Return and No Blame

RETURN AND NO BLAME

The predominant theme running through ‘Return and no blame’ is one of ambiguity and concealment; of that which is unspoken and withheld. The difficulty in reuniting with one’s own past both emotionally and physically is illustrated in one of the opening stanzas: ‘Our fumbled embrace drives the wind off my shoulder and your eyes hold a question you will not put.’ The vulnerability and awkwardness is evident in that initial reuniting moment, the sudden realisation of having to confront one’s inner fears and trepidations. But it remains wordless; ‘Father, my head is bursting with the things I’ve seen….’ ‘But I don’t have the words to tell you.’

The internal struggle between yearning to divulge and explain to her father is countered by the inherent risks in doing so; so as not to ‘disrupt your gentle daily ways.’ Words don’t seem enough, and can’t begin to put into context all that has unfolded since their last meeting. The failure of words is partly willed however, so as not to confront the reality of what those words would bring. While it remains unclear as to the exact relationship with the father, we can assume that it is his daughter, who is the narrator of this piece; the reference to her father’s ‘sunny smile is a dandelion’ and the way in which she describes her father’s ‘gentle ways’ emboldens this.

The breaking of the bread symbolises a peace that exists between them, but it is an uneasy peace; and neither father nor daughter can bring themselves to confront it, ‘so I am quiet while the rashers cook, and nod and grin at any old thing’. The talk turns to idle matters, as a way of diverting the conversation towards the insignificant and that of little consequence; ‘Oh, the boat was grand, they took me in at Larne’ to which the father retorts ‘And a pity they didn’t keep you. Must have been a gypsy slipped you in and I in a dead sleep one night’. But despite this, the painful reality of her departure seeps through again ‘Didn’t I rob...