Poetry tourist

The wild kids at Coole. Chris caught the splash.
St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin. I’m researching Paula Meehan’s “Six Sycamores” but the only big old trees I’m seeing are labeled “plane trees.” I stomp my foot repeatedly until I figure out that sycamores and plane trees are different names for the same thing.
Chris and I at the Yeats memorial, also St. Stephen’s Green.

The woods at Coole Park, just the four of us there on a gorgeous morning, wandering the same paths Yeats did.

Yeats’ home Thoor Ballylee, closed after flooding. Chris, however, busts open the gate to look around the property. I have mystical visions of a headline in the Chronicle of Higher Ed: English Professors Arrested After Trespassing at Poet’s Historic Residence.

And I come home to copies of the new book. More voyages ahead.

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One response to “Poetry tourist”

  1. The trees are in their autumn beauty–well, nearly, but Coole at any time is magical. Although Gregory said she “never met anyone worse than myself” in the woods, Yeats claimed to have several visions there. The autograph tree is always moving, I think. Love thinking of you and the family there! And now “The Receptionist” appears! You’re having a really good month . . .


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