My Grandmother’s Brogue
My grandmother hid her brogue
the way I insert R’s
where they used to not exist
in a Rebel South
where folks say “y’all”
and I say “you guys”
when I let down my guard
My grandmother couldn’t hide
her Irish temper
She taught it to my father
who thought its harshness
would make us stronger
But as he got older he learned
that oppression breeds poverty
and poverty brutality
How well we hide
our wounds
constrict our throats
to muffle grief
in every language
“It was for my own good”
“I turned out all right” we say
In a big hole it all goes
We used to think if we dug far enough
we’d get to China
As if we wouldn’t come across
all manner of corpses and treasure
As if we could disregard our own family trauma
My Grandmother came to America
to be a servant
and then have 11 children
for the Catholic Church
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”
I used to think a brogue was a brooch
a shiny pin I could proudly wear
that would restore me to my rightful status
“Don’t shine too bright
You’ll attract the thieves
The neighbors will think you’re uppity
and surely it’s a sin”
was the family inheritance I received
So we hide what is most valuable
along with what is shameful
and after a while we don’t
know the difference
between our corpses and our treasures
our brogues and brooches
In a big hole it all goes
But it never goes away
My Grandmother’s brogue
grows green in my throat
because what we bury takes root
________Colleen Redman, written around 20000 / Poets United
October 16th, 2016 4:31 am
Beautiful. I do so love this. Rich with meaning and feeling. Makes me want to hug you.
October 16th, 2016 10:05 am
Wow! This is wonderful. With my Catholic, New England, Irish heritage and my need to dig to China, to fulfill my need to dig my way out of it.
I’ve also been enjoying reading your political thoughts.
October 16th, 2016 10:18 am
Wow!
“But as he got older he learned
that oppression breeds poverty
and poverty brutality”
Yes. Dig that hole. Bury the treasure. Dig it up.
October 16th, 2016 10:20 am
after a while we don’t
know the difference
between our corpses and our treasures
our brogues and brooches
…loved it… a wonderful poem.
October 16th, 2016 10:49 am
“..what we bury takes root”, indeed. The horrid things we would avoid if we pay attention to these words more closely, the wonderful things we would nurture into growing strong.
October 16th, 2016 11:03 am
How well we hide
our wounds
constrict our throats
to muffle grief
in every language
This is so touching!! ❤️
Beautifully penned.
October 16th, 2016 11:56 am
This is an excellent poem… A family history and so much I can relate to.
Have you ever heard of the Jante Law… when I read this:
So we hide what is most valuable
along with what is shameful
and after a while we don’t
know the difference
between our corpses and our treasures
our brogues and brooches
I thought of that, maybe it’s more universal than I thought… thank you so much for sharing
October 16th, 2016 12:38 pm
This is more written from the perspective of Jungian analysis and the results of generations of oppression than the Jante Law, which I had to look up and deals a social standard that “criticizes individual success and achievement as unworthy and inappropriate.”
October 16th, 2016 12:49 pm
This is a wonderfully rich poem, the brogue, the history, and those powerful closing lines. Excellent Work!
October 16th, 2016 2:00 pm
Good heavens, this is strong.
October 16th, 2016 2:20 pm
It goes and never goes away – what a stand out line.. I hope all the light can be reclaimed
October 16th, 2016 4:36 pm
this is magnificent in so many ways. so glad you shared it here.
October 16th, 2016 10:52 pm
Beautiful.
October 17th, 2016 1:03 am
Thought-provoking! Excellent thoughts.
October 17th, 2016 8:40 am
I wish I could write this well,
October 17th, 2016 10:33 am
[…] projected a video clip of me reading “My Grandmother’s Brouge” at a Spoken World night on St. Patrick’s Day in 2007 and, in part, with an Irish accent […]