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Book of Judas Brendan Kennelley

Book of Judas

Brendan Kennelley

Published December 1st 1991
ISBN : 9781852241711
Paperback
400 pages
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 About the Book 

The Book of Judas is almost 400 pages of poems, most of which are from Judas perspective, but also which get into the hearts and minds of modern people, many of them Irish, many of them Dubliners. Whats amazing about the book (aside from the poetry itself, which is wow) is that Kennelly essentially claims Judas for Ireland. He claims Judas for Ireland: he takes that which is, by the world, perhaps most feared and loathed and he asks it to step inside and make itself at home. Hes not making excuses, but hes not afraid to sympathize, even empathize with it. How cool is that?Unfortunately, its almost impossible to get in America—but Wychwood just found a copy for me! *rejoices*For those of you who cant find it, heres a small taste/poor substitute—my favorite poem from the book:No Image FitsI have never seen him and I have never seenAnyone but him. He is older than the world and heIs always young. What he says is in every earAnd has never been heard before.I have tried to kill him in me,He is in me more than ever.I saw his hands smashed by dum-dum bullets,His hands holding the earth are whole and tender.If I knew what love is I would call him a lover.Break him like glass, every splinter is wonder.I had not understood that annihilationMakes him live with an intensity I cannot understand.That I cannot understand is the bit of wisdom I have found.He splits my mind like an axe a tree.He makes me heart deeper and fuller than my heart will dare to be.He would make me at home beyond the sky and the black ground,He would amaze me with the light on the brilliant sand,He is the joy of the first word, the music of the undiscovered human.Undiscovered! Yet I live as if my music were known.He is what I cannot lose and cannot findHe is nothing, nothing but body and soul and heart and mind.So gentle is he the gentlest airIs rough by comparisonSo kind is he I cannot dreamA kinder manSo distant is he the farthest starSleeps at my breastSo near is he the thought of himPuts me outside myselfSo one with love is heI know love isTime and eternityAnd all their images.No image fits, no rod, no crown.I brought him down.