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FLASH FICTION PRIZE

Waiting for the Mason, Tony O’Dwyer’s eagerly anticipated second collection, has much to say about life, love, mortality, landscape and memory. These supremely well-crafted poems, quietly understated on the page, reveal rare depth, vision and empathy. They are also a delight to read aloud. Waiting for the Mason confirms Tony O’Dwyer as one of our finest poets, whose deeply rewarding work deserves to be celebrated far and wide.”                                                                      Patrick Chapman


“In his finely imagined memorial poem ‘Apothecary’, Tony O’Dwyer describes the eponymous pharmacist engaged in the minutiae of his vocation. It is an image that might serve well for the poet himself. One imagines O’Dwyer drawing on a store of refined and precise vocabulary, and on his own banks of experience, craft and patience, to formulate the poems of Waiting for the Mason. Robert Lowell counsels himself to "pray for the grace of accuracy"; these are just such ‘accurate’ poems. Whether bringing us to Timbuktu or Xenephon’s Asia Minor, to the Ennistymon and Lahinch of childhood or into the mind of a London bomber, they ask for and repay the closest of readings.”                                                                      David Butler


“A deep stream of empathy runs though the landscape and its inhabitants, human and otherwise, that inform this stirring collection.  Life and death sometimes projected as a dream are often indistinguishable. O'Dwyer is a poet of compassion and hard truths.  His new book flames with the beauty and eccentricities that characterize his homeland.”

                              Susan Isla Tepper, author of Hair Of A Fallen Angel


“Everyone should carry a copy of Waiting for the Mason as an antidote to despair. The poet elevates one's sense that being human may, for once, be quite a good condition. Passion and beauty radiate from visionary phrasing, a delight in language, and an honesty of feeling, as boyhood, seasonal rhythms and the rites of daily passage are attended to. O'Dwyer places human sensibility in historical contexts too, sometimes colonial, yet he continues to praise the human journey with the utmost delicacy. This is essential reading from a poet of great and sensitive authority.”  

                                                                                 Mary O'Donnell

My Window Shields Me from the Wildness of Things


My window shields me from the wildness of things

– The weight of shrubberies, the force of grass –

Yet, lets me be of them, in my otherness,

Especially when the damp air coats, and clings

To its mizzling self, before it is washed clean,

Before it bursts in the fullness of rain.


Each day I watch the sea grow one day older,

Weary of the moon’s demand: eternal

Obedience – go this, now that, direction.

Each night I watch it wink its coded intentions,

Warning of what one cannot see nor hear.

I look for a moon that sometimes isn’t there,

And see only drops of light falling like rain,

Falling from rinsed-out stars, from wherever tears begin.

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Waiting for the Mason

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A Pair of Wood Pigeons


Out of the blue a pair of wood pigeons light

On the bank of Irish Ivy like two flung

Things, lured to the blue-black fruit

Draped among leaves in a dark offering.

They sit to eat, as couples who belong.

Suddenly they lift, their fanned tails levering

Their sleek bulk, smooth like two slung

Eggs, into hidden draughts of air, whipped flight.


From some hallowed place they utter hoarse coos

In the secret discourse of togetherness.

They are the lovers of my dreaming.

I will build us an altar in the woods, bless

It with lanterns and chimes, icons and statues,

Feast on berries of light, listen to leaves sing.

Please note: This title is published by Salmon Poetry and may also be purchased from the Salmon website.