Sound Fields The SeisiĂşn Poets
Haiku Island Press
Published by Haiku Island Press – www.haikuislandpress.com © 2015 Haiku Island Press Baltimore, West Cork, Ireland – All Rights Reserved Printed and bound in Ireland First Edition – Instigator and Artist: Tess Leak Book Design and Typography: Orlagh O’Brien Project Coordination: Kevin O’Shanahan (Arts and Mental Health Coordinator) Supported by: Friends of Perrott House Poetry typeface: Quadraat Display typefaces: Brie, Mader & Ursus – To message or visit the Seisiún poets go to: www.facebook.com/westcorkartsandwellness
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Sound Fields The SeisiĂşn Poets
Haiku Island Press
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Acknowledgements Huge thanks to the dedicated staff of Perrott House for their support during this project. Special thanks to Jennie Synnott for her encouragement and support for getting this project off the ground. Thanks to Donal Cahalane and also to Ann Harkin for her help in completing the project. To the friends of Perrott House for their unending support, to Pat Bracken for writing the foreword and to Maura McCarthy (Cork Education and Training Board). Thanks to all the residents of Perrott House, family members and visitors who contributed to the sessions with songs, conversation and listening. And finally, a heartfelt thanks to each and every one of the wonderful Seisiún Poets.
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Foreword I am honoured to write the foreword to this beautiful book of poetry. The Seisiún Poets of Perrott House have produced something very wonderful and are to be congratulated for this production. The poems are essentially a celebration of the ordinary: of music, of nature, of the seasons and the cycle of farming life. They are filled with wonder, memories and imagination. Their colourful imagery leaps off the page and engages the reader. Tess Leak is to be congratulated for facilitating this project and for enabling the words to flow and the images to fly. Orlagh O’Brien’s art work is also a beautiful complement to the poems. I sincerely hope that this book is the first of many and that this project will lead on to others like it. I believe that human beings are innately creative. However, sometimes this creativity is blocked by the hardships and difficulties of life. Like the flowers that sleep through the winter, it is always wonderful to see such creativity springing into life again. Pat Bracken
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Introduction Sound Fields is the first collection of poems by ‘The Seisiún Poets’ and I am hugely proud to be part of the group of people who made it. I started working in Perrott House in 2013, after being invited by Kevin O’Shanahan, Arts and Mental Health Co-ordinator for the West Cork Mental Health Services, to facilitate a creative writing group with the residents. Once a week we, The Seisiún Poets, meet in the day room to sing songs (we are very fortunate to have two talented musicians in our group) and make poems. Sometimes these collaboratively-made poems evolve out of conversations about the weather, the seasons and their impact on farming the land. A number of the group have vast experience of farming and this was the source of poems such as Sound Field, The Plough Sculpts the Earth and A Flower of Spring.
(it is) interesting and enjoyable… we are doing something out of the ordinary John
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(our sessions are) beautiful and lovely Ann
Sometimes, in the warmer months, we move our sessions outside and just listen, noting all the sounds we can or carefully watch the clouds; both activities provided inspiration for poems in this collection. On large sheets of paper I write down the ideas, stories and words that come out of the sessions and later bring in a very rough staring point to a poem, a kind of collection of everyone’s ideas. We read this ‘poem in progress’ aloud, making changes until all the poets agree that it needs nothing else and requires no more editing. I have learnt so much from all The Seisiún Poets these last 18 months: about nature and its connection to farming, about West Cork up close, sad songs, funny old songs and about how important it is for each of us to be able to enjoy our creativity and make something with it. Tess Leak
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Les nuages sont blanc (The clouds are white) And dark and blooming Like roses Moving across the sky You can see whatever you want In the clouds, always changing The cumulus, the cirrus‌. A dog with its mouth open? The head of a monkey? The earth’s surface Is seven-tenths water The waves thundering in The might of the sea There is a deep depression In the middle of the Atlantic There are mackerel in the sea And mackerel in the sky
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WIN TER GaR DEN 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 10
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It is a winter morning and the gardener Stands on the hard ground covered with frost There will be no digging today The mangolds have already been lifted Instead he will feed seeds and breadcrumbs To the birds on a cold, flat tin He cares for the thrush, the blackbird of course With its bright golden beak and the Friendly robin might come hopping along He will check the tools in the shed and Mend any that are broken He will clean out the freezing stalls and Put fresh straw bedding down for the cows Before it is dark he will bring them inside For a feed of hay before his own tea He watches as dark, bare branches turn white And thinks of the wonders of nature He remembers a song with the words: ‘Hushed and white with snow’
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To Ballin geary ona bike 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 12
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‘The bush of gold’ Is the townland I was born in To get to school in Ballingeary from here I would turn at the cross East of Ballydehob Through Baile Bán, ‘The White Town’ Past Cappabue To Bearna Gaoithe, ‘The gap of the wind’ I would fly down the hill On my Regal bike with The blur of the wild ash and The time-stricken willows
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Out in the High Field I stop a moment and listen to The sound of the horses pulling and puffing or later The sound of a tractor purring well Standing still in the newly ploughed Black Field I hear the screeching and cawking of the seagulls Flocking to eat the worms. If it’s quiet The peaceful sound of a lone curlew Balancing on a rock or flying above me There’s the noise of our rubber boots Following the harrow The dropping in a bucket of picked up stones Making the barley field as smooth and flat As silk sheets on a well made bed or A calm, silent lake in May
