Martin Burke was born in Limerick, Ireland, where his first poems appeared in such publications as The Stony Thursday Book; New Poetry, New Irish Writing, ect. Twenty years ago he moved to Flanders (Belgium) where poetry was less and less frequent and all but stopped. Part of countering this the launching of the (short lived) Magazine The Green Door
, followed by Ferdia Press
-equally shortlived. However poetry has once again returned and recent work has or is due to be seen in World Order; Analysands; Snakeshin; Transference; The Lillput Review; Poetry about Poetry; The Drunken Boat, Virtual Writer and Shearsman Magazine.
STORM AT WINTER'S ENDING
We thought it past -the worst of it
at any rate, thought safe to assume
relaxed positions, mocked safety measures,
cited the sky's brightness as proof of our claim
but that was just ploy -ours and the storm's,
for it was but hiatus, strength gathering
for the thunder to come -and it did!
What then -to what avail our strategies?
What could we firmly erect against it?
Language being the life I have chosen
we talked the night through 'till the storm
outdid its own and our alarm.
How nature vivifies the times and crisis
of the race. At almost winter's ending
well could we ask: 'By spring what will remain,
what of the once approaching comet's kiss?'
Daily the Sun-King dies. In stone and tree,
as in all life, each is urged to see renewal
impelled by cycles of the dying year
of which the spring is celebrant.
"Be! and it is" the Primal Word declairs,
celebrates the death-in-life of human state.
My death confirms compulsion to comply,
renews the storm-kissed, once reluctant.
Page 15, Arts Dialogue, June 1997.
His e-mail address is email@example.com