Читать книгу The Ivy Entangles - D J Gill - Страница 9

The line “Dublin in the rare old times”, often comes to me.

It revives memories and makes me feel nostalgic.

I smile as I hear the train clatter across Talbot St Bridge,

Ben Hur is airing, a visit to Guiney’s,

Window shopping at Clery’s, a quick rush to the Quays

To catch the last bus home.

The 19 bus stills runs to Glasnevin, the city stretches out further.

Diehards at Crumlin, Kimmage, Drimmagh, Kilbarrack,

Terenure, Ratfarmham, Finglas, Raheny, Coolock, Artane,

And not forgetting Clontarf.

The North South dichotomy still exists, the heart of the city has not been lost.

Dublin has maintained it grandeur its status and its stature,

It will continue to nurture the soul of its people,

Temple bar, the Book of Kells, coffee at Bewleys,

A sleep in Stephens Green, these are the images,

That remains intact forever.

The sounds of Moore Street are like sweet music,

The Christmas lights, always a sense of wonderment and joy,

The hustle and bustle, looking for a bargain.

My attachment to Dublin, runs deep,

It is like a mystic contemplating,

Their love for Christ, it keeps me strong,

No matter where I am.

I was bullied as a child at school, and it was not until recently that I realised how strong an impact it had on me and my life. The poem that explores the concept of bullying focuses on the personal effect it had on me. I would stay awake at night going over the words that people would tease me about. I took the taunts and attempted to show that I wasn’t affected by the fun at my expense. I was deeply hurt and offended by the constant harangue although very few if any recognised it. The bullying lowered my self esteem and made me feel inferior to people around me. The sense of hopelessness that I often felt was an awful sensation. I never felt as though I could speak to anybody about my inner thoughts and coped the only way I knew how. I changed the way I spoke and spent hours going over correct pronunciation in my head and when I would lay awake at night. I always remember my mother’s reassuring words saying that my distinctive facial features were a sign of “aristocracy” and that people who were teasing me were just jealous.

I managed to come to terms with the bullying or at least was able to “shelve” its real impact on me. Having overcome some of the demons, I was able to use the taunts to make me stronger. My reaction to bullying made me internally a better person. I accepted people as long as they showed me appropriate respect. I inadvertently became a champion for those who were the “butt” of people’s jokes and I believe I showed a disdain for people that did not show a proper sense of dignity. It has taken me quite a while to face my demons, but I am pleased to say that I have. The poem is dedicated to all people who have been bullied. The only way to come out of the bullying mode is to stand up to the bully and face them head on.

The publishing of the poem serves as a measure of putting the subject in the public domain. Those people who were responsible for bullying me didn’t probably give it a second thought. They mocked and jeered at my expense and thought that it was all great fun. I hope that they get the opportunity of seeing or reading the piece. They have a good deal to answer for.