I am so at home in Dublin, more than any other city, that I feel it has always been familiar to me. It took me years to see through its soft charm to its bitter prickly kernel - which I quite like too.
Donate
Where the line that separates our lives from chaos seems alarmingly thin
Vona Groarke marshals her strengths to poems notably apt for ‘these times’
Time on our hands: the locked-down poet raids memories of past travel
Is a chapbook more likely to work as an organic whole than a full collection?
A poem where language is put behind bars and called upon to account for itself
A journey to motherhood, from miscarriage to the joy of birth
Poems of strife and discovery that recall Swift, Behan and Durcan
A moving poetic exploration of impermanence and mortality
Can a woman living an ordinary life be a Renaissance Man?
Poetry and place: the case for transnationalism and translocalism
