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A review by woolfardis
Conamara Blues by John O'Donohue
1.0
I had actually ordered the play adaptation of Terry Pratchett's novel Nation, but this came through my letterbox instead. I thought I'd give it a read anyway, since they didn't want me to return it and I'm trying to read as much poetry as I possibly can.
You say: Now that they
Have called our names back
The mountains can
Never forget us.
- Mountain Christening
There were a couple of lines or stanzas that struck me, but otherwise I found it be nothing but pointless scribbling, in all honestly. I do feel a little bad because obviously I didn't choose to read this, but there we are. It had it's moments, but for the most part it was mostly religious talk which I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever. It was occasionally that kind of free-form poetry that a lot of poets try but not all of them can get right, wherein they basically write a sentence but break it up as a poem, and it neither rhymes and, often, doesn't quite makes sense either.
Not the worst poetry I've read, but there again I didn't choose to read it so it's difficult to really gauge it and write any kind of worthwhile review of it without that cropping up.
When we love we love to touch the beloved.
Our hands find joy in the surprise of skin.
Here is where tenderness is uncovered.
Few frontiers hold a world more wondrous in.
- The Scourging at the Pillar
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You say: Now that they
Have called our names back
The mountains can
Never forget us.
- Mountain Christening
There were a couple of lines or stanzas that struck me, but otherwise I found it be nothing but pointless scribbling, in all honestly. I do feel a little bad because obviously I didn't choose to read this, but there we are. It had it's moments, but for the most part it was mostly religious talk which I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever. It was occasionally that kind of free-form poetry that a lot of poets try but not all of them can get right, wherein they basically write a sentence but break it up as a poem, and it neither rhymes and, often, doesn't quite makes sense either.
Not the worst poetry I've read, but there again I didn't choose to read it so it's difficult to really gauge it and write any kind of worthwhile review of it without that cropping up.
When we love we love to touch the beloved.
Our hands find joy in the surprise of skin.
Here is where tenderness is uncovered.
Few frontiers hold a world more wondrous in.
- The Scourging at the Pillar
Blog | Instagram | Twitter | Pinterest | Shop | Etsy