Christy Brown
Born
in Dublin, Ireland
June 05, 1932
Died
September 07, 1981
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My Left Foot
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published
1954
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76 editions
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Down all the days
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published
1970
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42 editions
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The Poems of Christy Brown
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Wild Grow the Lilies
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published
1976
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11 editions
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Come Softly to My Wake: The Poems of Christy Brown
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A Shadow on Summer
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published
1974
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13 editions
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Background Music: Poems
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Of Snails and Skylarks
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The Story of Christy Brown
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published
1971
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2 editions
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Collected Poems: Come Softly to My Wake, Background Music and of Snails and Skylarks
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published
1982
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3 editions
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“You touched my flawed life so gently with love
burning upward in dark steady flame
burning me, burning me into healing.”
― Of Snails and Skylarks
burning upward in dark steady flame
burning me, burning me into healing.”
― Of Snails and Skylarks
“I came to you tardy and late
as I usually do to the better things in my life”
― Of Snails and Skylarks
as I usually do to the better things in my life”
― Of Snails and Skylarks
“Girl in the wind
blowing wide open
the closed doors of my life -
which way are we going?
Standing against the lurid sky
on the stark brink of ocean
arms outstretched
as if your love and hunger
would embrace the world
and I in my inner room
playing my poetic premutations
can only look and ask the unanswerable.
Brave and cunning I speak to my typewriter
knowing it will not answer back
knowing it will not reply
what I ask and do not want to hear
as you with the vast sunset merge
a multitude of dreams away
uniquely alone and outside of me
in the purity and rarity of this moment
immeasurably beyond my love and my rage
and with the dying call of gulls
the echo resounds:
Girl in the wind
throwing aside
the tight shutters of my life -
which way are we going?”
― Of Snails and Skylarks
blowing wide open
the closed doors of my life -
which way are we going?
Standing against the lurid sky
on the stark brink of ocean
arms outstretched
as if your love and hunger
would embrace the world
and I in my inner room
playing my poetic premutations
can only look and ask the unanswerable.
Brave and cunning I speak to my typewriter
knowing it will not answer back
knowing it will not reply
what I ask and do not want to hear
as you with the vast sunset merge
a multitude of dreams away
uniquely alone and outside of me
in the purity and rarity of this moment
immeasurably beyond my love and my rage
and with the dying call of gulls
the echo resounds:
Girl in the wind
throwing aside
the tight shutters of my life -
which way are we going?”
― Of Snails and Skylarks
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