“A Gaeltacht Wish” (2023): My Poem on Cottagecore and Irish literature

As adorable as I think the “cottagecore” trend is, I do not like the vast over-identification with female aesthetics I’ve been noticing in contemporary culture. I will say more on this later on, but I will appreciate the beauty of it here (also see Kiki’s Delivery Service). 

This poem pays homage to Irish literature of the 19th and 20th centuries. “The gaeltacht” is recognized as the counties in Ireland that speak in their native, gaelic tongue and have retained much of their heritage despite colonization. Dubliners by James Joyce remains my whole <3 and one of my favorite books. A book of mundanity that portrays the vast paralysis we as a culture feel. If anyone is curious, I highly recommend reading Joyce’s love letters to his wife Nora (I’ll just say she’s one lucky woman). 

A Gaeltacht Wish

She rose in the cruelest month 

yet nature— benign and good

outcast her from slumber

like a sprite with a wake up crow 

for her wake up call. 

She grazed pastures of green 

gathering sunlight in her woven basket.

Herding them ray by ray

to be relinquished to the garden

as a shepherd of her ethos.

She fluttered to the patch 

playing until her body glowed.

Collecting riches in marigolds and reproducing Baby’s-breath 

to lure spiders to share the tonic of wildness with her.

They rather spin webs that ensnare–

a gossamer that takes coin for the ferryman 

from countless flies

one by one.  

Yet that sprite, 

once the mossy floors wave under tangerine skies–

she flitters back to her cottage

resigning herself to an idyllic den.  

Like a playful little trickster

fooling herself 

that solitude is solace 

and not fantastical escape.

-A