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Introduction:
Exile & Homecoming
Derek Poole
From
the Ardoyne Road...
Norman Hamilton
From
the Director
David Porter
Exile
and Homecoming
David McMillan
Be
Careful What You Wish For
Gareth Higgins
Bonfire
Reflections
Alwyn Thomson
Rights,
Relationships and Responsibilities
Kelvin McCracken
Wilson
On Suffering
Alan Wilson
Faith
and Practice - Debbie Watters
Ruth Hutchinson
Forgiveness
Janet Morris
POEMS
This year’s
ECONI summer school was once again a rich and challenging experience (see
the enclosed ECONI Newsletter). The event is always demanding as participants
commit themselves to four days of exploration into the theological, cultural
and political realities that shape life in Northern Ireland. As part of
the Summer School programme we have been keen to include opportunities
for more reflective moments and the introduction of a number of arts workshops
has provided participants with a creative space in which to process their
experience of the week and to give some emotional expression to what they
have been discovering. Out of this year’s poetry workshop came a
number of poems that reflect this process and we offer them here as an
alternative way of considering the persistent issues that face us as we
continue to work for peace and reconciliation in our community.
bonfire in sandy
row
Out of the night
sky a distant rumble roars,
A shaft of power strikes the ground.
Around the fire the
crowds converge,
Dance to Athenry, to Sash, to dark pulsating beat.
Raw energy wells up and strikes the pyre.
The heat, the searing, burning light,
The crack of deadly, frightened guns proclaim the pain of Sandy Row.
The pain of ones who feel sold out,
Sold out for fancy flats, for ministerial car.
When will the pain
strike next?
Which innocent will feel its searing heat?
Kevin Brew
forgive?
I followed him outside
that day,
just like every day.
It was spring, and the early rain
left a tender scent
of kissed earth,
that day.
I said goodbye to
him
that day,
just like every day.
The sun glistened
on the damp grass
and new life from the earth
that day.
When sound exploded
in the stillness of the morning,
and flames licked the air,
I sank to my knees.
No strength to breathe,
no strength to understand:
I could not comfort my children
and I could not weep
that day.
Forgive?
Every fibre in me burns
to see screaming pain and trapped terror
in their eyes.
Who would not ask for that,
and who would not grant it?
No, I’ll not forgive. I’ll hate,
and I’ll propagate
the vengeance culture
of my land.
For only a Spirit
stronger than iron
could lift that weight of violent desire.
And even stronger still,
to bear the weight of accumulated justice
that our history demands.
Sarah Parkinson
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