The hands of the clock go patientlyover the story again from the top. You yourself have purchased clocks,such as this working imitationwhose original (that’s not the word),is hanging from a wrought-iron frameoutside a bistro you have only visitedin the imagination, which the clockfinds inconceivable. Like the Bourbonsthe clock forgets nothing, learns nothingand unfailingly makes nothingof whatever meets its faithful gaze. And if the clock were a believerthis intolerable hush would bethe prayer it says to time. Sean O’Brien’s 12th collection of poems, The Bonfire Party, is published by Picador

Source: The Irish Times February 28, 2026 23:01 UTC