between time
DESCRIPTION
Poems retracing the life of an anatomistTRANSCRIPT
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BETWEEN TIME
JEAN FOLAN
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Belfast
Lapwing
BETWEEN TIME
�
JEAN FOLAN
�
Belfast
LAPWING
First Published by Lapwing Publications
c/o 1, Ballysillan Drive
Belfast BT14 8HQ
www.lapwingpoetry.com
Copyright © Jean Folan 2013
All rights reserved
The author has asserted her/his right under Section 77
of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988
to be identified as the author of this work.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library.
Since before 1632
the Greig sept of the MacGregor Clan
has been printing and binding books
All Lapwing Publications are
printed and hand-bound in Belfast.
Set in Aldine 721 BT at the Winepress
ISBN 978-1-909252-26-4
ii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks are due to the editors of the following publications in which some of the poems were published:
West 47, Cúirt Annual 2007, Crannóg, Revival, Trácht Magazine, Network Magazine, Mid Life Slices Anthology,
The Galway Review, Ropes.
Some of the poems were recorded in Poet’s Breakfast, a CD from Kinvara 2009.
Jean thanks the poets, workshop facilitators and participants, friends and family in Kinvara, Oranmore, Galway,
Sligo, Mayo and further afield who have given her greatencouragement.
iii
CONTENTS
33THE WOMAN I WAS . . . . . . . . . . . . .32ADVICE TO THE WOMAN . . . . . . . . . .31FATHER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .30NO! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29NIMMO’S PIER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .28AT THE ASYLUM WINDOW . . . . . . . .27A SOLDIER’S REINCARNATION . . . . . .26CONFESSION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .25ALCHEMY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .25A PAIR OF NECKLACES . . . . . . . . . . .24DOORMAT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .23NO ESCAPE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .23BYPASS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .22THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY21THE BOGEYMAN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .20MANTRA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .19SHOPPING 1958 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .18FACE TO FACE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .17THE KEEPER OF THE FLAME . . . . . . .16DAY AND NIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15NIGHT AND DAY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .14BETWEEN TIME . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .13ABSENCE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .12LOVE IN FREE VERSE . . . . . . . . . . . .11ORPHEUS IN GALWAY . . . . . . . . . . . .10BRIAR ROSE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10COTTAGE ROSE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .9MY GRIEF . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .8YOUR SIDE OF THE WARDROBE . . . . .8KILLANIN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7AT SIXTY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
iv
62SEVEN HAIKU . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .60CHRONICLE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .58CONVERTIBLE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .56DATING NEFERTITI . . . . . . . . . . . . .55NEW YEAR WISH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .54A NEED BEGETS A SOURCE . . . . . . . .53THERE IN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .52TARIFA WINDS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .51SURPRISE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .50THE INNER FIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . . .49LOOKIN’ ATCHYA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .48MEMORIES OF MINT . . . . . . . . . . . . .47NEXT DOOR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .46DREAM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .46BACK TO SCHOOL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .45THE SALMON WEIR BRIDGE . . . . . . .44GOD’S PROMISE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .44EASTER, INISHCRONE . . . . . . . . . . . .43THE KITE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42THE PILGRIM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .41LIVE NOW . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .41NO SAT NAV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .40MAYTHORN PISEOG . . . . . . . . . . . . .39ONE QUESTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38QUICKSILVER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37WHISPER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37BURREN VIEW . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .36DOWN AT CUSH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .35MARTELLO TOWER . . . . . . . . . . . . .34BLUE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
v
For
Enda and Ross
vi
AT SIXTY
Forty years from nowI will choose no cake or candle
but will step through a door and head back up the hill.
I will bounce and bob along with the freedom of a child.
My fingers will clasp one hundred white strings
and with outstretched arms I will hold aloft a canopy
of rainbow hued balloons. I will gift them year by year
to whoever I encounter. I will feel radiant
while the red balloon buried in my present
pulsates.
Jean Folan
7
KILLANIN
On a July night we took a shortcut,a graveyard stroll among plastic flowers.
Jokes about longevity, and I asked where you, ‘being American’, would like to be buried?‘Bury me in Killanin. I’ll be looking up at you.’
On an October day I followed the hearse, no stroll, no jokes, real flowers.I laid you to rest alone in a double plot.
They say one should not talk about it,but I am glad we had that talk
though I never felt you looking up at me.
