Donal Mahoney
Photo: lepiaf.geo
Thomas said
you can’t go home again
but I did for my sister
and the christening of her first.
Everyone, on folding chairs, against
the whitewashed basement walls, was there
for ham and beef and beer, the better
bourbons, music, argument and talk.
Maura came; she hadn’t married.
Paddy, fist around a beer, declared
I owed my family the sight
of me more often.
Hannah, thickset now,
gray and apronless,
rose beside the furnace,
wolverined me to the coal bin door
and asked me in the face,
with sibilance and spittle,
who or what it was
that kept me anywhere,
everywhere, but there.
2 comments so far ↓
Pam Sexton // Oct 8, 2009 //
Having sprung from an Irish family, your poem, Donal Mahoney, gave me a jolt. Such strong ties there are –made of food and drink and lullabies and old family myth and guilt–but too often the case, mostly drink. It’s a jolly stereotype, the Irish drunk, but not so good for kids and later, the adults that they are. Thanks for this poignant little snapshot of how it often is. (I’m an American born from McKelveys and Peytons).
Donal Mahoney // Oct 12, 2009 //
Pam Sexton:
I only recently noticed your comment on my poem, “An Irish Gathering,” and as the son of immigrants from Ireland I understand your concern about the role that liquor has played in the lives of too many of the Irish people. Eons ago I quit drinking and smoking on the day that I married because I did not marry to drink or smoke and I did not want those two activities to impinge on the reason I married. Now five grown children–all with degrees and one a Rhodes Scholar–seem to verify that I was wise for once when I quit drinking and smoking. I used to tell my wife that when the kids were grown I’d start drinking again but I never would. The poem, however, with an injection of Irish hyperbole, is a pretty fair account of an actual event. Once I quit drinking I never did fit in the same way in my old South Side Chicago neighborhood. Take care and thanks for taking the time to comment.
Donal
Comment