An Féar Gorta [Terence Winch]

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An Féar Gorta

 

If I ever go back home again, we will drive

through the countryside just as it is getting dark.

We will gather together in the town’s only hotel,

eating, and telling jokes at each other’s expense.

 

My heart beats steady there, my spirit alive

to every gesture, every glance, the fire and spark

we find in those we love. Those to whom we tell

our dark secrets along with our idiotic nonsense.

 

Whatever route I take, I always seem to get lost.

I have a tendency to choose the wrong road

to the wrong place. I wind up confused and stranded

wondering if I’ll ever make it home.

 

But I want that ticket back, no matter what the cost.

At An Féar Gorta I want that rhubarb tart a la mode.

I am even willing to stand in the rain, and be reprimanded

for the sorry, soggy state in which I’ve left this poem.

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                                  at An Féar Gorta with cousins Monica (Guthrie) Donovan and Mary Guthrie, Oct. 2013

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An Féar Gorta is one of my favorite eating establishments in the world. Located in Ballyvaughan, in County Clare, Ireland, where I have many beloved relations, it is a place, as the poem suggests, that I look forward to visiting again. 

I originally thought the term meant "the hungry man," as "fear" is “man” in Irish. But the fada (accent) confused me---instead of "fear," it's "féar," which means “grass.” So, the name translates to "The Hungry Grass," a term going back to the Famine. More information can be found here, here, and here.

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                                      the garden at An Féar Gorta. Photo by T. Winch

Comments

[Grace Cavalieri]

Oh Terence, you make a way of having that home be ours.

[lally]

another brilliant poem, terence! and so good to see mary, even if only in a photograph, I'll never return to ireland in this lifetime, unfortunately, but this poem nonetheless expresses my feelings about desiring that still

[David Lehman]

For "the hungry grass"
I thank you, and for the green
season of the mind
in the photograph.

In tonight's tanka, you and
I are dining there, my friend.

[Emily Fragos]

I love the "hungry grass." What a sublime place. I'd like a slice of that delicious rhubarb pie, too. Thank you for this gentle, lovely poem.

[Daniel Tobin]

Terence, I know this establishment well and have sampled its glories whenever we take our students to Ballyvaughan during the summer, as we will this July. You've captured it beautifully. I'll order some rhubarb pie a la mode in your honor when we go, and a pint after at O'Locklan's.

[Barbara Hennin]

Terence I'm hungry now and planning my next trip. Thanks for this poem. Love of place. And food.

[Chris Mason]

I love the hungry grass and the garden and especially the confusing wandering way back home . Thank you for this one!

[Beth J.]

Beautiful homeward gaze, Terence. How fortunate to know that place, those people, and to bring them to us so gracefully.

[Jody Payne]

Many thanks Terence

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, Grace.

[Terence Winch]

Thank you, Michael. We are filled with longing.

[Terence Winch]

Sounds good to me, David.

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, Emily. Glad you liked it.

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, Dan.  I'm delighted you know the place. Your students are lucky you're bringing them there. My father's mother was born and raised in Ballyvaughan, so the place is very dear to me.

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, Barbara. I hope you make it there---you'll love it.

[Terence Winch]

Thank you, Chris.

[Terence Winch]

You're most welcome, Jody.

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, Beth. You'd love it if you ever get the chance to go over.

[Robert McDowell]

Terence, this sweet poem fills me with longing for home places in Ireland I've carried with me all my life. Thanks for taking me back there, including this Heaven-stop in Clare.

[Bill Nevins]

Ah Terence now you have me committing to another visit to Eire if only to sample this wonderful place of nourishment. And, hey, being confused stranded and soggy in the lovely County Clare is not the worst fate that could befall a wandering Yank. I will bring Joe and Etain McCooey from Doolin there when next I visit. And yerself as well, saints willing!

[Terence Winch]

Thanks back to you, Robert.

[Terence Winch]

You are so right, Bill. Not a bad fate at all.

[Don Berger]

Beautiful song! I love how the speaker at the start seems to have a definite idea of where we're heading, and a bit later reveals that he tends to get lost and end up at the wrong place--whoops! Then, glorious, the speaker reaches to great heights saying he wants "that ticket" to get back home, which he ties to this very vivid memory of the glorious rhubarb tart a la mode. Fabulous.

[Terence Winch]

Don: Thanks, mon ami. I always love your reading of a poem.

[Gerald Fleming]

Dug this poem, Terence. Easy naturalness, loved the self-chiding at the end, We're working on Ger's Irish papers!