This poem was written by one my best friends and soul sister Claireban with the red hair like fire, like a caribbean sunset, a beech tree in autumn. She's an active volcano.... a ginger unicorn or a selkie if they exist at all... thats what she is, just in human form.
This poem is what being irish is all about. It's the essence of it that gets you when you're away from home. The can't quite put your finger on it-ness of something that holds you suspended in a memory of a person, place or a time and the eternal association of inanimate things with those we love, have loved and those we have lost.
There is a line in Carol Ann Duffy's poem Mrs Midas when she is talking of her husband who wished for everything he touched to turn to gold and it crushes me like a snail underfoot after the rain whenever i read it...'I think of him in certain lights, dawn, late afternoon and once a bowl of apples stopped me dead.'
My favourite part of Claireban's poem is 'I miss your men, God i miss your men, i miss your tracksuits, your Nike air max, your women, your mackerel'.
THURSDAY, APRIL 1, 2010