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Conamara Blues: Poems
Translating the beauty and splendor of his native Conamara into a language exquisitely attuned to the wonder of the everyday, John O'Donohue takes us on a moving journey through real and imagined worlds. Divided into three parts -- Approachings, Encounters, and Distances -- Conamara Blues at once reawakens a sense of intimacy with the natural world and a feeling of wonder at the mystery of our relationship to this world. Whether exploring the silent, eternal memory of Conamara or focusing on the power of language and the vagaries of human need and passion, O'Donohue tenderly reveals the fragile vulnerability of love and friendship. The result is a musical, transcendent, and deeply moving series of poems that exemplifies O'Donohue at his finest.
Written with penetrating insight and distilled transparence, Conamara Blues offers a singular and lasting imaginative vision of a landscape of hope and possibility -- powerfully exhibiting the mastery of a poet at the height of his lyric powers.
Written with penetrating insight and distilled transparence, Conamara Blues offers a singular and lasting imaginative vision of a landscape of hope and possibility -- powerfully exhibiting the mastery of a poet at the height of his lyric powers.
98 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2000
78 people are currently reading
542 people want to read
About the author
John O'Donohue
46 books1,144 followersJohn O'Donohue, Ph.D., was born in County Clare in 1956. He spoke Irish as his native language and lived in a remote cottage in the west of Ireland until his untimely death in January 2008. A highly respected poet and philosopher, he lectured throughout Europe and America and wrote a number of popular books, including Anam Cara and To Bless the Space Between Us.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews
February 17, 2020
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Conheci o autor John O'Donohue no site Brain Pickings, onde descobri alguns textos e entrevistas muito interessantes dele. Sendo um poeta irlandês, acabei catando alguns livros dele para kindle para experimentar.
Talvez eu devesse ter prestado mais atenção ao fato que, além de poeta, O'Donohue também era padre e filósofo. A parte do filósofo pode ser até um atenuante, o problema é ser padre e irlandês.
É uma questão pessoal minha, preciso dizer, os textos dele são bons, não é a toa que me interessei e fui comprar obras dele. Meu problema é o tema excessivamente cristão para o meu gosto excessivamente pagão.
E não é como a brasileira Adélia Prado, cujo catolicismo dá uma cor gostosa e com jeitão mineiro para o seu trabalho. John O'Donohue escreve como padre nesse tema, um padre poeta, ok, mas não menos padre.
Para os católicos e cristãos em geral, indico o seu trabalho. Mas para mim... 3 estrelas
SPOILER FREE
Conheci o autor John O'Donohue no site Brain Pickings, onde descobri alguns textos e entrevistas muito interessantes dele. Sendo um poeta irlandês, acabei catando alguns livros dele para kindle para experimentar.
Talvez eu devesse ter prestado mais atenção ao fato que, além de poeta, O'Donohue também era padre e filósofo. A parte do filósofo pode ser até um atenuante, o problema é ser padre e irlandês.
É uma questão pessoal minha, preciso dizer, os textos dele são bons, não é a toa que me interessei e fui comprar obras dele. Meu problema é o tema excessivamente cristão para o meu gosto excessivamente pagão.
E não é como a brasileira Adélia Prado, cujo catolicismo dá uma cor gostosa e com jeitão mineiro para o seu trabalho. John O'Donohue escreve como padre nesse tema, um padre poeta, ok, mas não menos padre.
Para os católicos e cristãos em geral, indico o seu trabalho. Mas para mim... 3 estrelas
![Profile Image for [ J o ].](/_next/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.gr-assets.com%2Fimages%2FS%2Fcompressed.photo.goodreads.com%2Fusers%2F1673171874i%2F4639825._UY200_CR4%2C0%2C200%2C200_.jpg&w=128&q=75)
February 7, 2017
I had actually ordered the play adaptation of Terry Pratchett's novel Nation, but this came through my letterbox instead. I thought I'd give it a read anyway, since they didn't want me to return it and I'm trying to read as much poetry as I possibly can.
