Fear Knot and Whispering the Secrets by Susan Lindsay

Our writers give voice to what it means to be Irish in a changing Ireland.

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SUSAN LINDSAY / FEAR KNOT, MILLING THE AIR & WHISPERING THE SECRETS



(click to view cover)

Milling the Air

Milling the Air

by Susan Lindsay


2018 / 88 pages / 12
ISBN: 978-1-907682-66-7
Cover art: Susan Lindsay

(click to view cover)

Whispering the Secrets

Whispering the Secrets

By Susan Lindsay


2011 / 72 pages / €8 (marked down from €12)
ISBN: 978-1-907682-04-9
Cover art: Waxart

(click to view cover)

Fear Knot

Fear Knot

By Susan Lindsay


2013 / 72 pages / €10 (marked down from €12)
ISBN: 978-1-907682-29-2
Cover art: Deborah Watkins




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SUSAN LINDSAY's work has appeared in journals and anthologies — most recently Poetry Ireland Review (December, 2017); Bosom Pals edited by Marie Cadden (Doire Press, 2017, in aid of Breast Cancer Research in NUIG) and The Café Review in Maine, USA. Her work was commended in the 2018 Gregory O’Donoghue Poetry Prize. A graduate of Trinity College, Dublin (1975), Susan followed a brief career in social work before working as a psychotherapist, facilitator, trainer and occasional consultant to organisations for over thirty years, retiring in 2012. In 2011 she read for Poetry Ireland Introductions. A founding editor of Skylight 47, in which she was involved for a number of issues, she has read her poems and facilitated her workshop Conversations Mediated by Poetry at festivals and in local communities.


SAMPLE POEMS FROM FEAR KNOT

Making Headway

A woman at the helm
steadies the tiller
he is the mast, sails
catch wind
billow in light breeze
reeled in
taut
they skim the waves

about turn
jibe
take a fresh tack.

In the Darkness

                               of the asylum
she made pâpier machée beads
from crushed paper
the stickiness satisfying,
her fingers immersed in glue
smoothing torn squares
in layers on the surface.

When the occupational therapist
spent the last of her budget
on metallic paint and a volunteer
donated gold she found light
could create something

                                   
beautiful.

SAMPLE POEMS FROM MILLING THE AIR
Talking to Air

Sometimes
she has to claw herself out
into the world
at other times
home again
haul on the strings
of limp parachute
endeavouring
to gather the weight
of ballooning volume
into folds
expelling cold air
once so hot
it took flight

drag damp remnants
like bedraggled feathers
back to bosom warmth
to peck at
settle
fluff the downy straggle
gently battle
shake, flap
shape
the misshapen manifold
into rightful symmetry.

Bewilderment

Gratitude, rising like water
filling the lock
gates closed behind.
Wonderment he’d said.
Green blades in need of a mow
yellow dandelion heads
fluff balls of seed to pick off
daisies ready
for foragers to chain
the heads blown
on scattered pink tulips.

In the pot, shrunken earth
begs for water, surrounds
the holly tree
in need of bedding.

The cherry blossom has disappeared
in its place, full-grown leaves shaped
like children’s first pencilled attempts.

Drooping tendrils of silver birch,
a curtain through which to view
bright light, white

grey, the threat of rain.

SAMPLE POEMS FROM WHISPERING THE SECRETS

Not a Question of Belief

I put my faith in mystery. Listen
at the altar to the unknown god.

Work out by living
the unfolding question of life
dance
although it is hard
to celebrate mean thoughts
and fear of scarcity and loss and death.

I create graven images for shelter
edifices of belief–boxes–
and cling to sides blown open.

In fear I hope, embrace darkness
light a candle to love, lower ramparts
surrender to Mystery.

Beaches I have Danced Upon:
IV. Dog’s Bay, Roundstone

Ocean, be mine.

White sand stretches
to the curve of the dunes
and the headland beyond.
But I wait until my return
to the shelter of the first rocks
that make a cove
and then, out of sight of houses
perched on the hillside,
I sing.

Ocean be mine.

My sound and that of the sea
are one.
I dance on the sand
with the waves.
Sealwoman.
Recede
leave only dampness behind.

As I dance
I remember
you were to take me to dinner
when you visited friends
in Roundstone.
I have heard not one word.

And I ride the waves with white stallions
leave a taste of salt in the air.