Madwoman - memories of another time - hopefully!

The Madwoman of Cork, 2025, paper, acrylic, collage, gold leaf, molding paste, 76 x 57cm

As I was making this artwork I thought a lot about the poem by Patrick Galvin - 'The Madwoman of Cork', remembering its impact on me when I first read it as a teenager. Living in Cork at the time when the city boatsed the longest building in Ireland on its outskirts, could be very troubling. The building was the 'asylum' a mental hospital for women and children, many times larger than the nearby hospital for men. This speaks volumes about the gender disparity in Ireland in the second half of the 20th century. Women and young girls could be locked away for having sexual relationships, getting pregnant, having an affair or just being a bit different. For us the students at art college in Cork, who literally had stones thrown at us for our let's say, atypical way of dressing, the poem described a reality not often recorded in local or national histories. Here is the poem now - it is worth reading.
​oday
Is the feast day of Saint Anne
Pray for me
I am the madwoman of Cork.

Yesterday
In Castle street
I saw two goblins at my feet
I saw a horse without a head
Carrying the dead
To the graveyard
Near Turner’s Cross.

I am the madwoman of Cork
No one talks to me.

When I walk in the rain
The children throw stones at me
Old men persecute me
And women close their doors.
When I die
Believe me
They’ll set me on fire.

I am the madwoman of Cork
I have no sense.

Sometimes
With an eagle in my brain
I can see a train
Crashing at the station
If I told people that
They’d choke me.
Then where would I be?

I am the madwoman of Cork
The people hate me.

When Canon Murphy died
I wept on his grave
That was twenty-five years ago.
When I saw him just now
In Dunbar Street
He had clay in his teeth
He blest me.

I am the madwoman of Cork
The clergy pity me.

I see death
In the branches of a tree
Birth in the feathers of a bird.
To see a child with one eye
Or a woman buried in ice
Is the worst thing
And cannot be imagined.

I am the madwoman of Cork
My mind fills me.

I should like to be young
To dress up in silk
And have nine children
I’d like to have red lips
But I’m eighty years old.
I have nothing
But a small house with no windows.

I am the madwoman of Cork
Go away from me.

And if I die now
Don’t touch me.
I want to sail in a long boat
From here to Roche’s Point
And there I will anoint
The sea
With oil of alabaster.

I am the madwoman of Cork
And today
Is the feast day of Saint Anne.
Feed me.

© 1973, Patrick Galvin
From: New And Selected Poems
Publisher: Cork University Press, Cork