You say: Now that they
Have called our names back
The mountains can
Never forget us.
- Mountain Christening
There were a couple of lines or stanzas that struck me, but otherwise I found it be nothing but pointless scribbling, in all honestly. I do feel a little bad because obviously I didn't choose to read this, but there we are. It had it's moments, but for the most part it was mostly religious talk which I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever. It was occasionally that kind of free-form poetry that a lot of poets try but not all of them can get right, wherein they basically write a sentence but break it up as a poem, and it neither rhymes and, often, doesn't quite makes sense either.
Not the worst poetry I've read, but there again I didn't choose to read it so it's difficult to really gauge it and write any kind of worthwhile review of it without that cropping up.
When we love we love to touch the beloved.
Our hands find joy in the surprise of skin.
Here is where tenderness is uncovered.
Few frontiers hold a world more wondrous in.
- The Scourging at the Pillar
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You say: Now that they
Have called our names back
The mountains can
Never forget us.
- Mountain Christening
There were a couple of lines or stanzas that struck me, but otherwise I found it be nothing but pointless scribbling, in all honestly. I do feel a little bad because obviously I didn't choose to read this, but there we are. It had it's moments, but for the most part it was mostly religious talk which I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever. It was occasionally that kind of free-form poetry that a lot of poets try but not all of them can get right, wherein they basically write a sentence but break it up as a poem, and it neither rhymes and, often, doesn't quite makes sense either.
Not the worst poetry I've read, but there again I didn't choose to read it so it's difficult to really gauge it and write any kind of worthwhile review of it without that cropping up.
When we love we love to touch the beloved.
Our hands find joy in the surprise of skin.
Here is where tenderness is uncovered.
Few frontiers hold a world more wondrous in.
- The Scourging at the Pillar
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June 14, 2021
John O my DAWG, the three stars isn’t a refection of my love for his poetry it’s more a comparison to his other books that I’ve loved with my whole heart. There were definitely poems and words within this one that made me oooo and ahhhh but not overwhelmingly so. Loved the poems from the perspective of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus tho!
Here’s a lil POEM OF THE BOOK🤪 POTB
“I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
If its own unfolding.”- Fluent by the MAN
Here’s a lil POEM OF THE BOOK🤪 POTB
“I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
If its own unfolding.”- Fluent by the MAN
February 18, 2017
One of my favorite poets. accessible lyrics with earthy metaphors. for you John O'Donoghue fans -- check out the "Speaking of Faith" website. There is a wonderful interview with with him there -- and you can also download a few of his poems being read by John himself which, as far as I can tell, a rarity.
June 8, 2014
A friend gave this to me abt six weeks ago and I have been carrying it all over Ireland ever since.
So beautiful. Each poem sings to me.
Here's a very short one, "Fluent" (that I read while having bacon and cabbage at Lincoln's Inn in Dublin, earlier today -- the waitress stopped to chat with me when she noticed that I was reading poetry.)
I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.
So beautiful. Each poem sings to me.
Here's a very short one, "Fluent" (that I read while having bacon and cabbage at Lincoln's Inn in Dublin, earlier today -- the waitress stopped to chat with me when she noticed that I was reading poetry.)
I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.
February 23, 2025
BEFORE THE BEGINNING
Unknown to us, there are moments
When crevices we cannot see open
For time to come alive with beginning.
As in autumn a field of corn knows
When enough green has been inhaled
From the clay and under the skill
Of an artist breeze becomes gold in a day,
When the ocean still as a mirror
Of a sudden takes a sinister curve
To rise in a mountain of wave
That would swallow a village.
How to a flock of starlings
Scattered, at work on grass,
From somewhere, a signal comes
And suddenly as one, they describe
A geometric shape in the air.
