Rita Ann Higgins
Rita Ann Higgins Poems
The boy racers
quicken on the Spiddal road
in Barbie Pink souped-ups
or roulette red Honda Civics.
...
Don't throw out the loaves
with the dishes mother,
its not the double-takes so much
its that they take you by the double.
...
Sorrow is better than laughter,
for by a sad countenance the heart is made better.
ECCLESIASTES
...
When he says to you:
You look so beautiful
you smell so nice -
how I've missed you -
...
The demented walk tricky step here
jittery footfall, fractious jibe.
They bicker in the ‘everything for a $ shop'
later when the energy is spent
...
Go to Tuar Beag and sing for her
take only left turns
pass out the whitethorn
but remember to pay homage
...
She didn't mind his toxic tan
or his weasel taste in toothpaste.
What she did mind was
the way he'd Cheshire cat
...
Rita Ann Higgins Biography
Rita Ann Higgins, born in Galway in 1955, has published numerous volumes of poetry, as well as several plays. One of 11 children, Higgins left school at 14 and first began to be interested in writing during a long stay in hospital in her 20s. In an interview she described her decision to become a poet with a typical lack of pretension: 'You didn’t have to worry about tenses and verbs. You could write a poem without a verb, and if you didn’t know what a verb was – and I didn’t – it was ok.' Her poems, similarly ironic in tone, have been awarded numerous prizes.)
The Best Poem Of Rita Ann Higgins
The Immortals
The boy racers
quicken on the Spiddal road
in Barbie Pink souped-ups
or roulette red Honda Civics.
With few fault lines or face lifts to rev up about
only an unwritten come hither of thrills
with screeching propositions and no full stops -
if you are willing to ride the ride.
Hop you in filly in my passion wagon.
Loud music and cigarette butts are shafted into space.
We'll speed hump it all the way baby
look at me, look at me
I'm young, I'm immortal, I'm free.
Gemmas and Emmas
stick insects or supermodels
regulars at 'Be a Diva'
for the perfect nails
eyebrows to slice bread with
and landing strips to match.
They wear short lives
they dream of never slowing down-pours
while half syllable after half syllable
jerk from their peak capped idols lips.
Their skinny lovers melt into seats
made for bigger men
Look at me, look at me
I'm young, I'm immortal, I'm free.
The boy racers never grow older or fatter.
On headstones made from Italian marble
they become 'our loving son Keith'
'our beloved son Jonathan,' etcetera etcetera.
On the Spiddal road
itching to pass out the light
they become Zeus, Eros, Vulcan, Somnus
Rita Ann Higgins Comments
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