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Poet Felicia Olusanya has said the reaction to her talk on RTE’s The Next Normal on Thursday night has been “charming” and “unexpected.”
Olusanya, known as FeliSpeaks, recorded the piece, called Still, for the special Prime Time broadcast that took stock of six months of the Covid-19 crisis in Ireland.
Speaking to The Irish Times on Friday, Olusanya said RTÉ commissioned the article “to accurately describe and capture the country’s reaction to the deadly virus and to present the reality of our current uncertainty.
“I wrote it to remind the Irish people that none of us are going through this alone. It’s touching us all in different ways and degrees, but the only thing we can do for each other right now is stay as still as possible. It is our collective responsibility. This is how we will save each other. “
The poignant piece begins by tracing the pain of the first Covid spike in Ireland, saying that it “ate the branches off every family tree” and “left hearts hurt and people forgotten.”
She details the enthusiasm with which people approached the initial period of confinement, noting that many “closed in on ourselves” and “found fun in the walls of our houses.”
She mentions the struggles of frontline workers, children, and lonely minds who had to persevere while Ireland stood still.
It ends up arriving in Ireland now, six months after a pandemic and increasingly fatigued by restrictions.
“But tomorrow, when our knees go soft with impatience and the doors of our houses open, where will our legs go?”
Olusanya was born in Nigeria and moved to Ireland with her mother when she was seven years old. They spent six months at Baleskin’s direct provision center in Dublin before settling in Longford, where their application for refugee status was accepted.
She studied English and Sociology at NUI Maynooth and now performs regularly at spoken word events in Ireland, including the THISISPOPBABY’S RIOT show, the Theater Stage at Electric Picnic and the Kate Tempest opening on Dublin’s Vicar Street.
Still by FeliSpeaks
Still.
Covid came.
And Ireland stopped.
Impressed by the amount of dust that could accumulate on our doors.
We struggled with what we could, what we could, how life would go on, the ways it should go.
Stay whitout movement.
The virus ate the branches of every family tree,
Drowned the lives that we had built roots around
Emptied wallets; cutting money by the foot,
Wounded hearts and forgotten people, It took our breath away. For dead.
Still.
We close ourselves off.
We bend behind the lock and key, we inhale through the fog of uncertainty
We find fun in the walls of our houses
He made it work, he designed it to play,
Carved sections with which we can fill with joy,
So that we can stand our ground in the days when we didn’t know what was next, what might happen.
Still.
For those whom age had known beyond a golden jubilee,
whose eyes fill with memories of film reels,
whose daughters have sworn to love them in their sunset,
whose children kissed them at dawn.
We want your vision of us in full color.
Stay whitout movement.
For Frontline workers armed with nothing but faith,
For emerging minds who must dare to dream in high definition,
For the lonely minds that look at love through a screen,
For the bodies that create homes in cardboard shelters.
Still.
For you. Ireland is standing still.
But tomorrow, when our knees soften with impatience and the doors of our houses open,
In which direction will our legs go?
Which way does our heart know?
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