YOUR SIDE OF THE WARDROBE
I cull dustfrom emptiness,palm specks,stare at yearsof loneliness.
I spill tears that moistenmotes of memory,wash our time in drops that shine.
Between Time
8
MY GRIEF
is like a currach stranded on shore,
a black hood of despair, hoisted on shoulders,
marched to the seawith six feet under.
Dropped in the shallowsI struggle to board.
Launched to the waves, oars stiffen and moan.
Exposed to the storm, tarred canvas creaks,
raw ribs heave, joists shudder,
tholepins squeal‘Surrender!’
I scream‘Never’!
A six oar symphony crests wave after wave.
In the light of dawna calm ocean shimmers,
tired arms reach outfor the distant shore.
Jean Folan
9
COTTAGE ROSE
The white porcelain vaseholds a fresh cottage rosepicked by your loving hands.
StunnedI grasp shadowscaress absenceroll rigidin emptiness.
I wilt through dawnsof remembered embrace,while pink petals drop.
BRIAR ROSE
Do not be afraid of thorns,stretch out beneath my canopy,I am your tangled mass of sorrow,a haven for your cowering form.I let moonlight lace your skin.Leave these dark winter nights,touch my spring growth,smell the summer scent of delicate briar rose.Leave me by the wayside.
Between Time
10
ORPHEUS IN GALWAY
He is the handsome swanfrom the Claddagh Basinwho follows the night timelure of a breadcrumb trail.
This time, he does not look back.Seized by underworld thugshe lies, neck trice twisted,spiritless on the morning grass.
On nearby Corrib waters,his mate, mute, drifts with two cygnets,Euridyce abandoned.
Jean Folan
11
LOVE IN FREE VERSE
Would that I could pen you the perfect love poem,a graceful sonnet, romantic, á la Shakespeare.
My fingers seek the keys to heart-shaped words,yours linger still, caress my entire being.
Rhyme love with dove above. Facile.Pentameter, we shared five years. I am.
Try rhythm, two hearts in unison, mine flutters, yours ceased in fibrillation.
Plagiarise, love’s labour is never lost.Love in free verse.
We are the perfect couplet: uncoupled.
Between Time
12
ABSENCE
I enter the woods haunted by the absence of your presence.
Sunlight filters on summer leaves falling to earth.I caress a leaf on my doubting palm, retrace a final journey.
The life this form embodied has not departed.The breath of life that cradled this leaf on its descent embraced your soul on its ascent.
I leave these woods lightened by the Presence in your absence.
Jean Folan
13
BETWEEN TIME
When the ebb tideturns to flowand the pastkisses the future:Be glad.
When the in-breathmeets the out-breathand inspiration ticksbetween the tocks:Be happy.
When the pendulumreaches the nadirand this now of being balances the interlude of existence:Give thanks.
Between Time
14
NIGHT AND DAY
When grey night stirs from the river Lethe,she dances with the day. By twilight they couple on the edge of the horizon. Last kiss stolen, he departs in crimson.
Blind in the duvet of the universe she sees no planets or sequinned stars.Her chiffon gown shades all in silhouettewhile in the cratered moon his light reflects.
Through nine full rounds her rotund belly swells and in the curse of time she births another dawn.Morning cradles the day while night steals away. They cycle through perpetual incarnationsfor life’s ultimate consummation.
Jean Folan
15
DAY AND NIGHT
Day flirts with nightby twilight. He scarpers.In darkness she birthsthe dawn. His return.They curse:we’ve been here before.They whisper: about someultimate consummation.Bloody Hell!
Between Time
16
THE KEEPER OF THE FLAME
In the lighthouse of the universethe keeper of the flamestokes the furnaceof creation.
In the lighthouseof mankindthe keeper of the flamesets down the emberof incarnation.
In the lighthouseof emotionthe keeper of the flametrims the wick of illusion.
In the lighthouse of the mindthe keeper of the flamekindles the lightof illumination.
In the lighthouse of the soulthe keeper of the flamepours forth the sparkof intuition.
In the lighthouse of the spiritthe keeper of the flamewithdraws the emberto liberation.
Jean Folan
17
FACE TO FACE
An heirloom chosen fifteen years and five house moves ago,stands high up on the shelf, dust gatherer, stopped sometimebetween a tick and a tock.
