Richard W. Halperin is an Irish-U.S. dual national. His full collections are published by Salmon: Anniversary, 2010; Shy White Tiger, 2013; Quiet in a Quiet House, 2016. His chapbooks are published by Lapwing: A Wet Day & Mr Severidge Sketches; Pink, Ochre, Yellow; The Centreless Astonishment of Things, all 2015; and Blue Flower, June 2015. Mr Halperin will be reading this summer at the Monasterevin Hopkins festival.
That We May All Go On
That we may cry with reason.
That we may know why we cry.
That we may be happy in the interstices.
That we may know wonder at small things
And leave large things to destroy themselves.
That we may not curse having been born.
That we may not curse having been born to die.
That we may want to go on.
That we may love those who do not want to go on.
That we may all go on.
A Thousand Brilliant Pieces
When everything falls away, as it will,
What are one’s remaining needs? Bread,
And forgiveness. Even resurrection is
A lesser cry. A prelude, this, to an
Essay on The Argument of a Sonnet.
One thought, noticed. One martin of
The great flock scattering, grouping, scattering.
What Henry James in another context calls
The particular attaching case. One martin,
Really seen, so in a thousand brilliant pieces.
Then dead, because to forget is death. Then, in
The argument, alive, a few aspects. So,
Re-sur-rec-tion. Too many syllables,
For one moment.
A poet, Irish, writes about Miz Moon.
Another poet, Irish, writes about Mrs Moon.
The moon always lifts up poets
And throws them to the ground empty.
The moon is always a woman.
The moon is always easy about things.
Imagine if there were no moon.
But she is always there, beautiful large inexplicable,
Which encourages people to believe.
So belief is in fact empirical
‘Anything you say, sweetie,’
Says the moon.
Ovid in exile writes about the moon.
A child looks at the moon and says, ‘Ah!’
We are all close to you, Moon,
In our blind way.