Jessica Traynor's New Arcana: reviews & interviews
New Arcana reviews in Irish Times, RTÉ Culture (Book of the Week) & on Books for Breakfast; Books Ireland video poem feature; interview on RTE Radio 1's Poetry People;...
Jessica Traynor will be leading a one-day workshop on 'Preparing your Poetry for Publication' with Kildare Writing Centre, 22 Feb. Her joint online launch for New...
Launch reading by Emilie Jelinek, Clare Pollard and Jessica Traynor
Our September 2025 joint online launch event for Emilie Jelinek, Clare Pollard & Jessica Traynor is now on YouTube. Emilie Jelinek was the winner of the Mslexia...
Draw some cards for me, wherever you are.
I know we don’t talk much these days
but I’ve been thinking about the time
you set your college dorm on fire
and came to live with us.
Now, I’m trying your tactics –
I set a fire inside myself.
It’s cleared space and my halls
are black-lacquered & echoing. The problem is,
I don’t like the new tenants.
Inside me is a great tall house,
all clapboard and dead ivy.
Why don’t you and I play ghosts,
why don’t you and I play girls no one can touch.
Draw three cards for me, tell me how it goes.
—————
Bog Virgin After The Butcher Boy by Pat McCabe
Once I walked the road in a blue dress
and a poet told me
I looked like the virgin mary,
so that was me then, stella maris
sitting with him in the seafood restaurant
eating chowder, clams and mussels
sluicing down my throat.
The poet told me I should write from my cunt
because paddy kavanagh never did
and look what happened to him.
Then he took me back to the bog,
told me to ignore the little men
crawling in apocalyptic clay – keep your eye trained on the mystic beyond,
he said, forcing me onto my knees.
and if they hurt you, write your curses onto them
till they shrivel like salted slugs.
So there I was, kneeling in ditchwater,
writing hexes and levitating as required
but only when the sun came out,
which wasn’t often. Today
I’m really here to say,
the bad world is out there, lydia,
pushing in around us
and packing up our lungs.
you’d better rub their slurry on your face
till you blend in because right now
I can see the devil in you a mile off –
can see it pulling up from within
some great bog leviathan,
trailing priests and poets
who want to drown us both
in its wet centre.
—————
i’m lydia deetz and all my friends are dead
thanks for welcoming me to the circle
i didn’t think it would end like this. even though
i asked for it by wearing black. by wearing a veil
(demon thirst trap) by hanging around
this older man. i swear he had charisma.
ok. he saw me like no one else ever
saw me. even if that means that he saw himself
in every mirror i looked into.
someone has to mind the strays.
girls are so afraid of maggots. grave worms.
black eyes.
what’s in it for me? well, I’m still here.
and I’m getting better. a lady in the chelsea market
read my aura, told me to trust my instinct, not my brain.
how do i know which is talking? i asked.
the instinct doesn’t negotiate, she said,
the mind and its problems are all this red tulle –
she pointed to my wedding dress –
this indigo light at your throat is the truth, she said,
running her fingers along my rope burn.
—————
Movie Night with Lydia
I Becoming Catwoman
My mother was a secretary like Selina Kyle,
before Christopher Walken pushed her out a window –
(Selina, not my mother). My seven-year-old self
watches her body slam through awnings
(not my mother’s body, but Selina’s),
splatting onto Tim Burton’s snowy alleyway.
Then the cats envelop her like the fur coat
that hung in the wardrobe at home, the one
she always said was suspiciously tabby-striped
(my mother, not Selina) and they lick and lick her
and somehow this reknits her shattered spine,
her arms and legs swivel into place, but her glasses,
her large owl-eye glasses (my mother’s and Selina’s)
are smashed and this is the worst, just the worst day –
pushed out the window! By a man with
a bad wig no one mentions because bosses
can look stupid while pushing women out of skyscrapers
and it’s like, ugh, bad day at the office.
And up she gets and makes her way home
to her little girl apartment so we can see
she’s just been playing at being a woman –
she’s built herself a toyshop to get lost in,
(Selina, not my mother) and she splatters the walls
with black paint, smashing toys, and as a little girl
(me, not my mother, not Selina) this is just devastating,
because it feels like we aren’t allowed
to have anything soft –
no knitted kittens or kit-cat klocks –
because it makes us weak and the only way to stop
men with Struwwelpeter hair
from pushing us out of skyscrapers
(me, my mother, Selina) is by killing
everything we love so that no one else can.
Contents List
I
10 The Hive, xxiii
11 Lydia…
12 Bog Virgin
14 monstera
15 and the girl inside me
16 Satanic Panic
17 Roger Moore’s Swimming Pool
18 i’m lydia deetz and all my friends are dead
19 Lydia Reads the Cards
20 He Gets Her the Cloths of Heaven
21 The Liar, xxiv
22 Becoming Schrödinger’s Cat
23 Ezekiel 47:11
24 Queen of Cups
28 The Conductor, xxv
29 Movie Night with Lydia
34 Lydia Reads the Cards
35 dear (name)
38 Your unifying theory of everything
39 The Mistress, xxvi
40 The Tower
41 The Marishes
42 I’m Quartered
44 Sheila on the Red Bed
45 Magpie
46 The Scientist, xxvii
II
48 The Glacier, xxviii
49 The Fool
50 The drunk psychotherapist dooms you at the party
51 Movie Night with Lydia
56 I’ve Been Meaning to Say, Lydia
62 Lydia Reads the Cards
63 Entre des bois et des plages sauvages
64 Tiger
65 Putting My Arms Around the Goat
66 In the Night Garden
67 A kid tells my daughter her storybook is broken
68 Allegory
69 Villanelle Villanelle
70 The Keeners
71 I Read the Cards
72 The Thief, xxix
73 what the women are doing
74 Junk File of Incorrect Predictions
75 The Algorithm, xxx
76 Rabbits
77 The Good Girls, xxxi
78 The Steak
79 The nights I don’t think about you
80 Parachute Malfunction
81 Always Eating Your Dad
82 King of Wands (Reversed)
83 The New Moon, xxxii
84 Well-behaved
85 A reading for the dead
86 to you, one year on
87 Ten of Swords
88 lydia…
89 On Halloween