HENRY THOMAS KANE
Poems for the Long Remembering
The Work
Henry Thomas Kane writes poems grounded in memory, mortality, moral witness, faith, and the durable things that remain when time has taken much else away.
His recent work increasingly turns toward place; the streets, weather and landscapes of Ireland and toward the ordinary moments through which a life is remembered and understood.
Selected Poetry
A selection from the poems of Henry Thomas Kane, shaped by memory, place, moral witness, and the quiet persistence of what remains.
The Weeping of the Willow
Beneath the willow’s
bending grace I lay,
And watched the
notes of golden
sunlight play;
It was my friend,
who sang in whispered air,
And bore my
dreams as if a soul
were there.
I climbed its limbs,
and on the breeze
would ride.
A desert prince with
heaven at my side;
I spoke my heart, it
answered soft and low,
In rustling hymns no
other ear could
know.
When Peace Requires a Door
There comes a time
when peace requires a door;
not a wall raised against the world,
nor some great iron thing
bolted against the night,
only a door
that knows how to open
and when to close.
For years I thought kindness meant
leaving everything unlocked;
the old sadness free to enter,
every voice given a chair at the table,
every returning sorrow
permitted to hang its coat
beside my own.
I mistook welcome for love.
And so the weather came in.
Rain beneath the threshold,
the cold moving quietly from room to room,
until even the fire
could not remember warmth.
At the Turn of Autumn
In Westport, summer
had gone
but winter had not yet
thought of us.
Beyond the bridge, the
shops
stood bright with colour,
and the Octagon
burned with flowers
as though nothing had
been lost.
I wandered farther than
I meant to
and was content to be
lost,
resting my weary frame
on a worn bench
beside the old stone
canal.
Leaves drifted quietly
on the water.
Three ducklings played
at the edge.
For a little while
my soul asked nothing
of me.