Ian O'Reilly, Gwaylga, Soogra, ogiss alawn Kawka Millish
Irish, play, and a coupla sweets, please. There is no life of anyone faithfully recorded. Yet here, in A5, Ian O'Reilly's colourless green poems sleep furiously. Manoeuvre the artery of his bastardised times new roman lyrics into your mouth. You can't hide beneath the hair on your head, the albatross is now a seagull and it's flying off. Be carried away by the multi-coloured pastel-truth.
IRELAND, five euros:
