Eilean Ni Chuilleanáin
Biography of Eilean Ni Chuilleanáin
Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin (born 28 November 1942) is an Irish poet born in Cork (city).
Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin is the daughter of Eilís Dillon and Professor Cormac Ó Cuilleanáin. She was educated at University College Cork and The University of Oxford. She lives in Dublin with her husband Macdara Woods, and they have one son, Niall. She is a Fellow of Trinity College Dublin where she is an associate professor of English Literature specialising in the Renaissance. She is a founder of the literary magazine Cyphers. Her first collection won the Patrick Kavanagh Poetry Award in 1973. In 2010 The Sun-fish was the winner of the Canadian-based International Griffin Poetry Prize and was shortlisted for the Poetry Now Award.
Eilean Ni Chuilleanáin Poems
He lay plunged in the funnel of a beanbag, The glass in his hand as deep as a fjord. The other went out to answer the telephone,
The cloister of bones
I begin from the highest point, Best of all a belltower. I see the tops of heads, cobbles, Terraces all scuttling down
Man watching a woman
The sound of everything folding into sleep, A sense of being nowhere at all, Set him on his way (traffic far off, and wind In tall trees) to a back gate, a dark yard.
Letter to pearse hutchinson
I saw the islands in a ring all round me And the twilight sea travelling past Uneasy still. Lightning over Mount Gabriel: At such a distance no sound of thunder.
If I produce paralysis in verse Where anger would be more suitable, Could it be because my education
The tale of me
The child's teeth click against the marble. Her ear is crushed cold against the slab, The dredged flour almost brushed by her hair She traces with her eye her mother's hand.
When I heard the voice on the radio All of a sudden announcing the captives were free I was holding my young cousin Forcibly down with two arms
The tale of me
The child's teeth click against the marble.
Her ear is crushed cold against the slab,
The dredged flour almost brushed by her hair
She traces with her eye her mother's hand.
The hand squashes flour and eggs to hide the yeast
And again it folds and wraps away
The breathing, slackening, raw loaf
That tried to grow and was twisted and turned back -