Paul Muldoon (1951 - )

Paul Muldoon (b. 1951) is a Northern Irish poet. Muldoon's poetry is known for difficulty, allusion, casual use of extremely obscure or archaic words, understated wit, punning, and deft technique in meter and slant-rhyme. Muldoon has lived in the United States since 1987; he teaches at Princeton University. He held the chair of Professor of Poetry at Oxford University for the five-year term 1999-2004.

Until recently Muldoon was often thought of as the second-most-eminent living Northern Irish poet, living in the shadow of his friend Seamus Heaney. Since he won the Pulitzer Prize his reputation has grown: his work clearly stands on its own merits.

In 2003 Muldoon was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in poetry. His other honors include fellowships in the Royal Society of Literature and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, the 1994 T. S. Eliot Prize, the 1997 Irish Times Poetry Prize, and the 2003 Griffin International Prize for Excellence in Poetry.

The poems are by default sorted according to volume, but you can also choose to sort them alphabetically or by page views.

First Line	Comments
Although I have never learned to mow
Comes to mind as another small
Even as we speak, there's a smoker's cough	1 Comment
He opens the scullery door, and a sudden rush
I am stretched out under the lean-to
I was making my way home late one night
I, too, have trailed my father's spirit
It begins with one or two soldiers
My eldest sister arrived home that morning
My father and mother, my brother and sister	2 Comments
Now that we've come to the end
Seven o'clock. The seventh day of the seventh month of the year.
They're kindly here, to let us linger so late,	1 Comment
To think that, as a boy of thirteen, I would grapple
Two Workmen were carrying a sheet of asbestos
When the master was calling the roll	3 Comments
Why Brownlee left, and where he went,	1 Comment