wonderfully warm in winter

My parents became accidental textile entrepreneurs after a hitch-hike holiday to Donegal in 1950. Hand weaving is an important part of my family myth and life…

Wonderfully_Warm_in_Winter_Nighttime

In the far-flung corrugated country shed

craft dreams bloomed in optimistic head;

a wooden loom-bench rocked creaking,

industrious shuttles, excitedly speaking,

box-chambered energy expelled with speed,

shiny bullet-nosed boats, harvesting tweed.

 

Weft clasped warp in organic embrace,

sweat glazed idealist, bespectacled face,

plank pedals foot-pumped up-and-down,

he paused, found flaws, critically frowned,

halted that backbeat, persistent percussion,

alter ego argued, passionate discussion.

 

My father wove mother’s sun-lit hues

blanketed fibres, rural colour-infused;

both design-dazzled dull and frugal Fifties,

exported their handweaves to European cities,

those pilgrims bravely, brightly fought,

their carefully crafted cloth eagerly sought.

 

Fond fabrics, faintly echoing eternity,

I’m holy-hugged, embraced maternally;

wonderfully warm in wintry night-time,

treasured stories my parental paradigm:

care-crafted cloth, thoughtful their hands,

designed in distant Donegal, now dreamland.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s