Three Poems by Jeanna Ní Ríordáin

 

In The Name of Art

 

I still vividly remember my first creative writing seminar,

The tutor came into the room, looked us square in the eye

And said: When it comes to writing, there’s only one rule: Don’t

Be a phoney, write what you know, and only what you know!

 

Be a cowboy like Mark Twain or go to war like Hemingway,

Live on the edge, be bold, be brave, take risks, stay curious,

Embrace nature and consume the works of the greats, confront

Eternity, stare death in the face and live to tell the tale

 

These words have guided me in my life as in my writing,

Inspiring me to live with as much panache as I could manage,

And as much courage as I could muster. To seek adventure, to

Travel the world, to learn new languages and meet new people

 

To draw on everyday life as raw material, everything from the                        

Mundane to the obscene. To not bleed over personal tragedies

But to welcome them. To see every fresh heartbreak and

Crushing rejection through the prism of creative potential

 

To be sharp and decisive and not stand on the sidelines, to listen

And take everything in, to trust my instincts and exercise discipline

To study, to observe, to learn. To explore the darkest confines of

My mind and retreat to the inner world of the imagination

 

To create a thousand new identities and personas, to invent

Characters that are witty and vibrant, wild and rash, flawed

And wonderful. To lend them the wisdom of my hard-learned

Experience and give them the happy endings that I never had

                                                                                            

To get high on life and plunge myself into the depths of depair,

To try and fail and carry on anyway, to seize the day and live life

To the fullest, to finish each sentence and complete each chapter,

To see it all through until the final act and closing curtain

 

All for the sake of a good story, all in the name of art.

 

Fortune Teller

 

One summer evening, on our way back from a day trip

To West Cork, my aunt and Mam and I stopped off,

In the fishing village of Glengariff, to have a snack,

And peruse a car boot sale and a local market

 

Among the stalls, we came across a Fortune Teller’s tent,

Outside which a cluster of people were standing around a sign 

Which read Fortunes Told Here, and peering curiously inside.

Keen to know what insights this worldly-looking woman,

With black-rimmed eyes, might divine about my future,

I was eager to give it a try

 

But my Mam, pointing out the queues and the long drive home,

Persuaded me against it. Secretly, she was worried, that should this

Mystic foresee more work woes or doomed romances in my future,

I’d be inconsolable on the journey home! Sensing my dismay,

My aunt suggested that the next time we spotted a Fortune Teller,

On our days out together, I could definitely get a reading

                                                                                        

My aunt died unexpectedly six months later, and we never got

Another chance. I’ve returned to the same village many times,

Hoping to find the tent, but I haven’t seen it since. I’ve even

Considered running up a hefty phone bill on a psychic hotline,

Or buying a ouija board from a dodgy online site

 

In truth, I’d go to any lengths, cross any palms with silver,

In search of a pearl of wisdom, or the slightest cosmic sign,

Something that would turn my head towards the future and 

Stop me searching in the past for answers. Anything that could

Rewrite destiny and save me from a lifetime of looking back.

Life Advice from a Best Friend

 

for Rachel

 

Fed up of my best friend staying in every

Friday night, crying over guys who ghosted

Her and screwed her over, one day in a local 

Clothes store, I marched her over to a full-length

Mirror and told her to take a good long look

 

She trailed off, listing out imaginary blemishes

And least favourite body parts. Stop right there!

I said, ‘cos girl you just ain’t gettin’ it! I see the

Person with the biggest heart I know, the deepest

Mind and the sweetest and most loving soul

 

Suddenly, her eyes welled up, as if seeing herself

For the first time through kinder, sympathetic eyes

She turned to me and said: Ya know what, you’re

Bloody right! Now, help me pick a dress, cos we’re

Headin’ out tonight!!!

 

Jeanna Ní Ríordáin is an Irish-language translator from West Cork, Ireland. She has a PhD in French literature, a BA in Irish and French and an MA in French, all from University College Cork. Her work has been featured in Quarryman Literary Journal, Drawn to the Light Press, Cork Words 3, Poetry in the Time of Coronavirus: The Anthology, Volume Two, pendemic.ie, Burrow, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The Melting Pot: A Mental Health Anthology, and Otherwise Engaged Literature and Arts Journal.