Anne Irwin was born in Ballyhaunis, Co Mayo, Ireland . She lived on Muighinis Island for 13 years and later moved to Galway city. She has three sons and five grandchildren. She studied English and Philosophy in the National University of Ireland, Galway and is a practicing homeopath and teacher. She loves gardening in spring and cooking in winter. She draws inspiration from nature and everyday life for her poetry which is often political and sometimes satirical. Her poetry was published in R.O.P.E.S magazine in 2011, 2012 and in Emerge Literary Magazine August 2012. She was a featured reader at Over the Edge Galway City library in February 2012, at the Clarinbridge Arts festival September 2011, the Galway International Quilting festival June 2012 and the Galway Fringe festival 2012, Volvo Ocean Race Festival Galway July 2012, and at the N.U.I.G. Alumni evening 2011.
Five poems by Anne Irwin
Summer in Galway
Today the clouds heaped back
over the Salthill Hotel
wait.
Under a turquoise sky
the sea sparkles
the gentian whale-mouth beams,
we walk the prom
sucking crisp air
deep into our shallow lungs.
soaking sun
into our sodden bones,
tanning our winter skin
as though by osmosis
we would become radiant
and glisten with summer.
As though there was a summer
as though we can inhale clouds
transforming them into bright tomorrows.
Towards evening
a parchment moon rises,
hangs low over O’Connors chimney
watching.
The clouds, stir
puff like a steam engine
spread out over the prom,
over the liquid sunset.
Tomorrow another deluge .
Summer in Galway
All We can do is Wait
(This poem was inspired by Mary whose husband Keith suffered from Alzheimer’s. She was his carer)
Framed in the brown respite window
I wave to you
A smile melts your bewildered face
And I know you understand I have to go
And that here your fragile mind is free to meander
The intangible world that is now your home.
A year ago you stopped traffic
Played with the pedestrian lights
chanted at passers-by,
or stockpiled stolen sugar and bananas
But one by one even those thin threads
that connected you to our world
snapped.
Your mind dissolved
your words disappeared
At home I am your jailor.
You alert
waiting
a clink of the lock
and you beeline nowhere
and lose yourself in alien streets.
Inpatient with your pacing
I remind myself that whatever I do for you
You would do a thousand fold for me.
I think of
Our forest walks
And you would sing to me.
For fleeting moments
I still see that love in your eyes.
You used to say I was your goddess ,
your Hindu Kali , your Isis.
I cherish those rare moments
and know that they will not last.
For now your beautiful ephemeral spirit
That gossamer film of light
is trapped in your coarse crude body.
All we can do is wait.
7/02/2010
A Feda O’Donnell Bus Journey
Letterkenny to Galway
Lamb chops munch the golden twilight
at Knockaree I put on my rose tinted sun glasses
making tomorrow, a shepherds delight.
From Balleybofey to Grange
The Red Hot Chilli Peppers rock the dozing bus.
We pass sycamore, oak, and hazel
clustering shadows on the Mayo hills,
cattle grazing into the disappearing night.
At Tubbercurry the news reports
“Greece votes to stay in the euro zone.
The left congratulates the right”
A strip of red, lights the horizon
the Nephins turn navy and fade into sky.
A sleeping girl in a maroon jacket stirs.
Near Claremore’s rte announces a breakthrough
“The first Irish person received a frozen embryo.
Freezing increases the possibility of survival by 20%”
House lights dot the darkness,
and in the blue glow of the bus
I wonder if the frozen embryo children
will have delusional ice disorders,
Sleeping Beauty vacuum packed on ice
or Oisin frozen in the moment of his return?
Somewhere between Ballindine and Tuam
the grey head of the man in front rolls
onto the rain streaked window.
The talk show plays “Small Bump”
Ed Sheeran sings
“With Finger nails the size of a half grain of rice”
I wonder if the frozen embryo children will dream of
mammoths, belugas and narwhales.
The bus rattles down the N17
soft, like a cradle through the night.
At midnight we reach Galway.
Christmas at Rockfield
Outside, the naked apple tree
drips crystals
in the morning thaw
winter and green algae
flake the shed
in the flower bed geraniums
crisp and brown.
Inside we baste the goose
funnel sloe gin
roll damson Truffles
and together sing
“Ar son an am fado mo gra”
to the lighting Christmas pudding.
Next door Siobhan’s hens stop laying
and spend more time in
the hutch built by
the French aeronautical engineer.
At Noor’s we light the solstice candles.
All is still,
Bethlehem
As Catherine’s three paw cat slinks along the garden fence.
Jan 7th.2011
The power of black
My granny was suspicious of fun
she thought it was too modern
frivolous , irreverent.
She wore black
not risqué black
but sombre black
Mother of sorrows black.
Every day before dusk she took her
constitutional walk to the mile bush
when we saw her coming
we hid behind the Cyprus hedge
at the bottom of the garden..
One day she nabbed me.
To make her laugh I said
“Granny there’s a fly on your nose”
with a flick of her middle finger
she swiped the air
“April fool” I said.
She stopped in the middle of the Knock road
stared down at me with wounded eyes
“Do you not know what day this is?”
“Yes” I said “ April Fools day.”
“Did your mother never tell you that your grandfather,
Her father, my husband, died on this day in 1934”
“No” I said, ashamed.
“It’s typical of them,” she confided
“It’s the way the world is going, her head’s turned,
it’s those pictures from Hollywood,
in The Parochial Hall too
don’t know why the priests allow it,
but sure they’re just as bad.
There’s no knowing where it will end”.
She said, shaking her head all the way
to the mile bush and back.
I walked in silence beside her.
Guilt, a boulder heavy in my head.
After that my auntie bought her a lilac cardigan,
And the world changed.
Oct 2012
The Galway Review 
Just a few of the many gems by Anne Irwin. The poem “All We can do is Wait” particularly stands out to me, as it is about my father Keith. Anne excellently and insightfully captured the nuances of what my mother experienced in her life as a carer, and as someone who was slowly loosing her husband. As well as using her poetry for its ascetic value, Anne has done great philanthropic work with the Society of Saint Vincent De Paul, where I work, which makes her work all the more laudable.
*aesthetic
I love Anne’s poetry because each of her poems is inspired by experiences in her own life. Her poetry evokes the range of human emotions from sadness to humour etc. She was with Keith and myself when she got the inspiration to write “All we can do is wait”, it brought tears to my eyes when she first read it for me.
I have read most of Anne’s poetry and can feel the words hop out of the page. Well done
5 fantastic poems , well done Anne . I LOVE the poem ” all we can do is wait” , brings tears to my eyes
Anne`s poetry is a joy to read. It creates such a wonderful picture of her life growing up in Mayo & the Granny in the Mother of Sorrows Black. Also in ” Christmas in Rockfield ” you can almost smell the Goose in the oven & taste the Damson Truffles. Her Poems suit all moods, sad, happy, funny, thoughtful. Hope we hear a lot more from Anne in the near future.