Staring at the clock, I stray into it,become the face with hands of time.
I recall her ritual of loving care,the way she prised the glass doorto teach me in correct sequence,key insertion, turn, just so tight.Each week she wound three springsof tension, love, release.
Now, mother and daughter hands face ninethe number of completion.
Between Time
18
SHOPPING 1958
I see her gloved hand grasp the brass handle,open the door with a jingle jangle.Dark parquet floors, brown polished smells,menswear stacked high on mahogany shelves.A young man greets with a smile,enquires of her needs. ‘Wait just a while!’Nylon shirts scatter over the counter,she likes the blue, ‘Size sixteen will do.’I bounce on my toes and tug at her sleeve,she delves in her purse, ‘You promised me. Please?’In the shiny container, I struggle to placea pound note bearing a green lady’s face.He pulls down a cord and away it whirrs,a silver bird skimming on circus wires.We wait: they talk about Christmas dinner.A mechanical screech, my ‘bird’ is the winner.He unscrews the lid, gives mum a pink page.My five year old fingers grasp at the change.She smiles at me, tells me I’m funny.‘For luck,’ says she and shoves me a penny.
Jean Folan
19
MANTRA
In St. Joseph’s Wardfootsteps squeak,monitors beep,drips drop,my child sleeps.
I witnessanother mothernestle a black bobbedlittle one who sobsall night long.
“I want to go home.Now!”She screams“I want to go home.Now!”
Her cries reverberatethrough the children’s ward.
Maybe she wants to be whereher father and brother sleep,her toys lie idle,the dog snores,and dreams fluff her pillow.
“I want to go home.Now!”
Her refrain becomes my mantra.
Between Time
20
THE BOGEYMAN
Shivery whisper, ‘you ’sleep yet?’No reply.
Creep on squeaky floor,tweak curtain a fraction,slide one eye to the gap.
He lurks, beyond the barbed wire fence.Wide brimmed blackhat and dark cloak,the man on theSandeman Bottle.
I peek. He stares,dares me to emerge.I duck and scamper.
Head under pillow.A whisper,‘did you see ’im?’
This time it is I who cannot reply.
Jean Folan
21
THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY
is a film I will not see.
I will not view my mother’s terror.
I will not watch her mother’s painas brother fights brother.
I will not observethe hated Black and Tansransack for weapons.
I see all too wella petrified girl torn from bed.
Between Time
22
BYPASS
When my adolescence bloomed, you rapedand robbed me of an irredeemable innocence.Now I see you captive on a cardiac bypasswaiting for the carnage that might liberate you.I forgave you; however, not enough to donate you my teenage son’s heart, if he were to die.
NO ESCAPE
She morphs into the solidity of closed doors, watches both sides, her secret safe until manhandled, slammed, kicked, punched through, unhinged, collapsed, she lies broken on the floor.No hiding place, bruises never lie.
Jean Folan
23
DOORMAT
Hobnail boots, spágs and dogsscrape and straddle the grimy mat.
Frayed edges,rotten core,Shake it!What the hell!
Beat the crap on wailing walls.Hurl the shredsat dreaded ghosts.
Stir dust memories,save an earring,find the diamond,spare the key.
Dance on the stoop!Conjure a golden matwith swathes that welcome.
Between Time
24
A PAIR OF NECKLACES
I loved the first, a golden torc with crescent moons placed with gentle hands. His fingerpads lingered, brushed my delicate skin.
The second, I wish to forget.A tight black band, clamped hands,fingertips crushing, I struggled. Do bruises still colour my neck?
He claimed it was a dreambut it was my nightmarewhen the torc of lovebecame the black choker.
ALCHEMY
Inhale the light of love,ignite embers of anger,awaken shards of fury.
In an alchemyexhale the flames,light the anger with love.
Jean Folan
25
CONFESSION
I am the toddler who pulls your hairin the preschool playground.
I am the brat who trips you upon the way to school each day.
I am the lad with all the powerwho tells you who to befriend.
I am the teen who texts you latewith threats of who to hate.
I am the brute who beats youbehind fully drawn curtains.
I am the sod who gets his wayin the family of tradition.
I am a bastard of a bully,this I know, but
I am still a toddler, afraid.
Between Time
26
A SOLDIER’S REINCARNATION
When he swung the sword, a medieval suit of armour split. He exulted as his victim died.
