THE YELLOW RIVER - Seán McSweeney & Gerard Smyth
The Yellow River is a tributary of the Blackwater (Kells), which joins the Boyne at Navan, County Meath that unites the personal histories of poet Gerard Smyth and artist Sean McSweeney. Gerard Smyth spent many summers in Meath staying with his grandmother and an aunt, whilst originally Sen McSweeney’s family lived in Clongill until the untimely death of his father. Over two years Gerard Smyth revisited Meath in further inquiry with Belinda Quirke, Director of Solstice, in the development of a new suite of poems, recollecting and revisiting significant sites of occurrence in the poet’s and county’s history. Sean McSweeney created new work from trips to his original home place and the county. McSweeney here responds lyrically to particular sites of Smyth’s poetry, whilst also depicting in watercolour, ink, tempera and drawing, the particular hues of The Royal County.
The Yellow River is a tributary of the Blackwater (Kells), which joins the Boyne at Navan, County Meath that unites the personal histories of poet Gerard Smyth and artist Sean McSweeney. Gerard Smyth spent many summers in Meath staying with his grandmother and an aunt, whilst originally Sen McSweeney’s family lived in Clongill until the untimely death of his father. Over two years Gerard Smyth revisited Meath in further inquiry with Belinda Quirke, Director of Solstice, in the development of a new suite of poems, recollecting and revisiting significant sites of occurrence in the poet’s and county’s history. Sean McSweeney created new work from trips to his original home place and the county. McSweeney here responds lyrically to particular sites of Smyth’s poetry, whilst also depicting in watercolour, ink, tempera and drawing, the particular hues of The Royal County.
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YANKS
The house of dereliction is rotting
from within – gathering dust,
falling to bits. In its small rooms
sparrows have made their nests and sing
the only lullabies this house has heard
since the year after a difficult birth.
Between the wars it was deserted
for a sailing ticket, a New York job.
Now yanks who return to the spot,
stop five minutes and aim their cameras
to take a picture of the remnant
of what once was the heart of things.
At the tourist office they receive a map
of the heritage sites and good advice
on where to cross the river,
where to find monuments off
the beaten track but seen on postcards
showing the treasures of the Boyne.
Since childhood they have listened
to lore from a family archive,
the names of distant cousins.
They cannot stay long,
just enough time for the scenic drive.
Another country is waiting for them.
Passing through the Night
Tempera on paper
14.5 x 20.5 cm
2016
43
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