“The Necessity for Irony” by Eavan Boland

Estate and antique sales 005-1

On Sundays,
when the rain held off,
after lunch or later,
I would go with my twelve year old
daughter into town,
and put down the time
at junk sales, antique fairs.

There I would
lean over tables,
absorbed by
lace, wooden frames,
glass. My daughter stood
at the other end of the room,
her flame-coloured hair
obvious whenever—
which was not often—

I turned around.
I turned around.
She was gone.
Grown. No longer ready
to come with me, whenever
a dry Sunday
held out its promises
of small histories. Endings.

When I was young
I studied styles: their use
and origin. Which age
was known for which
ornament: and was always drawn
to a lyric speech, a civil tone.
But never thought
I would have the need,
as I do now, for a darker one:

Spirit of irony,
my caustic author
of the past, of memory,—

and of its pain, which returns
hurts, stings—reproach me now,
remind me
that I was in those rooms,
with my child,
with my back turned to her,
searching—oh irony!—
for beautiful things.

“The Necessity for Irony” by Eavan Boland, from The Lost Land. © W.W. Norton.

This entry was posted in beauty, poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to “The Necessity for Irony” by Eavan Boland

  1. Jerome Bloom says:

    INDEED

    THE

    WHEEL

    TURNS

    EMBRACE

    NOW

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