Curlew Sixth Sense Bantry

By JOHN KINSELLA

To take a liberty with lexicon
is remiss in the circumstances
            of the curlew
with diminished habitat.
It reprises every day,
            and the mudflats
            sheeted by the in-
sweep of tide leads it to the mowed
grass in front of the Bantry
            lifeboat, across
            the harbor’s mouth
from the pier, that “extra” beak-length
(of curlew and figuratively of pier)
            a segment of curve
            into earth as much
as water, casting around with a pair
of oyster catchers, three ravens
            and a hooded crow,
            telepathically swapping
views around issues of solitariness,
solitude and broader community,
            differences in flights,
            states of nature.

 

 

[Purchase Issue 29 here.]

John Kinsella’s new selected poems, The Darkest Pastoral, has just been published, and a collection of new poems, Aporia, will appear mid-2025. His awards include the Australian Prime Minister’s Literary Award for Poetry, the Victorian Premier’s Award for Poetry, and the John Bray Poetry Award.

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Curlew Sixth Sense Bantry

Related Posts

Two Poems by Heather Bourbeau

This forest is named for the first head of the National Forest Service, who warned of assuming natural resources were inexhaustible, who said without conservation we pay the price of misery, degradation, and failure, who asked if these resources were for the benefit of us all or for the use and profit of a few? He was also a leading eugenicist.

February 2026 Poetry Feature: Fatimah Asghar and Shane Moran

FATIMAH ASGHAR
i cursed the frog / that found its way into / my house. murderous, i laid / poison for the ants. i threw / my moon in the trash. / when he cheated, i wished / him a hall of mirrors. / doomed to endless versions / of him. i prayed they’d undo / each other. & they did. i took / from the earth without permission."

Mountain, Stone

LENA KHALAF TUFFAHA
Do not name your daughters Shaymaa, / courage will march them / into the bullet path of dictators. / Do not name them Sundus, / the garden of paradise calls out to its marigolds, / gathers its green leaves up in its embrace. / Do not name your children Malak or Raneem, / angels want the companionship