Books: ‘It feels unfair to have a child... I probably over-think things’

Poet Molly Twomey’s second collection, Chic To Be Sad, has been described as “a young woman’s report from the front-lines of experience”.

It packs quite a punch, with poems that are direct and sometimes devastating, as when she writes about a fire in her family home.

At other times, the writing is wry and sardonic.

All the time, the 29-year-old UCC graduate, from Lismore, who has an MA in creative writing from the university, is brave in her willingness to reveal her demons and her vulnerability, but never in any self-pitying way.

Molly wrote about her eating disorder in her first collection, Raised Among Vultures, which was shortlisted for the Seamus Heaney Poetry Prize for Best first Collection, and won the Southword Debut collection Poetry Award.

She was awarded the 2023 Ireland Chair of Poetry Bursary, as well as an Arts Council Literature Bursary in 2024.

In short, this talented poet made quite an impact in poetry circles with her impressive debut.

Asked how much of her poetry is autobiographical, she says: “Most of it is. Of course, I take liberties. Truth doesn’t have to mean fact.

“Sometimes, it’s the truth of feeling. I love using my imagination, especially when it comes to things like metaphor and comparison.

“The writing is mostly true, but not entirely.”

Does she not feel terribly exposed, writing about personal matters (albeit in a way that registers universal truths)?

“I was talking about this to my partner recently because often, I really worry about my loved ones and the fact that I write about them,” says Molly.

“But then I said that I’m never worried about myself. I don’t mind writing about personal things, although in saying that, there are poems, particularly in my first book, which I don’t read at events.

“I’m not afraid to publish them. But it would be harder to take ownership of them maybe at a reading.”

When she first started writing, Molly says she found it therapeutic to describe aspects of her eating disorder.

“That was definitely the case at the beginning. Eventually, my relationship with poetry became more focused on craft and the act of trying to write well.”

Molly likes to test her poetry by reading it aloud to herself.

“I like to see how it feels and to get the sense of it. The sound of it is really important.

“It has to sound right to me so that there is no jarring. The sound should in some way express the content.

“I find the craft of writing poetry fun and playful, messing around and seeing what works. Sometimes the content is hard, wrangling with it and figuring it out.”

There seems to be no shortage of material, for Molly who writes sharply – and amusingly – about a mechanic ignoring her in the poem The Mechanic Speaks To My Boyfriend Over My Head.

She writes: ‘Even if I plucked every hair from my scalp,/wore a flannel shirt, rolled in dust,/pretended I’d fixed up my own fleet/of shitboxes, elbow-deep in decades of grease/and grit, he’d still write me off.’

Most female car owners could identify with the sentiment.

The poem Why We Don’t Have Kids, speaks to a generation locked out of homeownership and security, prerequisites for having a family in Molly’s view.

“Often, I think if I had a lot of money, would I have had kids by now? The cost of living is so expensive,” she says.

“Me and my partner are both working in the arts field, so we don’t have mortgages or security. There’s no savings.

“It feels unfair to bring a child into the world.”

Molly says she has had “struggles” in life, adding: “With body dysmorphia, what would it mean for me to bring a child into the world?”

She also worries about postpartum depression. “I’m sitting down with all of these thoughts. I probably over-think things.”

One thing that Molly is very positive about is working in the arts in Ireland.

While the sector is often under-funded for artists, she feels “really supported” here.

The Arts Council has awarded her development money and she is pleased with her publisher, Gallery Books.

“There are so many different arts festivals in Ireland, offering so many opportunities,” says Molly.

“I’m currently writing an opera with young people in Sligo for the Sligo Music Festival.”

She is also doing creative outreach work for Bodywhys, an organisation which supports people with eating disorders.

On the subject of eating disorders, Molly says that the beauty industry “has targeted men in recent years”, adding: “There is so much pressure on young men now. It’s probably under-diagnosed, especially among gym ‘bros’.

“Every day they have to eat a certain amount of food to meet targets. It’s scary.”

Molly is disparaging in dissecting the type of retreats that focus on the body.

Writing about a woman in such a setting, she declares: ‘I’d rather pulverize my eardrum/than endure your juice cleanse spiel.’

But Molly doesn’t blame the nameless woman. Rather, she is just a product of a society obsessed with ‘wellness’.

A fan of writer Annemarie Ní Churreáin, author of Ghostgirl, Molly likes the way the poet “moves away from individualism and more into collective experiences”.

She explains: “I’m really interested in trying to write poetry that moves away from the ‘I’ and starts to look more at society.

“I think individualism is starting to come apart a little.”

Future plans for this poet will involve doing a Phd at UCC, writing about the body, starting in September.

Chic To Be Sad is published by Gallery Books at €12.95 in paperback and €19.95 in hardback.

See www.gallerypress.com.