Irish Jesuit Province

The Heart Remembers Morning by Michael WalshReview by: J. C. J.The Irish Monthly, Vol. 60, No. 703 (Jan., 1932), p. 846Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20513183 .

Accessed: 14/06/2014 22:08

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.

.

Irish Jesuit Province is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Irish Monthly.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 185.44.79.160 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 22:08:47 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

846 THE IRISH MONTHLY

The Heart Remembers Morning. By Michael Walsh. (Dublin: The Talbot Press. Pp. 46. 2/6).

The author's previous collection of poems, Brown Earth and Green received very high praise from the discerning critics of the Times Literary Supplement, The Bookman, the Irish Stateman (in a review by ?) and Studies. The qualities which marked the first collection have not failed in this-the deep sympathy with the Irish countryside and its toilers in all moods, the music of the verse, distinction of phrase, and elevation of thought. The author has rightly been welcomed as " the most charming of our younger poets " by Aodh de Blacam in The Standard; " sensitive to all the loveliness of earth and sky2' is 2E's tribute. He does not fail to look from nature to nature's God and hence he sees the deeper into nature, understanding its sacramental message and the deeper mystery of elemental things: as in these verses:

After a Night of Thunder. So all have passed, the red-edged clouds of storm,

The glooms that told of thunder on the way, Even the jagged lightning's red alarm

Can fade at last into so sweet a day. So often roars a battle in our skies And that same day in lovely music dies.

So too in his poems At Sunset and In Early Summer, and above all The Ploughman of the Benrof-Fore and the House in the Meadow.

The Child in My Study is a perfect human thing in its re velation of sympathy with childhood and After Years and Sorrow's Sword in their feeling for a mother's sorrow.

Each stabbing moment with its memory Of little ways,

And words and lispings-chatter rippling free Through all its days.

But Sorrow's Sword, 0 Mother of all men Ran deep for thee!

Supreme in all the history of pain Is Calvary.

In every poem there are thoughts, perfect in musical expression which one will wish to make one's own: those

who get these poems will, even in the multitude of "4 poetic " publications, eagerly await those we hope are yet to come from a source so deep and clear, springing from deep in earth but reflecting the mysteries beyond sun and stars and haman love and sorrow.

J. C. J.

This content downloaded from 185.44.79.160 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 22:08:47 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions