By: Harry Cavendish
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'There are only trees on this winter scene
Their upward pointing leafless twigs are
Shrill with the calm of loveliness,
And the Sun laughs down, baleful, with a bleary smile.'
A book of poetry with imagery and concepts polished over a lifetime of intellectual inquiry. At 58 years old, it is Cavendish’s first collection of poetry and represents the start of his career rather than the end.
Harry Cavendish is a 58-year-old living in Co. Wicklow. Early in his career he gave up working as an estate agent to pursue both spiritual and philosophical inquiry, often living on the edge. It even meant a year living off-grid on a remote island off the Connemara coast, in a tiny caravan. Currently, while pursuing his love of writing poetry, he is gainfully employed on a farm in Wicklow.
