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Corsica -- Gerard Bacher

Guest poem submitted by Frank Maher:
(Poem #1015) Corsica
 (Before the Walk)

 Curtains fluttering by an open window
 The coffee is already steaming downstairs
 Looking out at the mountains
 Light brown yellow and high
 In the early sun
 It's the end of the summer
 All the tourists are gone
 You stir on the bed
 And that annoys me
 Prettier than the morning
 I can't remember why I
 Don't want you anymore.

 (After the Walk)

 Soaking in the bath
 The mirror is dripping
 The door  half closed
 All I can see is your toe
 Resting on the silver tap

 Your body is sunk
 I imagine
 A shipwreck
 In shallow (warm) waters
 Arms of soft (wet) wood
 Thighs to hang
 Flags from
 And breasts that float
 Like buoys
 Waiting for the tide to turn
 The moon is in
 A low see saw arch
 Over the mountains
 Spilling milk
 On the slopes
 Comforting a cow
 With a bell around its neck

 Lying on the bed
 Looking at a brochure
 You ask me to join you

 Two alligators
 Resting
 The door is half open
 The window is closed
 I see a hair
 Under your chin
 Bubbles on your shoulder
 You smile and that annoys me
 Prettier than before
 I can't remember why I
 Don't want you anymore
-- Gerard Bacher
I'd love you to post this poem by the Irish poet Gerard Bacher. Compared
with Heaney and Yeats he is not widely known but he is well respected in
Ireland. He was born in Cork in 1957 and achieved his first public notice
with the publication of a volume of poems entitled "The Western Star" in
1978. His subsequent battle with The University College Press in Cork  over
his next volume "Ulan Ude" led to his move to Achill Island off the west
coast of Ireland where he lived until his untimely death in 1995 after a car
crash.

As a student in Cork I had the pleasure of attending his English classes. He
recited "Corsica" at the start of my first term and it made me stick with
the English course. I felt warm in those words, the rest of the day was
spent thinking of that bathroom in Corsica. I think I  skipped biology and
went to the old college bar instead... one of those poems...

Frank.

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