Another book on my to-read list for 10 years, a slim book of poetry be the late poet, philosopher, and former priest who was interviewed and championed be Krista Tippett for On Being. Most of the poems were new to me, and they reflected a beautiful worldview that celebrates humans having a calling or a deep ancestral knowing of beauty as part of what makes us human. He died so young at 53, and the world missed the rest of what he could have taught us.
WIND ARTIST
Among the kingdom of the winds,
Perhaps, there is one of elegant mind
Who has no need to intrude
On the solitude of single things.
A wind at ease with the depth
Of its own emptiness, who knows
How it was in the beginning,
Before the silence became unbearable
And space rippled to dream things.
A wind who feels how an object strains
To be here, holding its darkness tight
Against the sever of air, ever eager
To enter, and with a swell of light
Dissolve the form in its breathing.
A wind from before memory
Whose patience will see things become
Passionate dust whorled into sighs
Of ghost-song on its wings.
ELEMENTAL
Is the word the work
Of someone who tills the blue field,
Unearths its dark plenitude
For the tight seed to release its thought
Into the ferment of clay,
Searching to earth the light
And come to voice in a word of grain
That can sing free in the breeze,
Bathe in the yellow well of the sun,
Avoid the attack of the bird,
And endure the red cell of the oven
Until memory leavens in the gift of bread?
MOUNTAIN CHRISTENING
After a hard climb
Through a dry river-bed,
Its scoured stones glistening
Like a white chain to the horizon,
Descending between its links
The long concerto of a stream
Where the listening mountains incline,
Rising against the steep fall of soft bog,
Searching for our grip In the shimmer of scree.
At last on the summit Of the Beanna Beola,
Overlooking three valleys,
Delighted to be so high
Above the lives where we dwell,
Together for a while
From other sides of the world,
Sensing each other,
Strangely close,
Suddenly, your voice
Calling out my name.
I call yours.
The echoes take us
To the heart of the mountains.
When the silence closes, You say:
Now that they
Have called our names back
The mountains can
Never forget us.
Unknown to us, there are moments
When crevices we cannot see open
For time to come alive with beginning.
As in autumn a field of corn knows
When enough green has been inhaled
From the clay and under the skill
Of an artist breeze becomes gold in a day,
When the ocean still as a mirror
Of a sudden takes a sinister curve
To rise in a mountain of wave
That would swallow a village.
How to a flock of starlings
Scattered, at work on grass,
From somewhere, a signal comes
And suddenly as one, they describe
A geometric shape in the air.
Another book on my to-read list for 10 years, a slim book of poetry be the late poet, philosopher, and former priest who was interviewed and championed be Krista Tippett for On Being. Most of the poems were new to me, and they reflected a beautiful worldview that celebrates humans having a calling or a deep ancestral knowing of beauty as part of what makes us human. He died so young at 53, and the world missed the rest of what he could have taught us.
WIND ARTIST
Among the kingdom of the winds,
Perhaps, there is one of elegant mind
Who has no need to intrude
On the solitude of single things.
A wind at ease with the depth
Of its own emptiness, who knows
How it was in the beginning,
Before the silence became unbearable
And space rippled to dream things.
A wind who feels how an object strains
To be here, holding its darkness tight
Against the sever of air, ever eager
To enter, and with a swell of light
Dissolve the form in its breathing.
A wind from before memory
Whose patience will see things become
Passionate dust whorled into sighs
Of ghost-song on its wings.
ELEMENTAL
Is the word the work
Of someone who tills the blue field,
Unearths its dark plenitude
For the tight seed to release its thought
Into the ferment of clay,
Searching to earth the light
And come to voice in a word of grain
That can sing free in the breeze,
Bathe in the yellow well of the sun,
Avoid the attack of the bird,
And endure the red cell of the oven
Until memory leavens in the gift of bread?
MOUNTAIN CHRISTENING
After a hard climb
Through a dry river-bed,
Its scoured stones glistening
Like a white chain to the horizon,
Descending between its links
The long concerto of a stream
Where the listening mountains incline,
Rising against the steep fall of soft bog,
Searching for our grip In the shimmer of scree.
