MTC Cronin

MTC Cronin

MTC Cronin has published twenty books (poetry, prose poems and essays). Recent collections include In Possession of Loss (Shearsman Books, 2014) and The Law of Poetry (Puncher & Wattmann, 2015), the latter of which was written over two decades.

'The Grass is Full by MTC Cronin | States of Poetry Queensland - Series One

States of Poetry Queensland - Series One 22 February 2016
Moon is a paper lampburning all night. The grassis full of shadows. Hardly room in herewith the cupboard's coat. Small broken windowsopen dream's row. The wild birdsall leave my mind at once – mouth banging shutin the dark. 'The grass is fullof blue free stars.' The universe just meansnothing gets left out.  MTC Cronin Recording 'The Grass is Full' begins at 1:11 ... (read more)

'The Correct Way' by MTC Cronin | States of Poetry Queensland - Series One

States of Poetry Queensland - Series One 22 February 2016
The correct way to drink from a broken cup.To welcome both dark and light into your house.To imagine tomorrow.To pick verbena and red clover.On the path where nothing will grow. The correct way to tend the frozen.To take their sweet throats and swim down into their livers.To disembowel without touching.To do what is at stake.To move from cage to cage. The correct way to say only some things wort ... (read more)

'Above Us' by MTC Cronin | States of Poetry Queensland - Series One

States of Poetry Queensland - Series One 22 February 2016
Above us we hear the windmill yelping, circling like a trapped dog while the house sits like a black skull on the hill. Above us the tombs are rising from their rest and travelling along the roads beneath trees turning sourly. Above us the wind flings uncountable seed into the dignified light tossed through the depths by a green moon rolling over and over in the shifting lens of the waves. Above u ... (read more)

'The World's Yard' by MTC Cronin | States of Poetry Queensland - Series One

States of Poetry Queensland - Series One 22 February 2016
Right at the back of the world's yard I am sitting. I have nothing. I had a stone but lent it to the poet to put in his shoe. No sooner did he turn into a slim golden feather that flew straight to the sun that fed the snakes new skins. It could as easily have resulted in ripe figs resting in baskets or unruly persimmon trees twirling in fogged mountains. Regardless, I have nothing. I had a stone b ... (read more)