WE ARE DAMNED, MY SISTERS by Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill

We are damned, my sisters,

we who swam at night

on beaches, with the stars

laughing with us

phosphoresense about us

we shreiking with delight

with the coldness of the tide

without shifts or dresses

as innocent as infants.

We are damned, my sisters.

We are damned, my sisters,

we who accepted the priests’ challenge

our kindred’s challenge:who ate from destiny’s dish

who have knowledge of good and evil

who are no longer concerned.

We spent nights in Eden’s fields

eating apples, gooseberries; roses

behind our ears, singing songs

around the gipsy bon-fires

drinking and romping with sailors and robbers;

and so we’re damned, my sisters.

We didn’t darn stockings

we didn’t comb or tease

we knew nothing of handmaidens

except the one in high Heaven.

We preferred to be shoeless by the tide

dancing singly on the wet sand

the piper’s tune coming to us

on the kind Spring wind, than to be

indoors making strong tea for the men —

and so we’re damed, my sisters!

Our eyes will go to the worms

our lips to the clawed crabs

and our livers will be given

as food to the parish dogs.

The hair will be torn from our heads

the flesh flayed from our bones.

They’ll find apple seeds and gooseberry skins

in the remains of our vomit

when we are damed, my sisters.

This has got to be one of my all-time favourite poems! Actually this is a translation from the Irish, the language it was first written in. However the poet’s first language is English and she did collaborate with another very well known Irish poet to translate this poem into English. The original Irish of course captures nuances that are lost in translation, yet still the poem remains strong, largely because of its imagery, especially all those images that refer to Irish Catholicism (”We spent nights in Eden’s fields” and ”handmaidens…the one in high Heaven”) and consequent feelings of deep-seated guilt. The last verse especially captures the sort of fear that every ”good” Irish Catholic would have felt in their bones about turning away from the ”one true faith” — all those images of the female bodies being torn to shreds with the suggestion that this will be done in line with what the ”parish” requires. Oh it is so beautifully vicious!!! And then the revenge at the end — what ”they” will find

”in the remains of our vomit”–

”apple seeds and goosesberry skins” — the Irish equivalent of poemgranite fruit.

The theme of course is how the women have turned away from the men and male imposed rules and religion, and instead have discovered together the inner secret of their hidden joys. Now they swim at night, and the stars laugh with them (what a beautiful image!–a very Irish way of phrasing).

The language of course is very striking, as when the poet juxtaposes innocence with the fact of their being damned. To find themselves and live authentically they will be ostracized.