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This is a very touching poem from the heart-pen of the Irish poet Biddy Jenkinson, who is beloved in Irelend for writing poems and prose exclusively in the Irish language – Gaeilge as it is known in Irish. However, for her friend Martin Doyle, this is the second poem that Biddy has written in English (there is a link to the first one at the bottom of this page), who puts it down to the fact that "he doesn't have much Irish."

The back story to this poem is that Martin made an F flute for Biddy some years ago from pieces of boxwood procured from Biddy's garden. The F note in itself is interesting as it is considered to be the note of the spiritual heart, the Anahata chakra, which is accompanied by a particular shade of green akin to bright jade – the garden theme again! Perhaps it was the sacred F note of the sweet little boxwood flute that inspired Biddy to put pen to paper!

The short message that Biddy sent to Martin introducing her poetic creation exhibits her inimitable sense of humour, and begins thus ...

"Martin a chara ('a chara' is 'my friend' in Irish), here is another bit of nonsense ..."

Martin's Flute

One gentle breath
made Adam start
ticking over.
Heart jerked.
Lungs
went into motion.
Air in. Air out.
He coughed a bit,
but caught the notion.

The Father then
– as on the Sistine Chapel ceiling –
touched Adam's fingers,
granting feeling.

The current
– though stepped down
to human standards –
burnt
– Oh! bliss and pain combined! –
Adam's finger.

Galvanised.
Prompted
by, who knows what notion? –
Adam raised it to his lips.
and – puffing to cool it –
blew a note so singular
that – in amazement –
he sustained it,
( Perhaps it was an F ?)
creating music,
foreshadowing every flute
that followed,
mine included.

So, Martin, when you bore and ream,
turn and drill and undercut,
sand and polish, cut the socket
cut the tenon, fit the cork
cut the blowhole, tune the flute,
crown it, play it,

Adam watches.

    — Biddy Jenkinson

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