From Rambling Roses to Circles of the Mind


I pass by this old cottage on the Tramore-Waterford Road every day and in the last little while it has been lit up by the splash of deep pink rambling roses.

I’d love to know who planted them and if he/she ever thought that they would continue to add to the beauty of the house long after it had been abandoned.

Perennials make me think of the cyclical nature of life and, indeed, of circles. I’ve decided I’m much more of a circles person than a linear one. All kinds of circles appeal to me ~ wheels, clocks, the full moon, walks that are circular like the walk around Tramore Beach and Backstrand, oranges, tennis balls, spinning tops, globes, camera lenses, circles of friends, circus tents …..

Are you  a circle or a linear type? 

A Poetic Road

Tramore-Waterford Road
Tramore-Waterford Road

I was driving home to Tramore from Waterford City (8 miles) this morning along a road that is beyond familiar to me and one that is steeped in memories, presentness, and probable tomorrows.

All the years, six abandoned cottages have caught my eye but I  jumped to attention in the last few days as there seems to be a lot of ‘clearing’ going on which makes me fear that there will be gaps where once there were places that made me ponder and wonder.

So, I took the time today to stop and take photographs of these reminders of times past.

The fact that it is National Poetry Day was another thought that was very much on my mind and I found myself re-visiting Michael Coady’s poem, Letting Go, which I wrote about a while back.

Here it is again:

Letting Go

I love the abandon
of abandoned things
the harmonium surrendering
in a churchyard in Aherlow,
the hearse resigned to nettles
behind a pub in Carna,
the tin dancehall possessed
by convolvulus in Kerry,
the living room that hosts
a tree in south Kilkenny.
I sense a rapture 
in deserted things
washed-out circus posters
derelict on gables,
lush forgotten sidings
of country railway stations,
bat droppings profilgate
on pew and font and lectern,
the wedding dress a dog 
has nosed from a dustbin.
I love the openness
of things no longer viable, 
I sense their shameless
slow unbuttoning;
the implicit nakedness
there for the taking,
the surrender to the dance
of breaking and creating.
(Michael Coady: from 20th Century Irish Poems selected by Michael Longley, 2002, Faber and Faber)

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