Christmas: A time to reflect, a time to lose myself in poetry
He was a countryman - well, originally before his later sojourn in Dublin. A poet and a farmer, Kavanagh was close to his beloved, yet often despised, ‘stony grey soil’ of his native Monaghan.
In comparison to the struggle he and his neighbours had in wresting or eking a living from poor, wet soil, I often think I had it easy.
Farming good land is a pleasure. You know the land, the fields - every single plot - and can be confident of its ability to produce abundant crops, fatten cattle, and ensure cows give plentiful yields.
Being close to the land and nature and daily seeing the beauty of the world all around has been my good fortune with half a century.
Kavanagh, like Seamus Heaney, Yeats, and a myriad of others - well, they were poets and properly recognised as such. Around Christmas each year, and into the New Year with no matches, meetings or writing to do, one of my joys is to take down a poetry book, and by a fine fire, read and absorb the words. To me that’s sheer Christmas bliss - is can’t be bought or paid for, just enjoyed.
In from the yard, maybe rain or frost, with the farmwork done, looking forward to a fireside evening -is there ’ere a thing better?
In Christmas Childhood, the Inniskeen poet/farmer wrote about
The words ‘or any common sight’ are stunning. Common things like a sunrise, birdsong, a rabbit by a fence - simplicity in themselves, but gorgeously beautiful.
For many, this time of year is all hustle and bustle, and that’s understandable, but as Christmas comes I find it a very reflective period. Like standing on a ditch looking to the left at the shrinking year, and to the right the massive, unknown opportunity that next year brings.
I used to dabble in writing poetry but after Mam died in 1996, the inspiration, the ‘muse’, the yen to craft lines - well, it just left me, never to return.
Someone said to me in recent years, ‘John, you might have been a better poet than farmer’ - I never can work out if that was a compliment or a veiled insult! To tell the truth, I’ve lost no sleep dwelling on the matter either.
At this time of year, of course, I think a lot about Mam and Dada. Kavanagh wrote Outside in the cow-house my mother/Made the music of milking; and I can just about remember when I was four or five and Mam and Paddy Geary still milked our cows by hand over in the stall.
A few years later, we got the first milking machine, but in the early 1960s the sound of the milk being squirted into the aluminium buckets still rings in my mind’s ear. They sat on the three-legged stools, heads leaning on the cow’s hot, rising and falling stomach.
We walk the same haggard and fields where my great-grandparents trod when they came here in the 1870s. I suppose their first Christmas in their new house was lovely for them and I think how lucky I am to be still in that dwelling with a loving family all around.
Family means so much to me all year round - and not just close relatives, but second and third and fifth cousins, twice removed. They say blood is thicker than water, and I think in my case mine is thicker than most!
As the years go and the Christmases come, we have every right-even obligation, to be a bit reflective. Yes, we live in the present and look forward to the future, but we’re shaped by the past, and too many people who want change for the sake of change have long forgotten their roots, culture and traditions.
No, I won’t start ‘giving out’ to anyone! It’s Christmas time and the spirit of goodwill and happiness pervades this lovely season, and that’s as it should be.
This past year I was faced with the decision as to my future work-life. Keep going as before or retire? Procrastination is defined as postponing decision-making until another time, and I suppose that sums me up perfectly!
Yes, I’m winding down, yet at this Christmas time of birth and renewal I’m already looking forward to next spring as the wheels of the farming year start rotating faster once more.
This past year was wonderful, with the highlight for me being a few days’ holidays in West Cork with the entire family - three generations of the Arnolds all together. I never realised the treasure, pleasure, and joy that being a grandparent brings and am so grateful for being so blessed.
Lads, little did I think back in 2007 when Maurice Gubbins asked me to ‘write an article for the Evening Echo’ that all these years later I’d still be tapping away with one finger on my laptop every Tuesday night. Thanks a million to all those who provide me with inspiration and thoughts to write about.
There’s scarcely a day passes that I don’t get a text, a letter or an email from someone, somewhere, concerning something I’ve written. Not all agree with my views, but that’s wonderful too in its own way. We all need to be challenged and none of us have a monopoly on wisdom!
As this very special and lovely Christmas season comes to us once more, I wish each and every one of you readers a happy and holy Christmas. May the joy of God’s peace be with you all.
In Lourdes lately, I thought of so many who have suffered illness, sadness, and bereavement during 2024 – I pray for you all at Christmas and hope the coming year will be a happier and better time for all of you. Have a happy, healthy, holy, enjoyable and peaceful Christmas.
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