At last on the summit Of the Beanna Beola,
Overlooking three valleys,
Delighted to be so high
Above the lives where we dwell,
Together for a while
From other sides of the world,
Sensing each other,
Strangely close,
Suddenly, your voice
Calling out my name.
I call yours.
The echoes take us
To the heart of the mountains.
When the silence closes, You say:
Now that they
Have called our names back
The mountains can
Never forget us.
April 11, 2023
"Conamara Blues: Poems" by John O'Donohue
I read this whilst seated on a rocky shoreline in a southerly Wellington wind (New Zealand). Special resonance. ****
Page 25 - Elemental – unique
Page 37 - Imagined Origins - "Or the fright of crows from trees / At dusk into the empty paleness, / This rush of black words today / Searching for you on white page."
Page 45 - The Annunciation - "The sentence awakens like a raven, / Fluttering and dark, opening her heart / To nest the voice that first whispered the earth / From dream into wind, stone, sky and ocean."
Page 53 - The Agony in the Garden -
“The Agony in the Garden”:
Whatever veil of mercy shrouds the dark
Wound that stops weeping in no one, cannot
Stop the torrent of night when it buries thought
And heart beneath the black tears of the earth.
Through scragged bush the moon discovers his face,
Dazed inside the sound of Gethsemane.
Subsiding under the weight of silence
That entombs the cry of his terrified prayer.
What light could endure the dark he entered?
The void that turns the mind into a ruin
Haunted by the tattered screeching of birds
Who nest deep in hunger that mocks all care.
Still he somehow stands in that nothingness;
Raising the chalice of kindness to bless.”
Page 57 – The Crucifixion – “.. A slanted rain cuts across the black day. / It turns stones crimson where the cross is laid.”
Page 61 – The Resurrection –
[lines 9-14]
“Through the cold, quiet night-time of the grave underground,
The earth concentrated on him with complete longing
Until his sleep could recall the dark from beyond
To enfold memory lost in the requiem of mind.
The moon stirs a wave of brightening in the stone.
He rises clothed in the young colours of dawn.”
Page 64 – The Assumption – “.. Her hair kisses the breeze. Her eyes know it is time. / She looks as young as the evening the raven came.”
Page 69 – Words – “.. Words may capture how the ravens soar / In silk black selves far into the blue / To seek the nest of night’s colour hoard.”
Page 83 – The Ocean Wind – “.. With wind the ocean bends each lone blackthorn / To a dark sickle facing the mountain.”
Page 91 – A Burren Prayer – “.. may the wells that dream in the stone / Soothe the eternal that sleeps in our bone.”
I read this whilst seated on a rocky shoreline in a southerly Wellington wind (New Zealand). Special resonance. ****
Page 25 - Elemental – unique
Page 37 - Imagined Origins - "Or the fright of crows from trees / At dusk into the empty paleness, / This rush of black words today / Searching for you on white page."
Page 45 - The Annunciation - "The sentence awakens like a raven, / Fluttering and dark, opening her heart / To nest the voice that first whispered the earth / From dream into wind, stone, sky and ocean."
Page 53 - The Agony in the Garden -
“The Agony in the Garden”:
Whatever veil of mercy shrouds the dark
Wound that stops weeping in no one, cannot
Stop the torrent of night when it buries thought
And heart beneath the black tears of the earth.
Through scragged bush the moon discovers his face,
Dazed inside the sound of Gethsemane.
Subsiding under the weight of silence
That entombs the cry of his terrified prayer.
What light could endure the dark he entered?
The void that turns the mind into a ruin
Haunted by the tattered screeching of birds
Who nest deep in hunger that mocks all care.
Still he somehow stands in that nothingness;
Raising the chalice of kindness to bless.”
Page 57 – The Crucifixion – “.. A slanted rain cuts across the black day. / It turns stones crimson where the cross is laid.”
