Autochthonous
What happened in Ireland
Of course I never thought
this land would sink
teeth in my flesh -
tugging, baring
my bones.
It meant me no hurt, sheep
dog like, merely reminding
me of who I am -
what I am.
All those old stones remembering
my ancestors, telling me what
Autochthonous means - a
word I misunderstood.
Until I arrived, and crossed a bridge -
the cost more than a ha’penny.
I paid a portion of myself -
weighed in love
Paid in tears and laughter, and a fierce
longing I never knew I had,
will never ever
lose.
Over the seas, under the skies into
the lands where part of me still
lies, waiting, longing,
ever belonging.
Afterword:
I came to Ireland in 2019. My wonderful partner, Meg, has family in County Cork and lived in Ireland for a time, as a child. Her Canadian Cousins were planning to visit their relatives in Ireland and I felt, instinctively, that M needed to be there. She had been unwell. We had been working too hard, building our little family business. It was time for her to go back.
My plan was to send M while I kept things running at home. She said no. She felt too unwell. So in the end I said “Well I’ll come too!” And M agreed, and we booked the tickets - and we flew across this wide world and all the while I was thinking - I’m not that interested myself, but I’m so glad she said yes, because she needs this.
And then we arrived in Dublin, and within a day I had fallen hopelessly in love - not just with the woman I have always been hopelessly in love with (and hopefully too!), but with a land and a people I had never actually thought much about, and certainly never expected to love.
But isn’t that just how love works?
**********************************************************************
A note on “Autochthonous”:
There are various definitions, but when applied to someone who lives in a place it means “to be indigenous rather than descended from migrants or colonists.”
I myself live in Australia in what is still, essentially, a colonial society. My Mother and all my Grandparents were from the UK. Two of my Great Grandparents are from Ireland.
I have always regarded myself as Australian - and I am, and I love this land deeply. However I also spent many years living and working in remote Aboriginal/First Nation communities in the desert lands of Central Australia, and in other parts of the North, and I learned from the people there, first hand, what it means to have truly deep roots in a landscape. They have, after all, lived on this continent for a depth of time which is beyond human imagination - 60,0000 years at least.
It was a profoundly transformative experience for me, but there was a corollary I did not grasp.
Then I landed in Ireland, and something about it just…. clutched at me.
At first I thought - “Oh it’s just that old “I’m on holiday” feeling. I’ve been working too damn hard. I need this break.”
It was only a week or so later, after a long and delightful day with my wife’s relatives - visiting sites important to the family, and then sitting for hours listening to stories of people, and places and ancestors….
Something about it was incredibly familiar. It came to me.
This was the same inextricable linkage of kinship and land and history, deep deep back in time, that I had sensed in my years in the desert. Out there, it was spinifex, sand, and desert heat, the rhythm of boomerangs clapped together at ceremony; the drone of song cycles all through the night while a fire blazed.
Here it was lush green grass, rain, old stones, my wife’s Cousin (a master piper) playing music; whiskey and laughter; stories…. I climbed to the summit of Cnoc Bréanainn on St Brendan’s day….
It was so different to the land I knew, but the underlying sense was the same. We are here. This is our place. We have always been here. You are welcome.
Autochthony….
Happy St Patrick’s Day!
Sláinte!
Dave :)
 | A guest post by
|
Can a Greek chime in about the Greek word autochthonous? That is αυτόχθων, αυτό- meaning same, while -χθων means ground, soil. So, both together, mean ‘from this land’, where ‘this’ is the land one happens to be or live in.
What the ancestors did not make clear was whether the presence in that land should be physical or if just mental would suffice 😊
Happy Saint Patrick’s day!
This is a wonderful story and poem Dave. I can “almost” imagine what it would be like to be “from” a land, by your telling of it, but can never experience it myself being an immigrant and never really belonging anywhere (and that’s ok too, because it’s given me stories to tell).