About Eavan Boland
1944 -/IrishEavan Boland (born 1944) is an Irish poet and feminist. Boland was born in Dublin. Her father was a career diplomat and she was educated in London and New York as well as in her native city, graduating from Trinity College. Her first books, In Her O
Selected Quotes
Poetry & Stories
Anorexic
Flesh is heretic.My body is a witch.
Quarantine
In the worst hour of the worst seasonof the worst year of a whole people
That the Science of Cartography Is Limited
—and not simply by the fact that this shading offorest cannot show the fragrance of balsam,
The Harbour
This harbour was made by art and force.And called Kingstown and afterwards Dun Laoghaire.
Witness
Here is the city—its worn-down mountains,
About Eavan Boland
Eavan Boland: Quick Answers
Who is Eavan Boland?
1944 -/IrishEavan Boland (born 1944) is an Irish poet and feminist. Boland was born in Dublin.
Where can I read Eavan Boland's poetry?
Kavishala has 8 poems and stories by Eavan Boland, free to read on this page, along with selected quotes you can share.
Poems & Stories by Eavan Boland
Anorexic
Flesh is heretic.My body is a witch.
Quarantine
In the worst hour of the worst seasonof the worst year of a whole people
That the Science of Cartography Is Limited
—and not simply by the fact that this shading offorest cannot show the fragrance of balsam,
The Harbour
This harbour was made by art and force.And called Kingstown and afterwards Dun Laoghaire.
Witness
Here is the city—its worn-down mountains,
My Country in Darkness
After the wolves and before the elmsthe bardic order ended in Ireland.Only a few remained to continue
More Than Suspect
The oaks are stricken by a serious illnessThey dry up after having let go
Outside History
These are outsiders, always. These stars—these iron inklings of an Irish January,
Selected Quotes by Eavan Boland (चुनिंदा उद्धरण)
Here is the city—its worn-down mountains,
—and not simply by the fact that this shading offorest cannot show the fragrance of balsam,
Flesh is heretic.My body is a witch.
The oaks are stricken by a serious illnessThey dry up after having let go
These are outsiders, always. These stars—these iron inklings of an Irish January,
After the wolves and before the elmsthe bardic order ended in Ireland.Only a few remained to continue
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