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PJ Kavanagh

Image by Charles Sturge

Perfection Isn't Like A Perfect Story

PJ Kavanagh

Perfection Isn't Like A Perfect Story

PJ Kavanagh

Perfection Isn't Like A Perfect Story

Perfection Isn't Like A Perfect Story

I think often of the time I was perfectly happy.
And sat by the harbour reading a borrowed Cavafy.
You were with me of course and the night before we
Played bar billiards, green under lights, in the cafe
Postponing our first shared bedtime and every ball
That didn't come back made us look at each other and down.
I collected the key and we crossed the late night hall
And seeing the room you cried, it was so small.

We were too close. We bore each other down.
I changed the room and we found that you were ill.
Nothing was perfect, or as it should have been.
I lay by your side and watched the green of dawn
Climb over our bodies and bring out of darkness the one
Perfect face that made nothing else matter at all.

from Collected Poems (Carcanet Press, 2001), copyright © Patrick Kavanagh 2001, used by permission of the author and the publisher


PJ Kavanagh

P J Kavanagh Reading from his poems

1Dedication Poem

2Yeats's Tower

3The Spring

4On The Way to the Depot

5Perfection Isn't Like a Perfect Story


7November the First

8The Clapham Elephants


10A Single Tree


12Beyond Decoration

13Late Acknowledgement

14One Sentence, and Another

15A Ghost Replies

16They Lift Their Heads

17Minimal Prayer Suggestion

18Natural History



21In the Middle of the Wood


23Beside the Sea

24Slow as Grass


26Vox Pop



29Something About

Books by PJ Kavanagh