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
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AuthorFion Gunn is a London based visual artist with an international multi-media practice. Archives
May 2025
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