Failte!

I'm excited to share my adventures with all of you! I want your first taste of my life in Ireland to be this poem that I wrote very late one night when I was a Junior in College. Its meaning seems eerily prophetic now. More than anything, I've created this blog to make the actualization of this life-long dream of mine visible to those I love: my friends who are my foundation, my endlessly supportive family, my mentors and co-workers who inspire me, and my former students who have given me enough satisfaction and fulfillment to last two lifetimes... Have the courage to believe that your wildest dreams can come true.

Is fhearr fheuchainn na bhith san duil, (It is better to try than to hope)

e
Mourn (A Seaside Peak in Southern Ireland)

The dark, earthen sod saturates her fair feet,
but briefly since she frolics fast in knee high
blades of greenest grass that blow dizzily in the Celtic-sea air.

Her wool skirt, stiffened by ware of evenings past
is splashed by cresting waves that break
against a beach blacker than her hair.
Those once stiffer fibers were loosed by nights upon nights
of hanging perfectly on his line before being wildly blown dry
by the crisp Hibernian salt air.

The pair sits to rest a while instead of dodging
breakers or skipping paler stones.

"Indian summer's here," he says softly,
but all of summer here feels like the edge
of autumn to her, even though she grins in agreement
as she dangles her pale, soft feet off Achilles' peak,
where Erin's vermillion-gold sky meets
an ocean that is grey with years.

She sleeps with her eyes closed tight most nights.
He asks her if she believes in Tier-Nan-Og,
and she asks him if he believes in anything eternal.
Outside the tide is rising, or it's receding—
She never can tell but for the strengthened smell of
salty freshness strained through his light, lace curtains.
She thinks to herself that he is like trying to hold the sea 
and she imagines the water running between her fingers--
clenched so tight.

And so, the night calls her out of her sleeping,
like daytime chides her into dreaming.
She slips her white fingers through the holes of an old loose scarf
that affords her more company than warmth
on these newborn autumn evenings. She is off-- 
Night clouds reflect emerald from land to sea,
And the tara that she never eyes from long hours of
staring too far into star blanketed skies,
feels cool against the thickening pads of her pallid feet.

Elisabeth Lewis (2005)

03 October 2011

Your love is like tears from the stars (for Mama on her birthday) 10/4

"The Mother is everything — She is our consolation in sorrow, our
hope in misery, and our strength in weakness. She is the source of
love, mercy, sympathy, and forgiveness. The sun is the mother of the
Earth and gives it the nourishment of heat; it never leaves the universe
at night until it has put the Earth to sleep to the song of the sea
and the hymn of the birds and brooks. And this Earth is the mother of
the trees and flowers. It produces them, nurses them, and weans them.
The trees and flowers become kind mothers of their great fruits and
seeds. And the Mother, the prototype of all existence, is the Eternal
Spirit, full of beauty and love."
from Broken Wings by Kahlil Gibran
 


Happy Birthday Mom!  I love you so much, and can't wait to see you in a week! Your present is waiting for you in Ireland!






Everyone must be wearing heels except for me :( Typical.

Sorry, can't flip the video! If you're wondering where the familiar title of today's blog post comes from, check out Boyz II Men singing "A Song for Mama"
Posted by at

2 comments:

  1. Deborah Gibson04 October, 2011 01:14

    Love this!! :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ann05 October, 2011 18:14

    I must be the luckiest Mom in the world. I can't wait to see you next week.

    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)