His weapon withdrawn,a silver helmet rolled, his sister’s head exposed.
Now, the enemy lurks within.Armourless, he tries to flee,frozen, he writhes in agony.
He feels cold steel enter, sear tissues raw. This wound oozes ragged emotion.
Ancient arachnoid adhesionsstretch, spin time,thread the delicate zone.
He surrenders, seeks her forgiveness,pleads across centuries.
Jean Folan
27
AT THE ASYLUM WINDOW
I scratch with bitten nails, form circles on the pane,lay outstretched palms on cold condensation.
I breathe warm air patterns, plant kisses on grey glass, leave lonely lip printson my reflection.
I trace leafless branches.
By night I tap-tap-tapthe upper left corner, count stars, lose track when they shoot.
I live on the sill, wait for someone,anyone, to releasethe catch.
Between Time
28
NIMMO’S PIER
Missingloved ones
last seenmesmerisedon novena clad bridges.
Night dropsto oblivion.
In Corrib waterstears and fearsdrown in torrentswrenched baywards.
Silent screamsecho the stigma
past Nimmo’s.
Jean Folan
29
NO!
There was a timewhen I could not say nopreyed uponlittle girl time.
There was a timewhen I should have said noyoung adultmust please time.
Now is the timewhen I chooseto say no!No! Nein! Nyet time!
Between Time
30
FATHER
You showed me the universe at the top of your fingerwhen Sputnik passedover our house.
You showed me the earth with the turn of a dial,an EI6W callon your ham radio.
You showed me spiritat the tip of a batonwhen you playedmusic all night long.
You showed me lovewhen you tickled my ribsand called me Tyger.
You never saw an endangered cub.
Father, you did not protect me.
Jean Folan
31
ADVICE TO THE WOMANBased on ‘Equality Emerging’ by John Behan,
a sculpture at Salmon Weir Bridge, Galway.
There you arepoised in emergenceor caught in retreat,perhaps in balancebreaking throughthe toughenedceiling of glass.
Before you breach that particular barrierremember it could bea fragile glass floorwhich might shatterunder the weightof your expectation.
Between Time
32
THE WOMAN I WAS
hid in the base of a round tower, never let down her short black hair,
always hit the mythical wall,never finished the marathon,
wavered on the cliff top edge,did not see three seagulls soar,
strode the university quadrangle,then ripped up the mortarboard.
The woman I was, dreamt of being the woman I am.
Jean Folan
33
BLUEBased on ‘A Person at the Window’ by Salvador Dali
Salvador Dali says I am beautifulbrushing my cheek with paint-filled fingers.
Wear a blue dress, my Sunday best.He paints blue sea, blue sky, blue me.
But he paints my back, blue back in a window.I study the view and hear him shuffle.
I am only sixteen. Mama knits in the corner.She chaperones and flirts. I’ve seen their reflections.
Today I asked him the title of this painting.‘A Person at the Window.’
A person! Indeed!Enough of blue. I will turn and tell him
he must name this picture‘Maria at the Window.’
Between Time
34
MARTELLO TOWER
Crawl within Martello walls,heart thumping drowns out winds,smothers ocean swells.Cling to deep crevices, edge suction cups upwarda gecko reading Braille.
Emerge to a night sky scattered with silica thrownfrom the crumbling sandcastle.At dawn, a marshmallow melts in the sunrise.The gecko blinks.
Jean Folan
35
DOWN AT CUSH
She hovers to the East just above Slieve Aughty.Her yellow Van Gogh smile shimmers on Aughinish Bay.
He is regal in the West cresting Roundstone Hill,tossing a velvet cloak over the Martelloon the causeway down at Cush.
I stand with outstretched arms where the full tide laps both shores.Right hand caresses the Moon Goddess tresses.Left hand stretches for the Sun God’s crimson streamon the causeway down at Cush.
He kisses the horizonand bids us both good night.She swells in full reflectionof his glorious light.
Colours blend and kindlean amber glow in my heartat the full moon in Leoon the causeway down at Cush.
Between Time
36
BURREN VIEW
Where celestial blue greys the limestone plateauthree goats face east etched still as indigo.
Do they graze for Burren succulence?Do they search midnight skies for Capricorn?Do they sense earth bound souls in transcendence?
Shadows of dolmens they embrace a mystery.Goatway to Heaven reflects the Trinity.
