Poems by Tim Cunningham
Tim Cunningham was born in Limerick in 1942. Educated at C.B.S., Limerick, and Birbeck College, London, he worked with a brewery, the National Coal Board and in teaching. He has lived in Limerick, Tipperary, Dublin, Trowbridge, London, Newark (Delaware) and, presently, Billericay. His first collection of poetry, Don Marcelino’s Daughter was published by Peterloo in 2001.
“Tim Cunningham’s poems are as various and fascinating as the animals in Noah’s Ark. He has a most musical ear, a keen eye and an open heart. His aim is true. He writes beautiful poems.”
“. . . the reader continues to be assailed by the poems’ acidulated precipitation, long after a first perusal. [. . .] Late debuts have their virtue.”
Peter Reading, TLS
You came home early in that wooden box.
A sudden ending to your holiday.
Sudden as the out-of-nowhere car
That flashed like some conductor’s baton
Knocking your song right out of key
And opening doors I cannot enter. I was not there,
But for mothers the impossible is no excuse.
My arms ache now with the weight of emptiness,
Clutch at memories. Religion’s good news
Is lost in the post. Philosophy brings
Only the idea of consolation. But I keep
The child alarm switched on and listen
As you lie cradled in eternity,
Reassured you are not crying in your sleep.
Price £7.95 per copy
Cover Illustration: William Blake, 1757-1827; Newton, colour print finished in ink and watercolour on paper, 1795 circa; N05058/403 © TATE, LONDON 2006
Publication AUGUST 2006 (laminated paperback).