05/01/2026
Here’s a poet new to me---Pádraig Ó Tuama (born 1975), Irish poet, theologian and conflict mediator.
He has written five collections of poetry and a book of spiritual reflection, and is the editor of two poetry anthologies. His books include: Kitchen Hymns (Copper Canyon Press, 2025); Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community (Canterbury Press, 2017); Sorry for Your Troubles (Canterbury Press, 2013); and Readings from the Books of Exile (Canterbury Press, 2012)-- all published in the United Kingdom.
Ó Tuama has held numerous poetry residencies, most recently with The Church of the Heavenly Rest in New York City, and the Morton Deutsch International Center for Cooperation and Conflict Resolution at Columbia University. He was profiled in The New Yorker in December 2022.
Here are three of his poems for your consideration:
Circle
It’s funny how things come in
circles.
You, sitting on a step,
smoking a cigarette,
watching leaves fall off a
slowly stripping tree.
Me, hanging photos on a wall,
including one of you
receiving, like a priestess,
your lover’s confession.
Me telling stories of
your conversations.
You, weeping
when your dad asked you
how you were.
Me writing poems about life
while I was slowly plunging into
death.You breathing in those
same lines,
sitting on a step,
smoking a cigarette
--Pádraig Ó Tuama
[Originally published in Readings from the Book of Exile, Canterbury Press (2012)]
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A Reading from the Book of Exile
chapter one
there are no chapters
chapter two
he has been moved beyond belief
chapter three
and he is inching toward glory
with only his own story on his back
he has patched up holes that opened
where his coverings have cracked
and some shoes were never meant for hiking so
he left them far behind
there are simple things he needs
on journeys such as these
foodandloveanddrinkandwarmthandcomfort
and a bag that’s small enough
to carry all the failures and the idols
that he’s picked up on the way
there are some days
he only moves
an inch or two
this is the pace of glory here in exile
chapter four
there are some things too meaningful for talking
and even feeling leaves us full of grief
at all we touch and need and
can never speak of
we are living lives that we can‘t state the name of
we are loving things that
we can never bear
we attempt belief in things that we can not explain
and we rest uneasy in this
sometimesseemingcruelgame
and we rest with tension so
beautiful
its heartaching
chapter five
he has grown older here.
the body speaks its own
language
and
he has started listening
the unwritable chapter
and the place of
pain
is the place of
survival
(and sometimes barely that)
chapter six
there is no ending.
everything is here.
(so pitch a tent that you can live in
and find a friend to whom you’ll give
in
times of telling
times of testing
times of listening
times of resting)
there is no ending.
everything is here.
--Pádraig Ó Tuama
[from Readings from the Book of Exile (Canterbury Press (2012)]
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Shaking Hands
27ú lá Meitheamh, 2012
Because what’s the alternative?
Because of courage.
Because of loved ones lost.
Because no more.
Because it’s a small thing; shaking hands; it happens every day.
Because I heard of one man whose hands haven’t stopped shaking since a market day in Omagh.
Because it takes a second to say hate, but it takes longer, much longer, to be a great leader.
Much, much longer.
Because shared space without human touching doesn’t amount to much.
Because it’s easier to speak to your own than to hold the hand of someone whose side has been previously described, proscribed, denied.
Because it is tough.
Because it is tough.
Because it is meant to be tough, and this is the stuff of memory, the stuff of hope, the stuff of gesture, and meaning and leading.
Because it has taken so, so long.Because it has taken land and money and languages and barrels and barrels of blood.
Because lives have been lost.
Because lives have been taken.
Because to be bereaved is to be troubled by grief.
Because more than two troubled peoples live here.
Because I know a woman whose hand hasn’t been shaken since she was a man.
Because shaking a hand is only a part of the start.
Because I know a woman whose touch calmed a man whose heart was breaking.
Because privilege is not to be taken lightly.
Because this just might be good.
Because who said that this would be easy?
Because some people love what you stand for, and for some, if you can, they can.
Because solidarity means a common hand.
Because a hand is only a hand; so hang onto it.
So join your much discussed hands.
We need this; for one small second.
So touch.
So lead.
--Pádraig Ó Tuama
[from Sorry for your Troubles (Canterbury Press (2013)]
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