In the clear vibrance of July, as a public vehicle rides at rest, visitors from Japan are seen migrating from the monastic tearoom, and passing the stands full of postcards. Often, they take repeated photographs, posing in front of a vivid blue boat that rests ashore amidst the bulrushes. Kylemore Abbey gifts them with two visual treats – the Gothic chapel and the tranquil scene by the lake. However, the inherent beauty of the scene, like a bronze-washed pike cutting through the surface at a wooden oarlock and diving away from the sun’s gaze, is beyond any Polaroid’s capability of capturing.
The innate predator defies the calm essence of the Latin language that the Irish Benedictine Sisters of Ypres use, an order that resides in each polished room of the historical castle built by a wealthy unscrupulous businessman, each room marked with a crucifix. The sign of foresight, however, doesn’t resemble the fish drawn with chalk or charcoal in the catacombs. Rather, it is an actual predator, slippery and tooth-filled, uniquely boned, prevailing in the icy stillness of Pollacappul. It is relentless, age-old, nearsighted, and oblivious to any human pleading.
Today’s verse hails from ‘Ago’, a newly published anthology by renowned poet Thomas Dillon Redshaw.