Page 61 – The Resurrection –
[lines 9-14]
“Through the cold, quiet night-time of the grave underground,
The earth concentrated on him with complete longing
Until his sleep could recall the dark from beyond
To enfold memory lost in the requiem of mind.
The moon stirs a wave of brightening in the stone.
He rises clothed in the young colours of dawn.”
Page 64 – The Assumption – “.. Her hair kisses the breeze. Her eyes know it is time. / She looks as young as the evening the raven came.”
Page 69 – Words – “.. Words may capture how the ravens soar / In silk black selves far into the blue / To seek the nest of night’s colour hoard.”
Page 83 – The Ocean Wind – “.. With wind the ocean bends each lone blackthorn / To a dark sickle facing the mountain.”
Page 91 – A Burren Prayer – “.. may the wells that dream in the stone / Soothe the eternal that sleeps in our bone.”
April 16, 2022
I first encountered John O’Donohue’s poetry through yoga guide Adriene Mishler. “Conamara Blues” is a collection of poems about a region of O’Donohue’s native Ireland known for its natural features such as islands and mountains. His words evoke the raw beauty of the natural world and immerse the reader in the outdoors. The middle section of the book contains poems inspired by the Mysteries of the Rosary, apt for the Lenten season.
I find the appreciation of poetry subjective, dependent not only on how a writer arranges words but also on how those strings of words evoke a reaction in their reader at a specific point in time. I felt lukewarm about this collection in general, save for a couple of poems. Read for National Poetry Month, 2.5 of 5 stars.
I find the appreciation of poetry subjective, dependent not only on how a writer arranges words but also on how those strings of words evoke a reaction in their reader at a specific point in time. I felt lukewarm about this collection in general, save for a couple of poems. Read for National Poetry Month, 2.5 of 5 stars.
June 30, 2022
i love john o’donohue but this book was mid. there were some lovely moments that i cherished. but many of the poems fell flat. i was grateful to read something in worshiping the land my grandparents grew up on, i just wished it did more for me somehow.
i’ll leave you with a poem form the book that i loved.
Fluent
I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.
i’ll leave you with a poem form the book that i loved.
Fluent
I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.
June 18, 2020
Of course, anything John O'Donohue touched is like gold to me.
Unknown to us, there are moments
When crevices we cannot see open
For time to come alive with beginning
[...]
These inklings were first prescribed
The morning we met in Westport
And I left with such sweet time
Wondering if between us something
Was deciding to begin or not.
Unknown to us, there are moments
When crevices we cannot see open
For time to come alive with beginning
[...]
These inklings were first prescribed
The morning we met in Westport
And I left with such sweet time
Wondering if between us something
Was deciding to begin or not.
June 2, 2018
Lyrical and pastoral, these poems move by with a sort of languid beauty and blend into a long meditation with some gorgeous images. It's a quiet book, filled with glimpses of Ireland, mysticism, and transcendental visions, but well worth wandering through for the interested reader.
March 31, 2020
A book of poems rooted in the Irish landscape and one section entitled the Rosary Sonnets. I think "Thought-work" was my favorite along with "First Words." A great many deal with the darkness and the light contrasts....
December 9, 2020
"Parents know not what they do
When they coax those first words
Out of you, start a trickle
Of saying that will not cease."
- from "First Words"
A beautiful collection of inspiring poetry that speaks to the heart. The poet's use of words and imagery is creative and demonstrative.
When they coax those first words
Out of you, start a trickle
Of saying that will not cease."
- from "First Words"
A beautiful collection of inspiring poetry that speaks to the heart. The poet's use of words and imagery is creative and demonstrative.
January 10, 2023
Love his poetry and this collection is no exception. Best to read when out in nature, so save it for when the outdoors is calling your name. Bridges language, feeling, and spirituality perfectly.
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Page 95
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Page 95
Page 110
April 23, 2024
Honestly, I don't "get" all that this gifted poet writes, but I just love his work, nonetheless. Such beautiful cadences and images. Not "getting" it all will be a great excuse for a lovely reread down the road.
