Biography of Michael O'Sullivan
Michael's books have won many national and international awards. His collection THE PHYSICS OF PARTING (Wyndham Hall Press/Cloverdale Library 1993.) won the American Cloverdale Prize for poetry, chosen from a panel of judges from ten countries.
MORNINGS OF THE ORESTEIA, SELECTED POEMS (1975-2008) was greeted with wide international acclaim.
His website is: michaelosullivan59.weebly.com
His WIKIPEDIA entry is under: Michael O'Sullivan, poet.
His first feature film, BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH (85 mins) has just been completed. It is based on the life and work of Emily Dickinson.
His work has appeared in numerous anthologies and journals throughout the world.
His new collection BEETHOVEN IN VIENNA will be published in Ireland in the summer.
Michael O'Sullivan's Works:
The Physics of Parting (Wyndham Hall/ Cloverdale Library)
Selected Poem (1975-2008) (Lapwing Press, Belfast)
Lir's Other Children (Lapwing Press, Belfast,1992.)
THE JUDGE WHO SENTENCED YOU TO YOUR OWN DESTINY (LAPWING PRESS,2001)
LINES ON EDUCATION (QUANTUM SOFA, DUBLIN)
LOVER OF ASHES (LAPWING PRESS, BELFAST)
Michael O'Sullivan Poems
When ashes ventured to Heraclitus That more things may exist than fire He disappeared into a sunny gap Created by foreshortening of his stride.
Persistence Of Money After Death
Only when homeless Did I discover I was the sole and sanguine heir To two family graves.
Cape Clear Island
No shapes nor fine geographies will spring Around me on this Island place. I study water worrying a rock and know How countless eyes have seen this present glint,
Having no chronmetric choice The clock ticks on, yet in its shadow Lurks a deeper time with hands Of teeming flesh. Keats measured
After The Final Disappointment
All expectations Crushed I opened My coffin lid
A Glimpse Of Heaven
You felt the stars were angels when you walked The four miles into Midleton for the matinee. Your mother had to explain how they were human, That Deanna Durbin was a breathing being,
-Why do we draw? -Because we can't see.
A shiver spoils her lovemoan, he can tell: The lines of love's equation are almost parallel.
Truth Without Anger
If my body wasn't set on its decay You would not love me with a measured love. If my voice did not linger in the air And follow the dead eagles to their rest
Our house is divided Between love and love. We do not need hatred To be the masters of war.
Since he refused your soul What price will pay the ferryman To bring you further home But the loan you borrowed
Fanciful echoes, in an agitated brain, Are the souls of our deepest wishes. But who will find the wilderness again?
-Do you like chicken? The child asks me, As he continues throwing stones. -Not too often
Earth fire extinguished, heaven shot with flame, A bronze girl in the water's hail Commands, in sensuous excess A planet's path, or comet's icy tail.
Having no chronmetric choice
The clock ticks on, yet in its shadow
Lurks a deeper time with hands
Of teeming flesh. Keats measured
Death's tumescent timepiece in an alley
Shocked by two boys in mutual fellatio;
Meanwhile a more elusive Shelley woke
To find his head still fast impaled
Upon the glacier of his wife's last dream.