gone before dawn
to fairs in Ballyhaunis, Claremorris, Ballinrobe.
He came home with muck on his coat,
smelling of Shorthorns and Herefords.
Sometimes he told us who he’d met,
the blind man who knew each of his cows
by their lowing, the widow who bargained
harder than any dealer. But mostly he sat
distracted by prices, cigarette smoke
spiraling to the kitchen ceiling, blue cards
spread around the table. Today, when everyone
else was away, I wrapped him warm,
pushed his wheelchair through the haggard,
up the yard to the sheds. The cattle lifted
doleful eyes from heaps of silage.
Hello lads, he said.
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Jane Clarke is the author of two poetry collections, The River and When the Tree Falls, as well as an illustrated chapbook, All the Way Home, (Smith|Doorstop 2019). Jane’s awards include the 2016 Hennessy Literary Award for Poetry and the 2016 Listowel Writers’ Week Poem of the Year. Originally from a farm in Co. Roscommon, Jane now lives with her wife in Glenmalure, Co. Wicklow, Ireland. [“Blue Cards” is from Where the Tree Falls, published by Bloodaxe Books, 2015 & 2019; a blue card is a bovine animal passport.]
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Beautiful image and memory. Thank you.
Posted by: Barbara Henning | October 10, 2021 at 09:24 AM
Beautiful and affecting.
Posted by: mitch sisskind | October 10, 2021 at 10:16 AM
go to
gracecavalieri.com
left message bar
scroll down to see her name
and click on to hear her own sweet lyrical voice
I love this woman
Posted by: gracecavalieri | October 10, 2021 at 10:26 AM
what a deliciously satisfying poem
Posted by: lally | October 10, 2021 at 10:52 AM
This quiet poem awakens all the senses. Still feeling it. Thank you.
Posted by: Beth Joselow | October 10, 2021 at 11:47 AM
I can hear her father greeting the cows...hello lads. Thanks fo Grace Cavalieri for sharing the Jane Clarke’s story in her own lyrical voice. ❤️
Posted by: Mary Winch | October 10, 2021 at 12:49 PM
Yes to what Beth Joselow wrote. Yes.
Posted by: clarinda harriss | October 10, 2021 at 12:50 PM
Loved this poem as well as the photo of the author and, of course, the cow.
Posted by: Eileen Reich | October 10, 2021 at 01:13 PM
Lovely poem and great to learn about bovine animal passports!
Posted by: Chris Mason | October 10, 2021 at 03:04 PM
This poem's beautiful title moves into layers of a world the speaker sees and knows well, delivered through the richest song the ear folds around, making us want to live in this world or at least pretend we do--and last line's with has a great kick of surprise, a nice bookend to that title.
Posted by: Don Berger | October 10, 2021 at 04:12 PM
"pushed his wheelchair through the haggard,
up the yard to the sheds...."
Homeric!
Thanks much, Terence Patrick, for sending this.
Posted by: Patrick Clancy | October 11, 2021 at 10:03 AM
PJC: I'm very glad you liked the poem.
Posted by: Terence Winch | October 11, 2021 at 01:41 PM
Thank you all very much for the comments. Thanks also to Terence and I love the painting he chose to accompany the poem.
The interview with Grace Cavalieri was an absolute joy during my visit to Washington DC in 2019, courtesy of the Irish Arts organisation Solas Nua.
Posted by: Jane Clarke | October 12, 2021 at 10:09 AM
Now that all my travel is virtual, this poem is my trip back to my father's home in Ireland, haggard and all.
Posted by: Peter Kearney | October 12, 2021 at 05:28 PM