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 4: This week we feature the work of Jane Meally
The Dresser
The soft lines of pine carved many years ago, in the 1920’s I think,
fashioned in shape and symmetry
pieced together layer upon layer planed, morticed and nailed,
designed and crafted to make three shelves
ornately finished,
two doors enclosing two one-shelved units and bottomless end,
a treasure trove of household goods, delph and the best china,
Kit housed her holy water bottles
Top of the dresser
and pride of place her big antique platters, her and her mother’s wedding gifts
The Willow Pattern, Arklow Pottery and bone china Anglesey,
not suitable for the
Pull out pine drawers hold bone handle knives, old silver forks and spoons
bronzed with
Jugs of various shapes, patterned with flowers and fruits some used for jam adorn the bottom shelf
all snug together beside Aunt Mary’s brown sugar
Dinner plates plain and patterned in blue and red neatly slanted against each other
mugs in uniform rows,
Hanging from the side
beside Mick’s wire toasting fork
a safety booklet In Times of Nuclear
Middle of top-shelf a clock, still ticking
windmills and porcelain cats to tell the temperature Our Lady of Lourdes and Perpetual Help looking
The dresser stands against the kitchen wall I listen to the singing kettle
keeping us
Jane Meally
Conversation
I
Where are the words gone?
Do they float away on lonely railway lines? Are they rising in oriental skies,
calling across scorched dunes across the burning earth?
Somewhere nearby a blackbird sings. Are these the words of our times, the tunes we are asked to listen to?
Why do you sing blackbird? What is your message?
You hop into the flowers, our eyes meet.
I will remember the soul of wonder
in that look, forever.
II
And the words
come with strikes of light from the sun going to rest, filtering through shadows falling through leafy branches.
Names etched in stars glisten through our night, wait to guard our day
fill our breaths and sing together.
What is this?
A moment in time? You answer –
I am your words on a sunlit shore.
Jane Meally
Home In The Snow
No school today only snow,
our front yard is white frozen glistening this March morning.
You shovel and brush the mounds clearing a path for us.
No work for you today, Father, only snow.
Every snow globe I see reminds me of you – when you were lean,
building walls, thatching roofs and hanging doors.
And when the hay was made, the cows milked the garden prepared and sowed
you enjoyed a few bottles with the lads in the village.
No school today, no work today.
You recall the great snow of ’47 when you walked to work
not knowing the road from the ditch.
We shovel and brush the yard, my wellington print beside yours
our breaths warming the morning air.
Jane Meally
My First Record
Across the water from Malin I see the cliffs of Scotland,
Mull of Kintyre rolls into mind
and now it feels like
I always want to be there with sea and rock.
Paul McCartney rises above the Mull gathers voices around him,
guitars and bagpipes call through sand and
Teenagers and children, Mammies and Daddies Grannies and Granddads follow the path.
A chorus echoes around the Mull and tunes linger
in the bare brown earth in the golden sands passing through sparks of magic.
Jane Meally
Christmas Gift
We wrapped it carefully in shiny Christmas paper
carried it carefully from our house across the field to your house, gathered round you
handed it to you,
smiling, shaking, waiting.
You slowly unwrapped the paper, ‘What is it at all?
A crib?’
Like an angel you placed it in your window,
for you for us
for all the rest of our lives.*
*after Seamus Heaney “When all the others were away at Mass”
Jane Meally
