Plato’s Cave, Dublin 1916-2004
by Ágnes Cserháti
for here’s the cave of dread, numbering those who
sit in chains, fire at their backs and between them
buskers from Grafton St invited to play their finest,
especially puppeteers, making shadows on the walls
before them, forms that seem tall and terrifying, as
the poets from Bewley’s look on, arguing amongst
themselves whether a guitar may be perceived as a
guitar, if they can only see the shadow of the guitar,
until at last it is suggested they turn their heads, see
for themselves the true nature of things, then make
the ascent into the sunlight, which i did, with Plato
drawing me into a piercing brightness with halos of
dust rising from the rubble, the people calling, come
into the light, come see Cú Culainn, where they will
tell you of the republic, a nation you couldn’t touch
then, but that you can now, with a spike in the ground
on O’Connell St, for all of us to see, or so it seemed
to me, but it was all too blinding, and i went back to
the cave in dread of shadows on walls and what they
should mean, what i would get wrong, wondering if
ever i should be freed from the chains again, would
i find myself in Bewley’s with the rest of them?
Ágnes Cserháti currently lives in Aurora, Ontario. Writing mainly of memory and place, her poetry has won the Hart House Poetry Prize (University of Toronto) twice and has been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize (UK) and the Gwendolyn MacEwen Poetry Competition (Toronto). Her writing has been published in Hart House Review (Toronto) along with journals in the UK and Ireland. She is also the founder and editor of Rufus Books Publishing.
Read More...