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Tinker Woman

Late at night when we were sleeping
they’d wake us up in a drunken
brawl below the bedroom window;
he, walnut pitted skin, tottering
in a brown patched overcoat, a worn
collapse of a caubeen slanted

on his head, slapping at her face
and she slapping back shouting abuse
at him, her black greasy hair bound
in untidy ringlets, a Guinness
bottle held awkwardly in her
red swollen hand. They were

the “bad tinkers” my aunt called them,
ones you called the Gardai on to take away
and let stew for the night. But there was
the other kind too. “Granny
tinker” we called her. She wore
a black thick woollen shawl; her skirts

in layers, three shades of grey to the ankles
and old boots a farmer must have
long ago discarded. She would
come to our kitchen door, never
asking for anything. If she was
given food she would nod and smile;

if told to come back another day
she would nod and smile and when
she returned her silence hung upon us
placidly without guilt or ease. From
the kitchen window I watched
as she walked away, her black shawl

wrapped tightly around her
shoulders, letting the world serve her
if it willed; and, if it willed that
she be ignored she would walk on
bearing that suffered placidity
upon her.

Jim,

What a perfect portrait. I wouldn't change a word of it.
I felt as though I were right there and could almost reach
out and touch the characters you were describing.

Beautiful!

Sherry

Hi Jimmy ~ This is the other one I wanted to get to.

her black greasy hair bound
in untidy ringlets, a Guinness
bottle held awkwardly in her
red swollen hand

Vivid picture of a long-time alcoholic woman... her greasy hair, unclean and unkempt, with barely an attempt to control it... symbolic of her life; I love how the Guinness bottle is held awkwardly in her hand [it could drop any minute, either because her hand couldn't maintain its grip; or because she couldn't maintain her gait, and both she and the bottle would crash to the ground. Her red swollen hand shows the toll of alcohol abuse on her body; as she screams out at him for the abuse he's perpetrating, she is in the midst of what she continues to perpetrate upon herself [NOT to say that this justifies what he does].

Late at night when we were sleeping
they’d wake us up in a drunken

Yes, "late at night"... they always stayed until the pub closed before making their unstable way home. "They'd wake us" ~ the ongoing, relentless pattern of this is immediately apparent with "They'd."

Only because "tottering" is a common term for old people and, perhaps even for drunks, in this spot, I somehow wish you'd find a way to convey the same thing, without using that exact word [this is just a personal thing with me, not a big deal]. "Tottering" actually works quite efficiently in painting that aspect of this picture, so hey...

I love the familiarity of the 'common' reference your aunt has for them [she apparently always referenced them this way, as though they actually had no real names of their own, at all], as she made the distinction between the "bad tinkers" and "Granny tinker"... 180 out from each other. "Granny" was referred to affectionately, with a term that somehow universally represents the best, albeit she's very old and living in poverty. The two seem to be exploiting their circumstance [although it's obviously out of their control, due to their chronic alcoholism]; whereas, she is quietly and humbly accepting hers, with the faith that the universe will take care of her and provide what she needs... not intruding or imposing upon anyone. The "bad tinkers," on the other hand, with regularity, disrupt others people's lives, including interruption of their sleep, the one time in a person's day when they ought to be able to find some peace. They burst upon the night. She visits quietly during the day. Darkness and light. They generate irritation. She generates compassion.

She wore
a black thick woollen shawl; her skirts

in layers, three shades of grey to the ankles
and old boots a farmer must have
long ago discarded.

I love the details you've chosen to describe this old, peasant-like woman, humble and real in both her dress and her behaviour.

She would
come to our kitchen door, never
asking for anything. If she was
given food she would nod and smile;

if told to come back another day
she would nod and smile and when
she returned her silence hung upon us
placidly without guilt or ease.

I like the way you've painted both gratitude and acceptance; and how her silence hung upon you, yet without guile on her part.

if it willed that
she be ignored she would walk on
bearing that suffered placidity
upon her.

No harsh words; just an acceptance of her fate.

Having read this, I feel like I've been to the narrow streets of Dublin or some other Irish town or city. As Sherry said, I too feel like I can reach out and touch these people. Such great contrast of character 'development' ~ loud and raucous vs. quiet and meek. Sad picture of them; compassionate of her.

I enjoyed the density of your detail, Jimmy . I love this poem. "Granny tinker" also reminds me of the very old woman feeding the pigeons at the top of the steps in the movie "Mary Poppins" ~ "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag... " ~ poignant.


~ Lizzy

Yes, you paint potent images with your words yet again, Jimmy.

...she would walk on
bearing that suffered placidity
upon her.

That is a really unusual, and accurate description!

Happy St Patrick's Day to you.

Diane