Accidental Ancestry
Where the Glens Meet Molise
Proud of Celtic heritage,
Glaswegian born and bred.
/
The sound of the pipes,
the infectious laughter
of The Big Yin —
Billy Connolly.
/
Architectural
shipbuilding giant.
/
The glens and Bens,
the peaty bogs
and magic lochs.
/
The people earnest,
perfection fallen short.
The history,
the lyrical majesty
of Scotland.
/
The words, the songs,
the prose and the art
distilled from the Highlands
through the Central Belt
to the Borders —
braving the harshness
of the North and Irish Seas
and expansive Atlantic Ocean
surrounding the islands.
/
Accidental though it is,
my heritage it still is.
It is my accidental
ancestral identity.
/
Like the Roman Empire,
a composite I am.
/
But as Nonno entered life’s fray
on the Emerald Isles a sea away,
and Nonna’s induction to life began
in the great motherland
of Roman origination,
a Scottish legacy seemed,
through history’s eye,
a distant, ridiculous prophecy.
/
Yet as his branches stretched
to Scotland
and his ancestral homeland,
Nonno was thrust
into the young life
of Nonna.
/
His pursuit of life with the woman
who would sit at the end of the table
as the premier
of the Euro-Celtic Cafolla clan
was relentless.
/
Yet they found themselves apart —
in Glasgow
and Sesto Campano.
/
The eventual marital cohesion,
by proxy:
but romantic,
persistent in the traditional
Wordsworth sense.
/
Stories of truth,
of immigration
and redefinition of legacy,
are always the sketchiest.
/
So often the timeline suggested
an Irish Paulo
or Italian Pól
with no love directly gained
and nurtured
for Glasgow
and its dirt and beauty.
/
When people speak of immigration
and racist nationalism,
it makes me sick,
stokes angers deep within me.
/
For as truly Scottish
through and through
as I am,
I am also the accidental product
of love across national boundaries,
of immigrants looking
for something better.
/
Italian, Irish, Scottish —
the best and the worst
of all that came before me.
/
Grandson to a legacy
beyond Scotland,
but held together
in a fine tapestry
of culture.
/
In truth,
my birth may never have happened —
perish the thought, I know.
/
Or perhaps I would have vaulted
from my mother’s womb
into the warmth
of rural Molise
or the northern grit
of Éire brethren.
/
In truth,
I was thrust
into the dirt and beauty
of my beloved Glasgow —
to a family rich
in heritage and legacy,
to which I owe
my identity.
/
As Scottish as they come,
while desperately trying
to hold to
and honour
my roots
spread beyond
the coastlines.
About the Creator
Paul Stewart
Award-Winning Writer, Poet, Scottish-Italian, Subversive.
The Accidental Poet - Poetry Collection out now!
Streams and Scratches in My Mind coming soon!
Keep reading
More stories from Paul Stewart and writers in Poets and other communities.
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smitha day ago in Humor
Comments (14)
Wooohooooo congratulations on your Leaderboard placement! 🎉💖🎊🎉💖🎊
Returning, Paul, to congratulate you on making this week's leadership board! I was happy to see this one featured.😊
Very, very clever to cite your ancestry for this challenge. Perfectly illustrated, too. Well done, pal!
My Mum's maiden name was Armstrong, so I have some Scottish roots. "When people speak of immigration and racist nationalism, it makes me sick, stokes angers deep within me." Me, too; I will not stand for it! Nice work, Paul. No smile for the picture, eh!😁
Congrats on being creator they are loving! One day, my ship will come in. I'll probably be at the airport or train depot when it does, but it's coming.
I understand the frustration when people talk about immigrants... people are always complaining about the immigrants coming into Canada. Yet all the people complaining are products of immigration. From both sides my grandparents immigrated here and if only one did then my parents may have never met. I wouldn't have minded if they all stayed in Holland and my parents met there, but we're here, through immigration, just like so many other families. You are who you are meant to be, and although it may seem accidental, I don't believe in accidents, queue, you, as you are today. meant to be where you are today, writing in the way you do, which would not be the same if you had a different dad
dear accidental ancestry, you seem to hold many of the best traits of both lines, that are united by your appreciation of what is bequeathed to you by chance. I really enjoyed this piece and how well wrought you have forged your thoughts.
"The glens and Bens, the peaty bogs and magic lochs." This may be my favorite stanza, so dense with meaning in so few words. As a verbal economist, I appreciate a thrifty spending of words that composes a phrase of immense value.
This is great feels good to read it ! Love it
Rich ancestry-although accidental, it's what you are. Love your rhythm
I loved the words and the rhythm to this! My dad’s family never spoke of ancestry but I suspect it was Scottish - maybe before I die I will delve into it more ( guess I’d better get crackin’!)You are a composite of it all!
You got to be true to yourself and your work shows it. Great job.
It was just meant to be! Best of both worlds :)
A very rich identity indeed, Paul. I can imagine low bagpipe sounds with this.