Christine Elizabeth Murray – Compass

June 30, 2014 | By | 4 Replies More


A point aligns in the grey mist of mountain.
Burnt ice, the tragic grass flared

by winter’s cling that refuses
to loose its grip and paint an indigo
there, or a soft dove-grey.

Bedrock of granite and yet
I can examine the core of it,
its rock-ore, the nucleus.

I could take it with me as a jewel,
this mountain’s core containing in it
the germ of spring.

I could pull myself into the heart of it.
It is lost in winter’s grasp that refuses.
It refuses indigo and the colour of soft dove.

It is a bedrock. The core of it is pain,

I can move it,
take it

Tags: , ,

Category: Ireland, Knowing, Poetry

Comments (4)

Trackback URL | Comments RSS Feed

  1. Thank you Anora, Barbara and Kerry for your encouragement of my writing over these few years. I am delighted that this is published , as I am collating an uncollected and will be able to reference this site as a publisher of the works.


  2. Tom D'Evelyn says:

    This is Essential Murray not as stasis but as dynamic dia logics with the ecotones of the moment. It’s an honest portrayal of the mix of desire and will; note the oblique moods of the verbs that follow the nouns of the opening. this is Dasein without Heidegger’s sick univocity. This is visionary plurivocity. The unsparing peeled-I (to borrow from Heaney) of the final lines is both reductive and transparent to the space between, the final word resestablishing the horizon beyond the dialectic. Superbly articulated comedy of the mind.

  3. I love the imagery in the poem. There is a beautiful solidness to it.

  4. Thank you Vijayalakshmi and Tom.

Leave a Reply