Edmund Siejka Poet Narrative

The Irishman

This is who I am
My name is Stanislaus J. O’Connor
Born on April 17th in Belfast, Ireland
Youngest of eight children
My father admired the Polish people
The way they fought 
During the last Great War
When the odds were against them
Wanted me to be strong
Like them
So he named me Stanislaus.

I carried that name  
Not without some teasing
Took it in stride
Solidarity came along
Organized by Polish dock workers in the 1980’s
Ended Communist rule
Father remembered stories 
Of 1910
When ten thousand dock workers went on strike 
Closed Belfast down
Taught the Brits a lesson. 

Young, unemployed and drunk 
I saw an artist friend of mine
He worked on me all day
Not stopping except to wipe the drippings on my back
I felt no particular pain
Jut laid there flat on my stomach
Waiting
When it was over 
I had the color and imagery
From the tattoo 
Of a Polish Cross.

Listened to the people
Took to the streets
In the struggle
Against the Brits 

One night 
Strangers jumped out of the shadows
Put flashlights to my eyes
Stood me up  
Led me out
In handcuffs.

At HM Prison Maze I was kept in a small cell
Occasionally let out to walk in the prison yard
One summer afternoon 
I took off my shirt
Paddy asked me what’s that on your back
Polish Cross I said
Murmur of voices
Fellow inmates hesitated
Someone near the wall broke the silence,
“Let him be. God is in every cross.” 

In despair a cell mate said he couldn’t take it anymore
Afraid that he would die in prison
Recalling words
From an old Catholic catechism
I said
“No man can learn what his heart cannot hold“.
I made up the rest
“Tell God what you stand for
He’ll understand
And forgive you.”

Ten years later 
Dragged from my cell
Feet barely touching ground  
I was released on amnesty.

Coming home
Family met me 
Open arms
Some traveled from faraway
Felt good
To touch warm hands

Climbed to the top of Cavehill
Seagulls 
Glide in lazy circles 
Twelve hundred feet above sea level
Overlooking Belfast 
From its heights 
The world can be seen  
Across a wind swept ocean of  dark memories
Of what once was
My youth.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Skat A November 28, 2015 at 10:13 PM Edmund,, :) Congratulations on having your poem featured on the soups, Home Page. ~SKAT LOVE~

Teddy Kimathi November 24, 2015 at 1:20 AM Hi Edmund. Congrats for having your piece featured in the Poetry Soup home page! 8WW Edmund Siejka November 24, 2015 at 9:47 AM Thanks for the good words !

Debbie Duncan November 23, 2015 at 10:22 PM Awesome story, is it true story for you or someone else ? I'm Scotch-Irish and Norwegian :) Edmund Siejka November 24, 2015 at 9:50 AM I got the idea for the poem when I met someone who had relatives imprisoned in Ireland. When I found out that James Joyce's younger brother was named Stanislaus I ran with the poem.