Cork launch of Chuck’s new collection of poems
by Leo McMahon, The Southern Star, Saturday, January 25, 2008
‘Sourcing,’ a new collection of poems by Chuck Kruger, was officially launched at a most enjoyable reception in City Library, Cork last week by poet Tom McCarthy who described the American-born Cape Clear islander as a “fantastically cosmopolitan man” whose works demonstrated “a most intense enjoyment of the experience of being in the world”.
Guests were welcomed on behalf of the City Library by Eamonn Kirwan and on behalf of the publisher Bradshaw Books, Tigh Fili, Cork, by its literature officer Paul Casey who described the poems in ‘Sourcing’ as being extremely evocative of island life which enticed one to further explore such places. Paul thanked everyone associated with the 103-page publication and said it was a great sign for poetry when so many people turned out on a wet and windy night to attend its launch.
Well-known Cork poet Tom McCarthy said one could sense in Chuck’s early works of journalism the highest standard as he chronicled the passing seasons. In his poetry there was a powerful affirmation of the brevity of being in a stormy nowhere but also a sense of spirituality in primitive places.
Paying a glowing tribute to Chuck Kruger, Tom continued: “His life and lifestyle is rooted in deep thought and contemplation and it is no surprise that the recurrent heroes of this collection of poems are the butterflies that survive the ferocious winter and spring storms of Cape Clear”.
Chuck Kruger returned thanks and then delighted the large turnout for the launch by reciting some of the 67 poems in the book with its magnificent cover photograph by the man himself of Fastnet Rock and sea birds. This, the fifth book by the well known writer, poet, storyteller and broadcaster, is dedicated to island neighbours and friends Duncan Mac Lachlan, Patrick Cadogan and Conchubar O Drisceoil.
Seventy year young Chuck was accompanied by his wife of 45 years, Nell, and the attendance included Donal O Drisceoil, Cal and Joan Hyland, Frank Cadogan, Jerry Donovan, Alannah Hopkin and Fr. Patrick Hickey PP, Timoleague, while the City Library was also represented at the wine reception by Susie Maye.
Chuck recited the poems ‘Judging by the size of it’, ‘A break’, ‘Feathering Mackerel’, ‘Teapot Tempest’, ‘Cat’, ‘Pleiades’, ‘I pick asparagus to dolphins’ illustrating his love of the island and its community, the sea and the stars and this poem about the day when he and others saw waves in South Harbour that were so high they covered the youth hostel.
The West Cork launch of ‘Sourcing’ by Chuck Kruger will be performed by young Beara poet Leanne O’Sullivan this Thursday evening, January 24, at 7.30 pm in the west Cork Arts Centre, North Street, Skibbereen.
A Confluence of Alarm
Barometer plummets a hundred eighty degrees
to 938 half a day before waves in outer harbour begin
obliterating all into booms of white against grey cliffs.
Full moon, high tide, and storm,
A confluence of alarm.
In inner harbour, closer to homes, island eyes
centre on waves crashing high up shingle against seawall,
blasting heavenward. Force 11 gusts then buffet the kingdom come
explosions so that instead of fireworks over hostel roof,
they shoot straight up, synchronized multitudinous geysers,
their eastward not upward momentum stopped
by an invisible Jerusalem wall of wind, and they wail,
collapse, collect, roll back down beach, wash roaring,
each old remnant bit of might roiling into part of next attack.
Full moon, high tide, and storm,
A confluence of alarm.
Maverick crests skyrocket over breakwater and pier,
roads metamorphose into white-water rivers, stones and hunks
of macadam scatter into wrack and we into hunkered gawking groups.
Our growing crowd oohs aahs screams, occasionally retreats
for safety, but still we have one blowout bash, witness the opening lid
of Davy Jones’s locker as Colum’s car momently disappears,
tipped by billowing surge onto two wheels when he chances run;
we cheer when Paddy’s fully baptized as he crosses the foot of Ceili Hill;
we chuckle to see the priest’s front yard fill with stones, and fish.
Full moon, high tide, and storm,
A confluence of alarm.
The event brings us together – a meitheal in a wilderness – ,
fills us with tempest and temptation instead of work,
and like a pack of hungry wolves we howl as we paw in awe,
approaching knoll with caribou rising into snow-capped mountain peak.
Full moon, high tide, and storm,
A confluence of alarm.
Two hours later, as tide ebbs, as light fades,
we split, go our separate townland ways;
it’s as if the sea has nothing more to say.
Full moon, low tide, and storm,
A confluence no longer of alarm.
––Chuck Kruger
