John Montague is an Irish poet. He was born in New York and brought up in Tyrone. He has published a number of volumes of poetry, two collections of short stories and two volumes of memoir. He is one of the best known Irish contemporary poets. In 1998 he became the first occupant of the Ireland Chair of Poetry.
John Montague was born in Brooklyn, New York, on February 28, 1929. His father, James Montague, an Ulster Catholic, from County Tyrone, had gone to America in 1925 to join his brother John. Both were sons of John Montague, who had been a Justice of the Peace, combining his legal duties with being a schoolmaster, farmer, postmaster and director of ... more »
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John Montague Poems
I'll tell you a sore truth, little understood It's harder to leave, than to be left: To stay, to leave, both sting wrong.
A feel of warmth in this place. In winter air, a scent of harvest. No form of prayer is needed, When by sudden grace attended.
The Golden Hook
Two fish float: one slowly downstream into the warm
There are Days
There are days when one should be able to pluck off one's head like a dented or worn
My love, while we talked They removed the roof. Then They started on the walls, Panes of glass uprooting
The light, tarred skin of the currach rides and receives the current,
Comments about John Montague
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
I'll tell you a sore truth, little understood
It's harder to leave, than to be left:
To stay, to leave, both sting wrong.
You will always have me to blame,
Can dream we might have sailed on;
From absence's rib, a warm fiction.
To tear up old love by the roots,
To trample on past affections:
There is no music for so harsh a song.