The Ballad of Ballymun

A good few months ago, I published this "ballad" (though it's only the lyrics, and there's no music) on the Tribute to The Old Ballymun Facebook page.

Tribute to the Old Ballymun is an extraordinarily active Facebook page. There seem to be multiple posts every day, and the common refrain is that the old Ballymun-- that is, Ballymun before the regeneration, when it was mostly tower-blocks and apartments complexes-- was a great place to live. Certainly there seems to be tremendous nostalgia for it.

As per the refrain, I really am glad I grew up in Ballymun. I like how distinctive it was.

It occurs to me that nearly everything in my life experience has been unusual. My name is highly unusual. Ballymun was an unusual place to grow up. I went to all-Irish language schools, and that was quite unusual. No wonder I'm a contrarian.

Anyway, this ballad was a bit of an experiment, a test-balloon. Regular readers (God bless them) will know that I write poetry, and also-- absurdly ambitious though this is-- that I aspire to somehow assist in a revival of traditional poetry.

The first and biggest hurdle is getting your poetry read in the first place. And getting it read is quite separate from getting it published. It might be published and not read. It might be read and not published. Does anyone read literary magazines?

I'm trying to think of strategies to get my poetry read. One is to write on a subject that people car about. Another is to write in a ballad format, which is less threatening than many verse forms, being repetitive and predictable. (I don't say that in a disparaging way.)

Anyway, the experiment was very successful. The readers of the Tribute to the Old Ballymun Facebook page were highly enthusiastic about my poem, and said lots of kind things about it. It got hundreds of "likes" and comments and shares.

Good or bad, here it is.

I grew up in the Ballymun flats
We weren’t exactly aristocrats
But I saw from my living room all the way
To the Wicklow Mountains and Dublin Bay.
We had wider horizons than anyone
And I’m glad I grew up in Ballymun.

Grey grey concrete and green green grass
Flickering lights in the underpass.
We had no money but lots of fun
And I’m glad I grew up in Ballymun.

In Ballymun our shop was a van
We had Alien Spacers and Desperate Dan
And Barry McGuigan and A-Team snacks
And we guzzled our way through packs and packs.
We ate such junk, but we’d run and run
So we didn’t get fat in Ballymun.

Grey grey concrete and green green grass
Flickering lights in the underpass
We had no money but lots of fun
And I’m glad I grew up in Ballymun.

I’d lie in bed past the witching hour
And stare at the light over Connolly Tower
The red light that kept us safe in bed
From low-flying airplanes overhead
I thought it would glow as long as the sun
But it’s gone with the rest of the old Ballymun.

Grey grey concrete and green green grass
Flickering lights in the underpass.
We had no money but lots of fun
And I’m glad I grew up in Ballymun.

Miss Mary’s and Tommy’s, the Penthouse, the Towers
All names that conjure a world that was ours.
The sky-scraping bonfires at Halloween
The biggest bonfires I’ve ever seen
Now “Help the Halloween party”’s gone
And they go trick-or-treating in Ballymun.

Grey grey concrete and green green grass
Flickering lights in the underpass
We had no money but lots of fun
And I’m glad I grew up in Ballymun.

It wasn’t all pretty, it wasn’t all nice,
God knows there was vandalism and vice
The lifts would be broken, the chutes would be full,
But how could you ever say it was ever dull?
I was proud as a peacock that everyone
In Ireland knew all about Ballymun.

Grey grey concrete and green green grass
Flickering lights in the underpass
We had no money but lots of fun
And I’m glad I grew up in Ballymun.