Generation Emigration

The Irish Times forum by and for Irish citizens living overseas,

I have fond memories, but resent only seeing my family on a computer screen

I have always loved Ireland. However, I always knew that someday, I would have to leave. Growing up with this kind of angst, it is no wonder I am a poet, writes sf ca writer.

Thu, Feb 9, 2012, 09:28

   

I have always loved Ireland. However, I always knew that someday, I would have to leave. Growing up with this kind of angst, it is no wonder I am a poet, writes sf ca writer.


One day, at the age of 9, I found my way to the Zoo in the Phoenix Park, alone. I remembering thinking that if this keeps up I will end up in the wild west. Which, of course, kids always being right, I did.

It wasn’t that I expected a catastrophe, it wasn’t that I feared Ireland would be overrun by pestilence or disease. I just knew, from a very young age, that they would screw things up. For everybody.

The ‘they’ of Ireland is wide ranging but tight group. They lurk in the Dail and various corridors of various powerful places. Lingering long enough, with enough selfishness and lack of leadership, to mess things up, for everybody, forever.

I still tell people about my idyllic childhood, the swimming, the football, the ‘no fear’. But that was then, this is now.

Life goes on, getting better still. There are fond memories, but there is some resentment too, resentment at lost potential and resentment at only ever seeing my family on a computer screen.

Reflections at Start-Up

I saw my face on my computer screen
and of course it gave me a fright
to see the slight, faint,
like,
the eye, smile and tilt
as if it was his.
So stirring my tea I got lost
in my thoughts
swirling into a vortex of the past
frozen faced 3D me
staring, at
me,
stone faced, facing the fact,
the resemblance
the time gone by.
From inside my head
a corner on a hill
a quiet place
still,
images dealt out like cards followed by sounds
darts,
each one
piercing my heart,
parts of my past rebounding.
From the screen it was like he walked
pulled up a chair sat down
the talk
the frown, the smile, the nod
they were all there
even the tea.
Then like a bell in a fight
I was saved by ringing
awoken from my dream state
beginning
to understand the confusion,
the noise that woke me,
dig ding spoon on saucers side,
wasn’t him in my dream
but me,
tomorrows tide.

- sf ca writer


I have a blog, updated almost daily, poetry about Ireland,economics, emigration, how we really feel, by sf ca writer here: www.sfcawriter.wordpress.com.

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