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Plo ugh sculpts The
THE
earth
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The foal and the donkey 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 16
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High in the field, high on the hillside Blue is the sky, blue are the mountains Gentle is the wind, gentle too the rain Lovely is the foal, lovely is the sun Dark are her eyes, dark too the clouds Steady is the donkey, steady like the stable wall Calm is its nature, calm for the foal Soft is her mane, softly falls the rain Beautiful is the day, beautiful is the day
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Sound
FIELd
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Every field is different but a sound field Has a blackthorn hedge to shelter the crops And house the sparrows, robins Blackbirds and the wren Or a hedge rich with sloes to make wine A sound field has no rushes And is without a boggy nature You must start ploughing in the right place And you must finish in the right place Wait for the right time, after a dry spell in March
Or else you will be slipping down the hill
Stand in your sound field and listen Listen to the rain falling on the hard ground To the sound of the birds in the hedges Listen to the creaking of the trees and The whole of nature working around you
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M u s i c 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 20
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My wife came over on a boat From Close, Whiddy Island We met at the boys club in Bantry During a night at the races And danced the waltz to music By the Callahan’s band of Ballingeary To the sound of the accordion Fiddle and melodian My Inchegeela lass
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I see the stars at night The man in the moon I notice the way it changes colour Clouds red, purple and black The aurora borealis The way the earth meets the sky as The horizon I see all the weather The hailstorms, hurricanes Freezing frost, thunder and lightning The rainbows too Looking up to the sky I see The aeroplanes and birds The lovely thrush and the blackbird Swallows, swans and magpies One for sorrow, two for joy
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Lookingup tothe sky 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 23
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i Ls
n t e i g n in
a My
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Sitting outside in the sunshine and listening I hear laughter, is it from the school nearby? People speaking inside, a chair scraping A dog barking in the distance, is he hungry? Or lonely? A strimmer beyond the hedge An aeroplane overhead, where is it going? Footsteps along the corridor, whose footsteps? Someone piling up boxes, of what? The strumming of a guitar, who is making music? The hammering in of nails, what is being built? A telephone ringing, who is it? At this hour? Crows up high in a sycamore tree, Swallows playing in the sky
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Clear and white like snow The daisies are filling up the Back garden, enough to make Miles of daisy chains Soon we will pick some for the May altar in the kitchen with Vases of primroses, bluebells and Cuckoo flowers Out on the land We prepare the ground for potatoes Set seeds, cut silage Cows are calving The cuckoo herself is singing her song Before flying back to Africa
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D a is ie s 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 27
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There are 2 ways to the path That takes you to the top of the hill The fern and palm-lined track Through Rocks and bushes The heat from the sun Will give you the energy To keep climbing, climbing to the top A little bird might join you Might lead you up the path To the stone like a throne Where you can sit Like a king or queen With a view wide open To the Atlantic Ocean The boats trawling for pollack
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i CL
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g n MbI The houses as small as toys The tops of the trees The beech, ash and oak The tea from your flask Will still be warm Share the crumbs of your fruitcake With the same little bird Stay till night to watch The dark, night- clouds travel Past the bright and shining moon Hanging in its beautiful sky And when the cold sets in Make your way back down The moon-lit track now lined with shadows 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 29
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In July we turn and stack the hay Before drawing it in to the shed We carefully thin the beet Spray the potatoes an azure blue Shear the sheep, check the donkey’s water Attach the horses to the plough Water the seedlings, look after the cows Are they maddened by the gad fly? And when the sun sets, have a home-grown tea Of bread, butter, eggs, bacon and tomatoes Look in on the garden Reading the paper, we listen to the news We are thankful for the good weather We are happy with our day’s work
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A poem for
Ju ly 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 31
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Aflowerofspring 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 32
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Everything is starting to grow again The grass, the buds on the trees Are a new green full of light The lambs in the field are being born It is time to prepare the ground For sowing seeds, to rake level the earth To make little hollows It is time to make ridges with the plough Pulled by two horses black as ink Smooth with the griofán Make ready for the early potatoes It is time for the primroses and Even if March is a rough month There are always the golden flowers: “I dreamt I saw beside the lake A host of golden daffodils”
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The Seisiún Poets are…
Ann Dan Des Finbarr Florence Helen John Paddy Patricia Michael 136_PH_PerrotHousePoems v11.indd 34
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Haiku Island Press
Sound Fields The SeisiĂşn Poets
Haiku Island Press
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