Anne McCabe To Read At Dalkey Writers Festival and New Poem

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Anne McCabe To Read At Dalkey Writers Festival and New PoemStarting from today June 15th until Sunday is the Dalkey Book Festival which has I have to say, an excellent line up. Reading, on the Saturday in Our Lady’s Hall at 2.30 from her popular and much talked about book ‘Under the Avalanche’ is the TV broadcaster Anne McCabe.

Anne is a well known writer and TV director and last year published her first novel ‘Under The Avalanche’ which has received rave reviews and also appeared here on this site. Around a month ago I had the privilege of an Interview with Anne and I asked if she had any poetry she would like to share in which she kindly has and sent me in a poem to include on this site which I am delighted to share here.

Anne McCabe To Read At Dalkey Writers Festival and New PoemAnne shares the bill at the Dalkey Book Festival with the likes of  Seamus Heaney, Conall Morrison, David McWilliams, Dermot Bolger, Detrmot Healy, Joesph O’Connor, Maeve Binchy, Kevin Barry, Pauline McLynn, the great Robert Fisk and much much more, now wow, that is some line up and makes me crazy with jealousy that I have to work this weekend.

Be sure to catch Anne read from her excellent book at 2.30 in Our Lady’s Hall and now enjoy this wonderful poem, kindly shared and written by Anne McCabe. Also, check out the new video trailer created for her book below, great stuff.


It is very easy
For the undergrowth to thicken
For weeds, scrub, thorn,
Such entwined things
To proliferate
And prevent
Easy access.

But we find
Cloven hooves across the trail
Secret signs
From within the forest,
Where paths lie and sink
in deep green light,
hide an empty quiet
Deer tracks disappear without an echo-
Perfect cover for the soul

And so,
We ascend to the top-
Boots scrunch on
Loamy soil of copper hue
Shot through with silver shale
On the way up, and up, up
To the top of the world-
And then, breathless-
Is there reward for this exertion?
Oh Yes

Lark song in heather
Sunshine gratefully bathing all
Of hill and dale and peak
To all four corners of the known world,
As the pines sigh and cough,
Sough, softly, scenting the silence
Healing balm.



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