Castletroy Words

Antisocial and a Hazard They stare at their rectangles and expect others to move, as if they are royalty. You wonder why someone creeps along, one inch behind you, and when you turn, they expect you to step aside. They no longer see the sky, the sea; they only feel the need to be validated by a cold, lifeless rectangle, an all-consuming obsession. They stop suddenly in your path; the rectangle is more important than your comfort, or the real world, or real life. I sometimes wonder if they know that their behavior is bad, and that people still in the real world are not impressed, or whether they’re too far gone to care about anything other than the rectangle controlling them. Some shout into their rectangles; they seem to need an audience, a captive audience, such as people trying to sit peacefully on a bus. Many of these beings, once human, also put chemicals in their mouths and lungs and blow them across others, making strangers cough and grimace. These be...

The Whereareyourfrom It’s uniquely Irish. No other country would dare. No polite how are you? No what do you do? It’s the where are you from? Straight away — to put you in your place, to tell you they don’t consider this your home, even if you do. Where are you from? “South Dublin.” Not with that accent, you’re not. And with that, they dismiss you — for your skin, your accent, your faith, your culture — as not belonging, not welcome.

It’s bleached and bare as skeletal remains, the creed they give us for our own good . Those who learn to rely on direction without question accept it with thanks, keep their heads down, and comply. Many times they tried to press their will onto me, but I think — sharp and clear — and I don’t submit. It’s easy enough to be led by others, to stop thinking for yourself. But when the party’s over, you realise you’re alone and have no direction at all: a grown child searching for the adult to guide them, when they are long of age to make their own way. So think before your brain absconds. Question. Challenge. Never mind the cost. Life only comes around once — don’t spend it captive.

 Kei te haere tonu te ora, āe, kei te haere tonu te ora, kei te mātakitaki tonu ahau i a koe, e aroha ana ki a koe, kāore i tino ngaro, nā te mea ko te hunga i roto i ō tātou ngākau kāore e whakarērea i a tātou, Life goes on, ah, life goes on, I remain watching over you, loving you, never truly gone, for those in our hearts never leave us,  Maxime dit à Yaku : « Ceux que nous aimons sont dans nos cœurs, c'est là qu'ils sont, ils ne sont pas séparés de nous. » Maxime says to Yaku, those we love are in our hearts, so that is where they are, they are not apart from us,  Ní chuirtear grá ná muinín amú choíche, mar shaibhríonn sé sinn, tógann sé sinn agus athnuachanann sé sinn, níl náire orm gur ghráigh mé thú, tá grá agam fós. Love and trust are never wasted, because it enriches us, builds us and renews us, I am not ashamed that I loved you, I still love you.

Leenane I recall stumbling down the mountain at dawn. On the road, sheep scattered as I walked, and down below the fjord gleamed in early light, while above, the waterfalls fell so far they seemed almost static. In the village, men prepared kayaks and lines for an early trip, and I waited in the silence as the sun crept slowly round to warm me. The majestic fjord ahead of me as I waited— so loved by tourists, but to me, living here and knowing, there’s nowhere I’d less rather be, beautiful as it is.

I’ll always remember you at Christmas Time, the rain falling and falling, my head hurting and hurting. I remember the tree, a thousand stars shining, I can only choose one to follow. I remember the meal, the bright chatter and laughter. She seemed so happy— was it because she brought me back? I dreamed of you and it was Christmas again. You made canapes and made it a lesson. She was hanging round you and being silly, as she did the day of the Christmas meal. I remember the joy and brightness, and the contrast of the emptiness, the end. I remember you at Christmas, the cheerful jumpers which hide so much. I remember the rain falling and my delirium as the flu hit. I remember how I walked and walked, out of my mind, knowing goodbye was the only word but not knowing where I’d go. I remember how my memory came back in my fever, and it flipped a switch, things started to change, to move powerfully. But I will remember you, stuck in a timewarp, that wet December ...

The Journey The journey was long, and I was tired. No strength in my arms to reach out. It was so dark for so long I never thought it would grow light. But as I fell and thought I couldn’t rise, someone held out their hand and said, I’ll get you there. And as dawn broke I rested, exhausted. I made it. And now the real journey starts. For those who lent a hand.

See Ya, Fella Sometimes you meet someone and you like them, and you can just like them— nothing else needed. And you never get close. They are there in your life, and they make life sweeter just by being themself. You slide the fader up, mic on, and get on with life, broadcast. And so life slips on. We can’t stop the motion. And so they fade out, like a song on the radio. You slide the fader down, turn the mic off. Transmission ends. See ya, fella.

Legs I used to grumble about legs— mine don’t work well. But now I think how wonderful they are: to perambulate all around, wherever I wish. I can say, I will go there, and the legs say, okay, and off we go, movement steered by brain. And so we enjoy the Shannon, and the park, and shopping—well, maybe not. And then the legs get me home.

Head to Wind Life is sailing out on the bay — you haul the sheets so you’re not blown every which way, you watch the wind and the tide, trim the sails to soften the ride. Sometimes the waves crash over and you laugh at the shock of cold water, you hold the helm to stay afloat, watch the cardinal markers and steer clear — avoid the passing ships. You watch the lights on the harbour wall, watch the ebbing tide so you’re not left stranded, line up your markers and tack across the bay. It’s hard — the wind, the waves — and you’re tired, bones and breath tired, so you turn head to wind and rest.