“Alive, Alive, Oh”

Ireland 1673

Downtown Dublin (c) SMG 2013

Unlike the cockles and mussels she peddles–alive, freshly-plucked from a salty stew of sand and sea–Dublin’s sweet Molly Malone becomes a ghost by the end of her song.

She died of a fever,
And no-one could save her,
Just like her mother and father before.
Now her ghost wheels the barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying “Cockles And Mussels, Alive alive Oh!”

Molly’s refrain also made an appearance in Carol Ann Duffy’s “Midsummer Night“:

Not there when a strange bird sang on a branch
over our heads, you
and me, or there when a starlit fruit ripened
itself on a tree.
Not there to lie on the grass of our graves, both,
alive alive oh. . . .

Ireland 1274

Dublin Cygnets

Not long ago I had another one of those days .  On my way back from work, as I traveled the congested highways which used to take me to a different house filled to the brim with family–a husband who had been with me since I was a teenager and our four children–I asked the empty passenger seat for a hint of an answer to my question: What do you want me to do now?

As is now customary, I got a musical response.

Just to be certain, I pressed the button for the next station, and it replayed the same song, which I had never heard before that day: “I’m Alive.”

This song was a little bit unusual, as far as my messages go, because it was accompanied by irresistible merry whistling.

Usually you’re not that heavy-handed, Jim.  I observed.

Surely it is a hallmark of grief to continue to be startled that one is “alive, alive,” when someone you have loved in life is not–not there, as in Duffy’s poem, to hear and see that strange bird overhead or see grass strewn with soft feathers shed from cygnets intertwined under their parents’ protective eyes; not there to have summer skin warmed by the sun and stung by the season’s buzzing creatures; not there to leave a winding chevron of footprints beside mine in seaweed-strewn sand.

But, as with the resoundingly earthly avowals of another notable Molly from Dublin, somehow life looks and sounds like this.

Ireland 1369

Molly Bloom’s monologue in First Edition of James Joyce’s Ulysses, Dublin, Ireland

About Stephanie

In her spare time, Stephanie works full-time, and then some, as an attorney. She has published articles and delivered talks in arcane fields like evidentiary issues, jury instructions, expert witnesses, and forensic evidence. She also is an adjunct professor at a law school on the banks of the Charles and loves that dirty water, as she will always think of Boston as her home. You are welcome to take a look at her Facebook author page, or follow @SMartinGlennon on Twitter. All content on this blog, unless otherwise attributed, is (c) 2012-2016 by Stephanie M. Glennon and should not be reproduced (in any form other than re-blogging in accordance with Wordpress protocol and the numerous other wee buttons at the bottom of each post) without the express permission of the domain holder.
This entry was posted in Love and Loss and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to “Alive, Alive, Oh”

  1. gaepolisner says:

    I don’t always comment, but you always bring me to tears.

  2. bornbyariver says:

    Thank you for this post- I can relate. I’m not always sure how best to live my life going forward, but I am committed to being truly alive. Our losses will help us live better– I know this to be true.

  3. You write with such tender words, filled with soft humour about very difficult feelings and struggles. I always love to read your posts Stephanie.

  4. pattisj says:

    In July, you left a “Like” on a Weekly Photo Challenge post. I’m sorry it took so long to finally come and visit your beautiful blog.

  5. Pingback: Queen of the Night | Love in the Spaces

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