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Parrish

Parrish Lantern's Casebook

Malt Whisky Drinking, Single Speed Bike Racing, Poetry Loving, Book-Fiend, & If This Makes Me Seem Cool, It's All In The Edit.

 

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The Ideal Library Symbolizes Everything a Society stands for. A Society Depends On Its Libraries To Know Who it Is, Because Libraries Are Societies Memory (A. Manguel). This Is My Attempt To Construct My Ideal library.

Red Riding Hood's Dilemma

Red Riding Hood's Dilemma - Orfhlaith Foyle I’ve been wanting to read this poetry collection for a while now. My interest was originally raised last year after reading her short story collection “Somewhere in Minnesota and Other Stories” . Whilst researching for the post I wrote on that book, I found out she wrote poetry, this caused me to dig deeper and I found this anthology, but like a lot of books it went on to my wishlist until finance or some other reason bumps it up & I purchase it. This was my reason…. I Saw Beckett The Other DayI saw Beckett the other day in the doorway of that café where you took his photograph.You know the one ...when he looked up at the lens and realised how he could haunt us all.'Hey Beckett,' I said rejoicing in my discovery of him; his hand on the door, his eyes skimming over the interior image of cigarette smoke and coffee.I stood beside him. He rubbed his face so he might recognise me. I smiled and said even I didn't know what was happening these days. Even I could not stop the end.He nodded, coughed and looked sly; his teeth were yellow over the pink rim of his lips. He mentioned the photograph. He said his face had collected worms under the skin as if ready for death and he smiled to show them dance spasmatic with age-spots and veins.Someone entered the café. Someone left. Beckett touched the hair above my ear. I stood on tip-toe so he could whisper down.He said nothing. It was just a kiss with the cold wind at our feet and the smoke and egg friendly air released in draughts between the opening and closing of the café door;which he stepped through to find his table and entered some other world, under greasy lights coupled with table shine and coffee cups, and thoughts of death, where she stood groomed for an entrance, were held back by the odd moments of life that still strung the useful breaths Beckett used to blow his coffee cool.I love the conversational tone of this poem & those lines “You know the one...when he looked up at the lens and realised how he could haunt us all” ,it instantly calls to mind those iconic images of Samuel Beckett, staring off into some distant space, the look part defiant, part fearful, haunted or haunting I'm never quite sure, just that the eyes bore deep, deep into you.http://parrishlantern.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/red-riding-hoods-dilemma-orfhlaith.html