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The Ballad of the Finnish Woodsmoke Sauna

Writer's picture: Kathryn CrowleyKathryn Crowley

Updated: Jan 29



A wooden hut with sauna in snowscape

I am lucky enough to be involved in a few wonderful writing groups.

Our poetry writing group, FinyTribe (don't ask, it would need a separate post!) has its origins in a poetry workshop in Bantry facilitated by the poet, the one and only Paul Muldoon.

We meet once a month online and endeavour to have an annual reunion in Bantry at the West Cork Literary Festival. We set ourselves a task of writing a poem per month based on a given theme or form.

In January we set ourselves the challenge of writing a ballad. There were some great ballads workshopped last Sunday with themes ranging from the Whiddy tragedy to Jimmy Hall, the Leitrim man who was the only Irishman to be deported from Ireland since it became a free state.

My effort is below. It is only semi-autobiographical!


 The Ballad of the Finnish Woodsmoke Sauna

‘Twas on the 1st of January, the day after that night

I must admit right here and now, I wasn't a pretty sight.

I just decided there and then to do the Finnish thing.

I’d go into a smoke sauna, the new year to ring in.

 

I was a Virgin Sauna Goer and used Google Translate

I called a Bolt and it dropped me at a hut down by the lake

I put on my old swimming togs, they had seen better days

And then I showered and took a breath and might have even prayed.

 

On pushing in the heavy door, many eyes peered out at mine

From bodies big and bodies small, all wearing but a smile.

I sat down on the nearest bench, trying not to look around

I smelt the smoke, I felt the heat, I looked down at the ground.

 

I sweated out through all my pores, and breathed through my nose

I sat there and I cooked and thought of nothing but my toes

I wondered if I could feel the fear and do it anyhow

If ever I was going to, it had to be right now.

 

I jumped up from the wooden slats and galloped through the snow

I ran until I reached the lake and dipped in just a toe

I said ‘twas no good dithering and wondering what’s at stake

I closed my eyes and shut my mind and jumped into that lake.

 

I landed in that freezing lough, the ice began to crack

I climbed back up those wooden steps, speed I didn’t lack.

I grabbed my towel and wrapped it round my cold, elated frame

No longer a sauna virgin, I’d gone and played the game.

 

My Finnish friend asked next day and I proudly replied,

‘This Irish girl has done the Nordic Cycle and survived!’

She said to me, ‘You’re ready to roll in the buff in snow’

And do you think I did it? Only I will know.

  Kathryn Crowley

 

 

 

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