Margie Cronin

Rating: 4.33
Rating: 4.33

Margie Cronin Poems

‘I am looking for sunlight’

I saw your world begin
A night of dawns
...

Mountains, valleys, rivers merge
The land hides itself
in landscape
The day’s form buried in my eye
...

Water, water song
my body flows with
thoughts and blood
...

I love shaking the bones in your arm
the humerus, radius and ulna.

Some people have such bones –
...

People can think about you even when they can't see you.
Remember this the next time your cowardice comes
To wind you down.
Upholstery doesn't make you a better person
...

Irresistibly changing.

I was silly in my mind. A mistake. At first being a child and then trying to be something else
...

Any girl could seal his poems
with her lips; he would call a poem about her 'Anna
and the Green Jug' -
it's all in the motion, the flux:
...

Everyone accepts.

~*~

Someone tells a story comparable
to any that's happened.

~*~

A language that survives
not being understood.
...

August
and the white lilies are born
with me.
By day I am carving men in stone;
...

Because of his deafness
he misses the fighting of the cats
(on the stairs). What else
...

In Spain, the Bougainvillea entered
by smell and sight and filled his body
with attention and a sickness for home;
carried him to a Sydney garden
...

Little plant without electricity, my
heart is full of heat and dust and
what is left. Everywhere
I see what I love but all is restricted
...

Some smells are like a question
to which you know there is no answer.
The brilliant burning oil of the star jasmine
caught like a miniature swimmer
...

Real
walking on water scenes!
Nine monsters are crawling up out
of the pond.
...

The baby's hands on my leg are like
wet clover. Like Neruda, I want to lay
my head on it, a pillow, a new earth
that sees only stars along its wobbly path
...

Blood too
travels with the adventurous thorn
and this life began in randomness -
colour born
...

Where am I going with this pain
Marvellous for a lot of things
– for climbing walls
– and crawling scalps
...

Sleep, like peaches
fallen to the ground
(hand pressed to the
...

‘What is there here but weather, what spirit
Have I except it comes from the sun?’
...

One excuse was to say
I forgot the time
(or you simply ran out
of time)
...

Margie Cronin Biography

Margie Cronin, who writes under the name MTC Cronin, was born in Merriwa, New South Wales, in 1963, and grew up at Caloundra, on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. Following school she went on to the University of Queensland, studying Arts/Law, with a double major in political science. She has also studied at the University of New South Wales, the University of Technology, Sydney, and the University of Sydney. Through most of the 1990s she worked in the field of law, but during this time she also began to establish herself as a poet. More recently, she taught creative writing at the University of Technology, Sydney, and worked on a doctoral thesis exploring the intersections of law and literature. She currently lives on an organic farm in Maleny, Queensland, with her partner and three children. Cronin began publishing her poetry in the early 1990s, and her work has since appeared in a wide range of Australian and international poetry magazines and literary journals. She published her first collection, Zoetrope: We See Us Moving, in 1995, and has gone on to publish a dozen further collections, in Australia, the UK and the USA. A prolific poet, she has worked within lyric traditions as well as in the prose poem, and in more innovative forms such as that of her long poem More or Less Than 1–100, which won the Victorian Premier’s C. J. Dennis Prize for Poetry (2005) and the South Australian Festival Award for Innovation in Writing (2006). She has also published a volume of critical essays based on her doctoral work, Squeezing Desire Through a Sieve: Micro Essays on Judgement and Justice (2009).)

The Best Poem Of Margie Cronin

Seven Mysterious Songs I: Belonging

for P.B.


‘I am looking for sunlight’

I saw your world begin
A night of dawns
Time kept coming round to that
Our reception of the light
The silence of the sun
As it crept spectacularly
Towards us

When I saw how it revealed you
My own paths curved
To find the circle
They had once been

Words here are simply sighs
The hums and satisfactions of animals
Click in the back of my throat
That might be the cricket or cicada
In Summer ventriloquy
Or the snake becoming new
Over the friendly rock

It has become simple for me
To think of these things now
That the idea of the fragment
Has given its secrets
To the whole

The leaves which feared separation
Fell
And the water telling and retelling
Itself passes by the place of this event
Only to pass again
The sky with that big voice saved
For the moments its own story is known
Whispers
The earth:

Come on little bird
The trees are holding you up
Come possum
With your hearty feet leaving prints
On the porcelain roofs of dreams
Come grains
And mountains, lakes, orchards
Leave your importance
And follow these clouds
To where they have no meaning

Turtle
Are you coming
With your knowledge of origins and regret?
Children, bring the hearts
Of forests
And the abilities of the sand

We’ll walk over that hill
Where the path curves out of sight
Do not rush
It is not the future ahead of us
But a slow becoming
Time weaves itself
Into the very swing of your arms
That space left
Where you lift your foot

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