The Mauve Hills

Six years old he stands the same height
as the cello and still idealises his father
their lead singer, who drunkenly reels

between the instruments.

This is his father's band, these lyrics

are in the language of the isles,

 

A wedding party perhaps six miles
to the east of the Donegal border,
the mauve hills still in sight
with wild geese swooping over their tips
as if, but for the checkpoints and barbed wire
he might have walked those few,
scarce hedgerows into the Free State. 

He is too far west of the Bann
for him to recall that this is occupied land
though the roads are quieter
though the signposts are in one language only
though there are new yellow number plates
and few of the white ones of home.
This farmhouse is like any to the South.

the young couple dance, enthralled

as children arch their feet like words.
A moment of light-footed ballet is broken
now by the screech of gunfire,

the awkward creep of tanks in the sunset hills,
His father’s language such a stigma.

 

Reviews

[Sel Whiteley]

In answer to BrokenArt.

I am the person from Elite Skills. I am English but live and work in Belfast as a professional mediator. I am heavily involved in work that aims to make the police force more accountable to the Republican community. I also work across the interface areas of Belfast and as an international observer. Yesterday, there was a bomb scare in the district in which I live and work so in many senses the conflict continues to affect me personally.

I have chosen to dedicate much of my life to recording the stories I was told by my best friend. Belfast is the city she was from and it left her deeply psychologically scarred, see 'Falls Road'. She would often have nightmares and I would be forced to hold her shaking in my arms until she calmed down, sometimes she was so 'disturbed' by her dreams she couldn't sleep and so, of course, I would either stay up nursing her or we would share a bed like two children at a slumber party. There were times when it was hard to know where my existence ended and her's began. As anyone who has ever truly loved will now, I could experience her hurts almost more deeply than my own. I originally started writing these pieces as a way of recording her words and presented many of them to her for her 23 birthday. A present she truly cherished.

I also work alongside many other Irish friends, one who was previously an active Republican and also a fantastic songwriter. He continues to be the latter and is, indeed, a darling of the Gaelic League. We have worked on many collaborative poems, see for instance, 'A Republican Addresses his Commander.' When he had a spell of illness, I presented these poems to him and they brightened his life. They have been widely welcomed by the Republican community in the North of Ireland and beyond.

These poems make no pretence that I am Irish. They simply record the stories of my close friends and others. Unfortunately, some on Elite Skills found it objectionable that I should write 'as if I'm Irish'. Nonetheless, I will continue to try to record the stories of my friends because I think they deserve that � I don't want anyone to forget what they experienced, especially my best friend. As I continue to meet people through where I live, I am actually asked if I think I could write something about this or to remember that person, I will do so wherever possible. My friend cannot now record these stories and I promised her to raise awareness about her land. I intend to do so.

[__Flaw__]

Beautiful and enticing. I somehow knew the ending, after reading some of your work its easy to see the outcome, but that outcome here, came only in the last lines... by the screech of gunfire. You have that art of stitching together a really great poem with locations, stories and scenarios. An extensive study of experience. And as usual, a job well done :))

[Gandré]

As I said in PM, we experience from time to time unpleasant reviewers, mostly because they are weak poets or - jealous or desperately platonically in love with the creator of a particular poem, so then that's a way to provoke to get at least a kind of answer.. I am sure - he is one of those three. You are wonderful gentle personality and very very gifted poetess. We all know that.

[Emily B]

You do wonderful work. You've been called to write. You do wonderful things with words. I've learned so much from you. I look forward to so many more lessons. Thank you.

[Vanessa Whiteley]

Selina this is a beautiful poem and those who are so blinkered that they are unable to value a poem unless it is written by someone from that particular country are just narrow minded. Taken to its logical conclusion it would suggest that you cannot write about a particular town if you are not from that town or a street. No one would ever be able to adopt another nationality because they were not born in that country. You write about the experience of your friends. You have shared a flat with Irish people, dated an Irish lad for five years had the close relationship you describe with your friend here. And dedicated yourself body and soul to Ireland. Hemingway wasn't Spanish but he had experienced life there. I would say that no science fantasy could ever be written but your poems are based on details told you and life experience of your friends. There is a great truth in your writing and I am very proud of having such an accomplished poet as a daughter.

[fireblossom]

A thing of enlightenment. You are a poet.

[Vanessa Whiteley]

This is really powerful Sel. You have been working on it since I last saw it and it works really well now. More fluid and you really evoke the atmosphere. I can almost see this child as he stands witness to events around him.

[Wildfleour]

A terrific write. Bravo! Brought us right into the moment.

[Donald Meikle]

Life on the edge of reason, measured by rules of conduct unbecoming of a human, condoned or frowned upon by Believers of the same God,totally ignoring druidic and tribal ways. Speaking and singing in a language that knows better. A true Celt would disown Christianity in all its flowered hate.

Whoops sorry Sel I got carried away!