Another (silent) poetry reading
Posted by Lanea on Thursday, February 1st, 2007
I will force poetry down your throats one way or another. At least with this yearly feeding, I have Jane to blame. This little annual ritual was dreamed up by some other blogger to celebrate Imbolc. Which makes me ridiculously happy–because it means I’m just one of many people studying up on how people used to celebrate Brigid–an Irish craft/wisdom/creation goddess associated with poetry, fire, smelting, etc–way back in the way back.
Imbolc means "in the belly" in Irish. It’s the holiday dedicated to warming the bellies of pregnant ewes, seeking eased birthing and the protection of their lambs. My Mom was born on Imbolc 60 years ago. Serendipitous, eh? My grandmother, who knew nothing of Irish culture, having her first child on an ancient holiday all about pregnancy and creation, and that woman having a daughter with a paddy, and that daughter developing this particularly strange obsession with Celtic culture . . . and somewhere in there Mom developed that strange, unwanted ability to cause floods. I don’t have an explanation for that bit yet, but the rest of the story seems good to me.
So in celebration of Imbolc and of my Mama, it seems most appropriate to celebrate my Mom’s mother, who I miss immensely, and who accidentally celebrated Imbolc in a very literal way 60 years ago today.
To My Grandmother
by Medbh McGuckian
I would revive you with a swallow’s nest:
For as long a time as I could hold my breath
I would feel your pulse like tangled weeds
Separate into pearls. The heart should rule
The summer, ringing like a sickle over
The need to make life hard. I would
Sedate your eyes with rippleseed, those
Hollow points that close as if
Your eyelids had been severed
To deny you sleep, imagine you a dawn.
I would push a chrysanthemum stone
Into your sleeve without your noticing
Its reaching far, its going, its returning.
When the end of the summer comes, it is
A season by itself; when your tongue
curls back like a sparrow’s buried head,
I would fill your mouth with rice and mussels.
Filed in Books | 5 responses so far
minnieon 01 Feb 2007 at 10:28 pm 1am i delusional or is imbolc tomorrow? my MIL was born 74 years ago tomorrow. we’re going over there for dinner (t-bones and caesar salad, yum!)
--Debon 01 Feb 2007 at 11:26 pm 2My entry is ready to post tomorrow morning….
megon 02 Feb 2007 at 1:03 am 3So in Bloglines, I read this entry as, “…I’m just one of many people smelting up on ….” and I thought, “Whoa, is that what the cool kids are doing these days?” but then I refocused my eyes and realized you were “studying up” and not “smelting up.”
laneaon 02 Feb 2007 at 10:00 am 4If you use a solar calendar and chart it the lazy way, Imbolc and all of the major Celtic festivals center on the first of their respective month–so Imbolc starts on January 31 and ends on February 2nd. If you do the hard work and use a lunar calendar to find actual Imbolc, it’s in a slightly different place every year.
rachelon 02 Feb 2007 at 10:09 am 5Yeah, I think I need a collection of her work. I think her translations were my favorite Nuala poems, too.