Mairead Byrne is Such a Great Poet...

I love Mairead Byrne's poetry, though I am discovering it rather late.

I had always loved the pieces I had serendipitously bumped my head against in my crazed pipistrelle flights hither and yon on this shock box...

Then I found her poetry blog...and the deal was clinched.

Is it possible New England (and particularly Massachusetts) puts a seal on poets, that somehow it weds poets to the souls of other poets? Because all the poets whose work her work seems to marry seem to be from that area. And I think she's Irish-born and bred, but her blog says she's in Providence. Oh well, Providence and Boston are sort of married...or something. Maybe they have an illict affair...probably one that's been going on for centuries.

In any case, I think the New England ghostie has gotten in her words.

But shades of Emily D. and Fanny Howe (well there's another coincidence with the Ireland thing) and even Bill Corbett and Anne Sexton come to mind. You begin to wonder if geographic regions, climes, really have souls and can possess poets somewhat...

What is this Bostonian, Dickinsonian, New England thing?

Well, it's this ancient sobriety that has let in a wild humor like the sea winds that ruffle everything with which they come into contact, that worry tranquility and even joy like those winds worry the seas around there...

It's an amiable sort of fatality, and a smile into the face of that fatality.

It's friendly.

And Mairead's writing has her own wild streak in there, her great sense of humor which seems to be a zen rock garden she's often raking into humorous faces instead of tranquility...then she sits down on it when she hears footsteps behind her...but in time she moves her leg to let you see that capriccio she's been working in the hard rocks...and smiles...

All I know is she's an original and a keeper...

Check out her writing (which seems to be coming quite freely and regularly) at her blog "Heaven" here...

How to Get to Heaven Without Even Being a Good Boy or Girl.