WHISPER
Forty geese from Burren shoresveer north in February formation,
a black frieze undulating underan incandescent full moon rising.
Twilight wings whisper on Galway Bayheralding spring migrations,
with honkings of Boreal gaggles promise laden with eggs goose golden.
Jean Folan
37
QUICKSILVER“All know that the drop merges into the ocean,
but few know that the ocean merges into the drop.” Kabir
Full tide, Galway Bay smooth as mercury.
Miniscule ebb and flow on limestone shale.
She rests replete.
Contrast with tsunami waves.World Aid a clichéd
drop in the ocean.
On this calm nightthe ocean in this
drop of quicksilver could save millions.
Between Time
38
ONE QUESTION
Gaia, you weep from melting ice-caps,shed warm tears that fill oceansand submerge plains.
Waves imprison your tsunami rage,your dark eyes bulge in hurricaneswhile shifting sands smother your cry.
Blind humanity, polyethylened in greed,backpacks loaded, seeks safer ground,dead to pangs of self-destruction.
Mother, as you rebirth this planet,forgive us, we will repent but do we have time to change?
Jean Folan
39
MAYTHORN PISEOG
For a few weeks in May cream and pink whitethorn scattered through hedgerows and gorse filled fields look like á la carte first communicants with a few blushing brides as they parade before the jaundiced eye of a prickly clergy.
Some thorn trees, sculpted by westerly winds, bow to the east tilt at silver windmills. Others, solitary, route markers through the fairy realm.
Scented blossoms with five petal perfection flourish on triple stems and thorny branches. Pity about the piseog that states the Maythorn is ‘bad luck to bring in the house.’
Between Time
40
NO SAT NAV
Can it be seen without vellum or computer screen?Is it in the pattern of a seagull’s flight,or a snail’s silver trail at the setting of night?Count petals on a flower or hold a crystal light.Seek these other signs,there may be no sat nav,no Google Earth to clickon the pilgrimage of life.
LIVE NOW
Leap from life’s bridge.Soar to blue sky play,ride E.T.’s bike,feel the fiery fingertorch dormant love.Toss the lunar disc,follow it to the sun.Pause on heaven’s bridge.Shimmer down a rainbow.
Jean Folan
41
THE PILGRIM
Speeding nowhere in a passage through lifeI see a God tread the road to Galway.
He walks alone, long wooden staff in handas he journeys to the end of his earth.
His grey beard bounces on a blue denim robeas if wrapped in a patchwork of heaven.
Bespectacled and with a sky blue berethe bears the aura of a saintly man
who quietly arouses ancient echoesof pilgrimage ways onto sacred sites.
For the few seconds it takes to drive pastin this millennium driven by stress,
his pilgrim presence touches my progress.
Between Time
42
THE KITE
On the beach at Nye,1 the Pacific Ocean surfs from sunset to the silver strand.
The kite soars, clad lightly in white, tail billowing,dark arms outstretched in crucifixion.She plummets in sudden submission and confident hands pull the cord to resurrectionto hold the windin free harmony.
On the beach at Nye, His hands holdthe silver strand that flies my cross high on the kite of life.
1 Oregon
Jean Folan
43
EASTER, INISHCRONE
From the edge of Killala Baythe setting sun spills abundance.
In shiny shallows the mirrored sphereskims promises to the Diamond Valley.
Both orbs weave golden skeins and silver threads into a cruciform
seaborne tapestry.
GOD’S PROMISEFor Enda
The Bellawaddy riverswollen from last night’s stormtumbles past wading gulls.
Offshore winds stir foaming wavesand ponies frolic in the shallowson the beach at Inishcrone.
Walkers pause as morning lightspills a double rainbowfrom Bartragh to The Point.
Embraced in the calm water outbacka trio of teenage surfers, perched like seals,eye the swell.
Between Time
44
THE SALMON WEIR BRIDGE
As a child I peeped through parapets,saw magical fishjump in Corrib waters.
Like Fionn, seekingto gain all knowledge,I stretched to touchthe glistening scales.
Mother admonished meagainst silliness and danger.
Recurrent nightmaresof suspension overbridgeless watersand panic drownings.
In time, childhoodwonder resurfaced.I lean over the parapet,I leap with the salmon.
