{"id":731,"date":"2010-03-17T11:40:30","date_gmt":"2010-03-17T15:40:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fumblingtowardgrace.wordpress.com\/?p=731"},"modified":"2010-03-17T11:40:30","modified_gmt":"2010-03-17T15:40:30","slug":"st-patricks-day-poem-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/fumblingtowardgrace\/2010\/03\/17\/st-patricks-day-poem-2\/","title":{"rendered":"St. Patrick\u2019s Day\u00a0Poem!"},"content":{"rendered":"<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC \"-\/\/W3C\/\/DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional\/\/EN\" \"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/TR\/REC-html40\/loose.dtd\">\n<html><head><meta http-equiv=\"content-type\" content=\"text\/html; charset=utf-8\"><meta http-equiv=\"content-type\" content=\"text\/html; charset=utf-8\"><\/head><body><p>This poem is from a wonderful Irish poet by the name of Eavan Boland. It is so short, but yet so evocative. It pulls some deep empathy from me from its few words of famine, oppression, and self-sacrifice. Beautiful and heartbreaking. Read it and go cry over a pint of Guiness.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Quarantine <\/strong>\u2013 Eavan Boland<\/p>\n<p><em>In the worst hour of the worst season<\/em><\/p>\n<p>of the worst year of a whole people<\/p>\n<p>a man set out from the workhouse with his wife.<\/p>\n<p>He was walking-they were both walking-north.<\/p>\n<p>She was sick with famine fever and could not keep up.<\/p>\n<p>He lifted her and put her on his back.<\/p>\n<p>He walked like that west and north.<\/p>\n<p>Until at nightfall under freezing stars they arrived.<\/p>\n<p>In the morning they were both found dead.<\/p>\n<p>Of cold. Of hunger. Of the toxins of a whole history.<\/p>\n<p>But her feet were held against his breastbone.<\/p>\n<p>The last heat of his flesh was his last gift to her.<\/p>\n<p>Let no love poem ever come to this threshold.<\/p>\n<p>There is no place here for the inexact<\/p>\n<p>praise of the easy graces and sensuality of the body.<\/p>\n<p>There is only time for this merciless inventory:<\/p>\n<p>Their death together in the winter of 1847.<\/p>\n<p>Also what they suffered. How they lived.<\/p>\n<p>And what there is between a man and a woman.<\/p>\n<p>And in which darkness it can best be proved.<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>This poem is from a wonderful Irish poet by the name of Eavan Boland. It is so short, but yet so evocative. It pulls some deep empathy from me from its few words of famine, oppression, and self-sacrifice. Beautiful and heartbreaking. Read it and go cry over a pint of Guiness. Quarantine \u2013 Eavan Boland [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2936,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-731","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-catholic"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v21.1 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>St. Patrick\u2019s Day\u00a0Poem!<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"This poem is from a wonderful Irish poet by the name of Eavan Boland. It is so short, but yet so evocative. 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