IN NOVEMBER OF 2023, CLOGH WRITERS GROUP LAUNCHED ‘WHERE I AM’, A COLLECTION OF POETRY AND PROSE FROM ELEVEN DIFFERENT WRITERS. AS CO-ORDINATOR OF THE WRITERS GROUP JANE MEALLY SAID: “WHERE I AM” IS A PUBLICATION WHERE EACH WRITER COMMUNICATES THEIR PASSION TO THE READER.”
Having attended the launch in Clogh, The Kilkenny Observer Newspaper was quite taken with not only the publication, but the work ethic of the writers group. Over the next 11 weeks we reproduce some of that work, and are delighted to work hand in hand with this North Kilkenny writers group.
WEEK 3: This week we feature the work of Nancy Geoghegan.
Childhood
Nancy Geoghegan
I was born and raised on the Chatsworth Road. My first memory of walking this road is when I went to my grandmother’s house next door. It was close to Neill’s cross. My grandmother came around the corner from the Slatt Road. This was my first time to see her driving her ass and car. She passed Dan Bolger’s cottage. I ran behind the car, because for the first time, I saw baby pigs squealing loudly; I did not know what they were. She got out of the car to guide her ass to the pig sty; she had a bed prepared for them.
My grandmother raised pigs both to sell and to slaughter for dry curing. I have many memories of that time. A few years later as we were going to my home together, she stood on the road attentively looking up at the sky while holding my hand and said, ‘Listen, listen.’ I heard the noise too; she was silent as if in prayer and said, ‘That is the sound of aeroplanes going to war.’ I did not know what war meant. Today I walk the Chatsworth Road often thinking of my grandmother and all we shared along this road.
My Roads
There was a time when I did get away from it all,
New York, Lake Garda, Croatia, Medjugorje and Lourdes, we lived in London for almost 20 years,
and returned home in 1980.
I am living now where I was born, and happy
in my twilight years to concentrate on the roads in this place that I never travelled.
I regret leaving it so late in life,
as my parents and grandparents lived here years ago and walked these roads.
I have heard happy and sad stories of their struggles.
They had good neighbours and looked after each other,
in summer helping with hay making in hot weather when finished,
they propped themselves against the haycocks, exhausted waiting for tea and sandwiches and rest,
until the hay bugaí came.
Looking forward to my journeys on these roads
Nancy Geoghegan
On This May Day
I open my back door A warm soft morning, Trees and hedges rest
The grass looks parched, I put on the kettle
Get my washing ready Have my breakfast, Look out again
And there the rain Constant and gentle, Not a sound from its fall
I feel like dancing in its flow. The grass lifts from the drooth*, The top part of our field
A meadow embraces three trees, One Sweet Apple, one Bramley, The Bramley stoops to the ground
The Sweet Apple reaches for the sky Both exploding blossoms,
In front the oak tree Slower to bloom, With lots of buds
Like a sentry on guard.
Nancy Geoghegan
*Drooth is a local word for thirst