Jean Folan
45
BACK TO SCHOOLFor Ross
As growing arms stretch tightlyround my waista cheek lies snugagainst my breast and when I bowto kiss your crown the morning lightspins a myriadof dancing rainbows sprinkling strandsof short brown hairwith promise.
DREAM
Crowded room,burnished curls,freckled face,our eyes engage.
‘I am your Guardian Angel.’‘But you could be just anybody.’‘Precisely.’
Between Time
46
NEXT DOOR
is a blind, mute and headless place:
flat roof, boarded front, backdoor ajar,rusted cans, peeling paint, magnolia walls, red doors, broken springs, horsehair mattress,ragged shirts, cut throat razor, cracked mirror, shaving brush, hairbrush, filthy loo brush, dingy dresser, chipped cups, broken plates, mouldy table, mouse shit, bakelite phone, bleeding heart picture, fallen lady statue, blue beads, tattered lace, bare bulbs, wet webs, warped floors, dusty weeds, sturdy saplings, skylit rafters, swallows.
My neighbours on the other side have a new baby.
Jean Folan
47
MEMORIES OF MINT
I sip mint tea, watch steam unfurl:
Moroccan sands by nightfall, I sway to a primitive drumbeatwith Tourareg men in white robes;
the smooth flow of translucentgreen liqueur, soothing my tongue,slipping south on college dates;
the cough and splutter of cigarettes,a mentholated sophistication clasped in my teenage hand;
‘Let’s get some mint.’ Mum crushesa nettly green leaf on her palmand holds it to my little face,
she shows me how,I scrunch my nose,sniff a smell,
one with no antecedent.
Between Time
48
LOOKIN’ ATCHYA
The perfect fried egg has a yolk bang in the centre and the white spreads slowly out. Such an egg can be blind or lookin’ atchya.
Supposin’ the fried egghas the white in the middlesurrounded by the yella’,would such an egg be blindand never lookin’ atchya?
Were you to rise one dayand see the sun’s radiancecentred in a golden halo,it would not really matterfor you would indeed be blindand it still lookin’ atchya!
Jean Folan
49
THE INNER FIGHT
Seconds out!Muscles that jabbedand stung like a bee,now tremble in rigidity.
Feet that dancedlike Lepidopteraslow shufflewith Parkinsonia.
Ali once rumbledin the jungle,now he fumbles without a grumble.
That velvet voice spokewith such tenacity,whispers now –a personal veracity.
Eyes, which piercedan opponent’s gaze,radiate from his unblemished face.
Between Time
50
SURPRISE
A string of thoughts,Chinese lanterns.
One piece, two endstightrope variations.
Tied to the pastshaking entanglement.
Strung to the futureknotted possibilities.
Poised in the presentweave heart strings.
Cut loose ends,wrap the surprise.
Fluff the bow.Celebration!
Angels playstring games too.
Jean Folan
51
TARIFA WINDS
I am Levantethe sunrise wind.Listen to me roarthrough the Straits.
I gust from the East,bellow on crazy minds,sweep all before me,destroy and cleanse.
At sunset when I blowgently from the Westand caress the ocean you call me Poniente.
Between Time
52
THERE IN
It is…Or
It is not…
A TruthLies
Therein
Is itIn the
PolarisationOf
Opposites
Or
Is itIn the
HarmonisationOf
Dualities
ThereinLies aTruth
Is it…Or
Is it not…
There In
Reality?
Jean Folan
53
A NEED BEGETS A SOURCE
The source begets the outflowthe outflow needs a source.
Rivers need a springthe spring begets the river.
The daffodil needs a bulbthe bulb begets the daffodil.
The child needs a mother the mother begets the child.
The light needs the sunthe sun begets the light.
Death needs a lifelife begets the death.
The effect needs a causethe cause begets the effect.
A need begets a source.
Between Time
54
NEW YEAR WISH
If the new year is considering a gift I should like it to be:
a year when the seasons pass through their glory and the earth heals from incessant plunder;
a year where the sun shines on my children’s daysand fluffed pillows hold their dreams;
a year when the dissonant orchestra of my emotions become the soothing of a lullaby;
a year of stability where I can find my rootsand quell the mental train of inconsequential natter;
a year where I can give without thoughtthe loving hug, the life-filled smile.
Let the year lead me to a peaceful acceptance of myself,
a year unlike any other.
