St. Patrick’s Day came early for me when I attended a Scottish-Irish poetry event during the week. One of the poets was a young Dubliner called Stephen James Smith. Without reference to paper or book, he delivered a long, lyrical, swiftly paced poem called, ‘Dublin You Are.’ He captured us. It was a love poem … Continue reading Ireland, My Ireland
I’m just back from a few days in Ireland, of the Northern variety. There was much talk of uncertainty. T. spoke about her father’s farm, the far fields of which run along the seam of the border. “There’s more talk of Brexit than there are cups of tea taken, and that’s saying something,” she told me. … Continue reading Brace Ourselves For Change
There is an expression in Scotland that might be unique to just here; at least I’ve not heard it anywhere else. It is the question, “where do you stay?” When I first moved across, it was never far from my ears as people welcomed me, then tried to place me. I interpreted it as an … Continue reading Home
I’m better. Pretty much. The fire in my head has been doused. T. told me to drink hot whiskey. I didn’t. Not because it wasn’t a good idea, I just forgot to uncork the bottle of Bush each evening. Y. suggested I gently tap below my eyes, from the bridge of my nose to my temples, tracing the … Continue reading Dream Angus
I’ve picked up a virus. I’ve not just brushed against it, but I’ve bagged it, brought it home, and moved it in. It has been a year, almost to the day, since I’ve felt like this. Maybe it’s to become a fixture – clear the decks for the February-flu. Everything in my brain is hazy. Like driving … Continue reading To Weep
I’m writing a bit more than usual these days and, when I get into the flow of it, time just disappears, like canaries from a cage with the door left open. Away it flies. I don't see it go, I look up and hours have passed. It is a pleasant experience. Last week I baked … Continue reading Sorry I’m Late
My husband used to say, “we are all ethnic somewhere.” It is a true and wise leveller. Another favourite line of his, in response to someone asking him, “Where is that accent from?” was to bounce back in his soft, mellifluous Canadian tones, “What accent? I don't have an accent, you’re the one with the … Continue reading Everyone Has An Accent
To pursue whatever you set your mind to with the joy of a six year-old child: that’s said to be how we should seek to live. This supposes that every six-year old child embraces all of life joyfully, which they probably don’t, as personality and nature come into play. Largely, though, small children do seem … Continue reading Innocence
I was at my first Christmas gathering last night; a party hosted by F. and superbly catered by P. and E. I was welcomed in from the crisp night to an equally crisp glass of champagne. A red carpet of an evening was rolled out with good company, delicious food and enchanting wine; a glass … Continue reading Party Season
Auden, Barrett-Browning, Cope, Dickinson, Eliot, Frost, Gallagher, Heaney, Ibsen, Jamie, Kinnell, Larkin, Mahon, Neruda, Owen, Plath, Qabbani, Rossetti, St Vincent Millay, Thomas, Updike, Vaughan, Wordsworth, Xenokleides, Yeats, Zephaniah. Who is your favourite? Feel free to reach beyond the 26 I’ve offered you; I was just playing the alphabet game, and, in doing so, left out … Continue reading Advent
