This little rescued poem is the first in a new rescued poetry project I’ve just begun — but, more about that in a future post when I’ve completed some rescue missions and I’m ready to report!

I rescued this poem from two books by Irish author Edna O’Brien: Some Irish Loving (p 251) and Mrs Reinhardt and other stories (p 122).

In the Grainne Mhaol project which I worked on for three years, I topped and tailed rescued poem titles with ellipses so that poems were clearly identifiable as rescued rather than ‘organic’ Grainne narrative poems. (You can read more about that project over here: How a pirate queen helped me become a doctor.) I’m still not sure what I think of the aesthetics of ellipses, but will continue to use them for now. Each rescued poem title is simply an excerpt of a few words or an interesting-sounding phrase from the poem itself.

…naked water…

I lay down by naked water.
I thought I was alone.
A tender fawn walked by, then turned
to meet my eyes. He said:

“Forget your sweetness, little one.
Forget your blush, your glow.
Sins of stone shall haunt your heart,
your flesh will shame you sore.”

Morning in a dress of light
girl in shoes of brown
mountains cold and wild and still:
stream that drank me down.