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April 27, 2022

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Oh Terence, you make a way of having that home be ours.

another brilliant poem, terence! and so good to see mary, even if only in a photograph, I'll never return to ireland in this lifetime, unfortunately, but this poem nonetheless expresses my feelings about desiring that still

For "the hungry grass"
I thank you, and for the green
season of the mind
in the photograph.

In tonight's tanka, you and
I are dining there, my friend.

I love the "hungry grass." What a sublime place. I'd like a slice of that delicious rhubarb pie, too. Thank you for this gentle, lovely poem.

Terence, I know this establishment well and have sampled its glories whenever we take our students to Ballyvaughan during the summer, as we will this July. You've captured it beautifully. I'll order some rhubarb pie a la mode in your honor when we go, and a pint after at O'Locklan's.

Terence I'm hungry now and planning my next trip. Thanks for this poem. Love of place. And food.

I love the hungry grass and the garden and especially the confusing wandering way back home . Thank you for this one!

Beautiful homeward gaze, Terence. How fortunate to know that place, those people, and to bring them to us so gracefully.

Many thanks Terence


Thanks, Grace.


Thank you, Michael. We are filled with longing.


Sounds good to me, David.


Thanks, Emily. Glad you liked it.


Thanks, Dan.  I'm delighted you know the place. Your students are lucky you're bringing them there. My father's mother was born and raised in Ballyvaughan, so the place is very dear to me.


Thanks, Barbara. I hope you make it there---you'll love it.


Thank you, Chris.


You're most welcome, Jody.


Thanks, Beth. You'd love it if you ever get the chance to go over.

Terence, this sweet poem fills me with longing for home places in Ireland I've carried with me all my life. Thanks for taking me back there, including this Heaven-stop in Clare.

Ah Terence now you have me committing to another visit to Eire if only to sample this wonderful place of nourishment. And, hey, being confused stranded and soggy in the lovely County Clare is not the worst fate that could befall a wandering Yank. I will bring Joe and Etain McCooey from Doolin there when next I visit. And yerself as well, saints willing!


Thanks back to you, Robert.


You are so right, Bill. Not a bad fate at all.

Beautiful song! I love how the speaker at the start seems to have a definite idea of where we're heading, and a bit later reveals that he tends to get lost and end up at the wrong place--whoops! Then, glorious, the speaker reaches to great heights saying he wants "that ticket" to get back home, which he ties to this very vivid memory of the glorious rhubarb tart a la mode. Fabulous.


Don: Thanks, mon ami. I always love your reading of a poem.

Dug this poem, Terence. Easy naturalness, loved the self-chiding at the end, We're working on Ger's Irish papers!

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I left it
on when I
left the house
for the pleasure
of coming back
ten hours later
to the greatness
of Teddy Wilson
"After You've Gone"
on the piano
in the corner
of the bedroom
as I enter
in the dark


from New and Selected Poems by David Lehman

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