Guests of the Earth
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About this ebook
Marian’s poetry is generous, intense and beautifully realized. I love her insights and observations, a watcher in life she writes with clarity and passion. Marian has a particular lightness of touch that conceals a deep wisdom that comes from her individual experience of life.
– Jo Slade, has published five poetry collections and two chapbooks.
Marian O’Rourke’s poems can be caustic, outspoken, mythic, observant of both the familiar and the exotic, mysterious, elegiac, tender and unflinchingly honest. In all her modes, we find the essential dialogue with feeling, and the frequent spark of lyric transformation. Her willingness to vary her approaches, creating a range of poetic possibilities, is also remarkable.
– Ciaran O’Driscoll, has published eight books of poetry and is a member of Aosdána
Marian O'Rourke
Marian O’Rourke is from Limerick. She has spent most of her life in North America. Her poems have been published in a variety of journals and anthologies, in Ireland, England, and Canada. She has broadcast her work on WBAI Radio, New York City, and Lyric FM Radio, Ireland, and has performed at poetry events in Ireland, England, Canada, and The United States. She has published two previous poetry books, Uprooted, published in 2008 by Horn Press and Inhaling The Light, published by Lapwing in 2009. She holds an M.A. in creative writing from Waterford Institute of Technology, Ireland.
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Guests of the Earth - Marian O'Rourke
LOOKING FOR THE SUFI RETREAT
Manzano Mountain, New Mexico
(after Richard Blanco’s Looking for The Gulf Motel)
There should be everything here I remember . . .
The high green gates of The Sufi Retreat should still open
onto a rutted brown road where silver olive leaves brush
the rented Ford when I drive through and wild sunflowers,
listless in one-hundred-degree heat, decline to give a nod.
There should be everything here I remember . . .
Good ol’ Charlie should be driving all the way from Florida,
in his 60’s Caddie, top down, barreling down Route 66,
waving to Estancia as he flies by and stirring up a dirt cloud
before parking, crookedly, at The Sufi Retreat, all
because he forgets he’s 70, still sees a honey-boy in his mirror,
and eager to flash his ducktail photo from the 50’s at any babe.
He swears off dust-ups with the local sheriff. He swears off
cussin’ and bitchin’ at women, is ready to eat brown rice
and rabbit food and do whatever it takes to drive home to his
Bunnie, sainted once again by The Sufi Retreat.
There should be everything here I remember . . .
Hilary should still be in the garden, a battered sun-hat framing
her Hepburn-like face, her cheeks abundant with tiny freckles.
She should still be gathering lemon-gold zucchinis,
or sneaking me baby tomatoes still on the vine and