Jean Folan
55
DATING NEFERTITI(Queen Nefertiti, beautiful wife of Pharaoh Akenaten 1353-1337BC)
The boy from Kingston walked me home from schooland shared his big secret:how to steal from mother’s purse.Good job Bugsy went to the Jesafter second class in Scoil Fhursa.
The teen at the Tennis Club Hopnever saw me in the crowd.I wore the powder blue, A-line,long sleeved cotton dress,hand sewn for the Inter Cert.
He was the handsome swimmer whose photo I saved from the Connacht Tribune to shareas my pretend boyfriend through long dormitory nights.
The student at the dance in Seapoint;black hair, black polo, black pants, shared white polo-mints, became the manof repeated farewells. Too many years just goin’ out.
We met white-water rafting in Oregon,engaged on the shores of Galway Bay.Five years, two boys, love, honour,then death’s sudden intervention:you rest beneath heather in Killanin.
Between Time
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Like others I seek on the internet,in dating agencies, newspaper columns, Knock or even Lisdoonvarna in September.How to meet remains the conundrum.
I am she who creates another profileon the universal wide web.My Akenaten will materialise.I am Nefertiti.
Jean Folan
57
CONVERTIBLE
This Jean is really normal,not flamboyant or formal.A quiet unassumingregular Irish girl.
On a Californian holidayshe went to rent an auto,a basic model would dofor Jean plus two.
‘We have none left,’ the lady said.Her eyes fell in dismay,‘But how about a convertibleto see you on your way.’
She sat into the sports car, somewhat overwhelmed,white body, black top, (the car now, not our friend).
That night in Hollywood,she stretched out in the back.The roof was down, the sky was clear, her boys were right beside her.
This is fun they all agreed,she laughed and laughed again,‘I want to be a movie starlet’s drive on Sunset Boulevard.’
Now, in the act of being driven,this normal Jean was changing.Her hands moved to her hair,she fluffed it in the breeze.
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It had grown blonde and longerand she revelled as she teased.The red scarf on her neckflew back with true abandon.
Her makeup looking good?Red lipstick full of gloss.She preened and gazedand drew adoring looks.
Then in dulcet tonesshe uttered, ‘Oh! My gawd!I am experiencinga Marilyn moment.’
For yes, it is true, the spirit of Norma Jeantransformed an Irish lassin Hollywood that night.
She returned the sporty autobut wonders to this dayif only she alone knowsits strange convertible way.
And the moral of this tale is:just grasp those Marilyn moments,for one lives still in the memoryof this now not quite so normal Jean.
Jean Folan
59
CHRONICLE
My baby eyesso blueI am emergingand being.
My child eyesso gentleI am sleepingand scared.
My teenage eyesso deepI am seekingand abused.
My twenties eyesso confidentI am trustingand betrayed.
My thirties eyesso happyI am loving and loved.
My forties eyes so sadI am cryingand bereaved.
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My maternal eyesso caringI am strugglingand afraid.
My fifties eyesso painedI am searchingand confused.
My sixties eyesso joyfulI am forgivingand healed.
Jean Folan
61
SEVEN HAIKU
Transfixed by shore’s edgesymmetrical reflection
heron hieroglyph
Bright yellow petalsheads nodding nonchalantly
cowslips in prayer
Bare winter whitethornbleeds black plastic prayer flags
baleful pollution
Black suited childrenjump, dive, splash like wet seal pups
Blackrock in summer
Bluebells in Coole bedsunder a green canopyladies-in-waiting
Thought fields resonatethrough the no man’s land of mind
understanding grows
Limestone walls stacked likeminutes filtering seconds
into timelessness
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Jean Folan
63
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Between Time
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JEAN FOLAN
Jean Folan was born in Galway in 1951. She lives in Inishcrone,
Co Sligo and is enrolled on the MA in Writing in NUI Galway.
Between Time is her first collection of poems.
Jean Folan was shortlisted for the Cúirt New Writing Prize
2007, and the Over the Edge Showcase 2008, and was a featured
reader at Over the Edge 2007. She was the winner of the
Impromptu Haiku, Culture Night 2010, Ballina Arts Centre, Co.
Mayo and runner-up at Culture Night 2012, Kenny’s
Bookshop, Galway.
The Lapwing is a bird, in Irish lore
- so it has been written -
indicative of hope.
Printed by Kestrel Print
Hand-bound at the Winepress, Ireland
ISBN 978-1-909252-26-4
£10.00