January 15, 2019
Loved these poems. Here is one.
“Fluent
I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by surprise
Of its own unfolding.”
Wouldn’t we all?
“Fluent
I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by surprise
Of its own unfolding.”
Wouldn’t we all?
May 2, 2019
Brevity and nature themes remind me of Mary Oliver.
Read
January 5, 2020Lovely, as usual! I read this in an off-and-on fashion.
August 1, 2020
This is a good collection of reflections of Ireland, and especially the Conamara region of Ireland.
April 13, 2022
I am not sure quite how to review this collection. There were several poems that spoke to me deeply. Unfortunately, there were more that had no real impact. But I kind of expect poetry collections to be hit or miss . . . It's a small collection and I'd tell most everyone to just read it and form their own opinions. I'd certainly give him another try.
July 20, 2022
Very lovely. Although I expected it to be a bit more about Connemara
April 8, 2023
This style of poetry did not reach me. I enjoyed John O’Donohue’s Walking in Wonder (audiobook) but the poems in this slim volume left me scratching my head.
Read
October 15, 2024Always a treat to read John O’Donohue - this time “The Night” “First Words” and “Double Exposure” stirred up something sacred in me.
November 1, 2024
this man is a genius
Read
March 9, 2025Favorite: “Before the Beginning”
March 2, 2020
This book of poems was very kindly leant to me via a fellow parishioner who wanted to introduce me to Irish Poet John O’Donohue - she also leant me his Celtic Pilgrimage DVD which she urged me to watch prior to reading his poetry - as hearing his voice and seeing his Ireland is the key to unlocking the heart of his poems. This is indeed what best supported my enjoyment of this collection of poems, which I would like to return to once I have read more of O’Donohue.
Warmly recommended deeply contemplative poetry, especially his Marian mysteries which shed new light on the Joyful, Sorrowful, and Glorious Mysteries...
Warmly recommended deeply contemplative poetry, especially his Marian mysteries which shed new light on the Joyful, Sorrowful, and Glorious Mysteries...
December 18, 2014
John O’Donohue’s second book of 82 poems follows the same format as his first, ‘Echoes of Memory’, this one having three sections, each introduced by poetic or philosophic thoughts authored by others.
Approachings and Distances artistically explore a variety of elemental life themes, while Encounters focuses on the full spectrum of Christ’s life from annunciation to coronation. A beautifully expressed journey for the spirit, there is much here for contemplative reflection.
‘The Nativity’ was one of many that spoke deeply to me as it exquisitely captures the life-giving intimacy of pregnancy and birth. And, of course, ‘Fluent’
“I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.”
I Would recommend this one for poetry fans to experience the beauty of John's use of language..
Approachings and Distances artistically explore a variety of elemental life themes, while Encounters focuses on the full spectrum of Christ’s life from annunciation to coronation. A beautifully expressed journey for the spirit, there is much here for contemplative reflection.
‘The Nativity’ was one of many that spoke deeply to me as it exquisitely captures the life-giving intimacy of pregnancy and birth. And, of course, ‘Fluent’
“I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.”
I Would recommend this one for poetry fans to experience the beauty of John's use of language..
April 8, 2008
So. Lots of nature imagery. A little bit of banshee, a solid taste of celtic flavor. I paged it twice, it is short and sweet. Also, if you read this, please note the especially delicious poem about a river and unfolding.
January 16, 2010
A poet and scholar whose words reach far beyond the mind and far down into the soul. A delicate and mystical embrace of humanity and vivid evocations of the colors of nature. For me, his work is imbued with holiness, no matter the subject.
December 23, 2012
The poetry was beautiful, but not very accessible without really working to picture all the images in the mind's eye. Beautiful writing, to be sure, and a great collection of O'Donohue's poems, but I perhaps wasn't in the right place in life to be reading them.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews