Eulogy for Eva

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This is a prose poem I wrote for a great friend of mine who died suddenly of a brain haemorrhage when she was very young. And now, many decades later, I still think about her, still see her face and hear her voice, as if she is right here beside me. So, today, on Valentine’s Day, I’m publishing it here on Substack, because love doesn’t end when life does. We carry each other in our hearts, minds, and souls – and in our words also. All comments, as always, are most welcome.

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Eulogy for Eva

Eva, I worshipped you. I worshipped something beyond you. But how can I explain? How can I explain in the language of this earth, a different language, a language of souls on their eternal journey? Souls become travellers in time, choosing flesh again and again in the perennial pursuit of perfection.

Yes, how can I explain the unexplainable tale of a druid and a teenage priestess, who lay naked on the sand, and became part of the foam of some great ocean of love, until chilly midnight broke the spell, and we looked around and saw nothing, only the shore, the moon, and far away – our lamplit hometown.

God, wasn’t eighteen a great age to fall in love! To be so trusting and innocent, and have it all. Oh, what a gift! And what a gift to lose! To lose, and stand all night outside the house where you were born, and wonder if you ever existed.

And that’s the key to mysterious life – that we forget who we were in order to become who we are, in order to choose a new path forward. But Eva, I won’t forget one single, solitary detail about you, not in this lifetime anyway. And how could I, even if I wanted to?

How could I forget the girl who would stay up all night, until first light, reading Lord of the Rings, then fall asleep, exhausted, in my arms? Or the girl who would run naked along the shore, scattering the surf wildly with her feet. Or the young priestess, sitting cross-legged in a bay window full of sunlight, on summer evenings, watching the mackerel boats coming ashore, the shrieking gulls in pursuit. And beyond them, the sand dunes, where rabbits and wild foxes lived, and lovers made love, after marvelling at the wreckage of a coal-ship, broken by a storm on a fearsome winter night.

Then, of course, there were the outrageous coloured earrings from Woolworths that matched your shoes, your dress, your underwear, or all of them together. Just how in the name of God did you think of such things? Such funny, appropriate, crazy things that mean so much in your absence.

No, I won’t forget you. I can’t forget you, unless I forget myself, and all these images and memories that make me who I am; and through which I summon you now to rise again, in some new form among the living, where you will live forever and ever, Eva.

Originally published by London & Newcastle Poetry Journal.

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Author’s Bio:

Poet, critic, and songwriter, Martin Mc Carthy, lives in Cork City, where he studied English at UCC and was awarded the Higher Diploma in Education. He is a contributing editor to the American poetry website, The HyperTexts, and writes a monthly column titled Poem in Focus. His poems and essays have appeared in numerous print and online publications, including: Poems from My 5k, Drawn to the Light, Seventh Quarry Poetry, Poetry Salzburg, The Road Not Taken, The Lyric, The Orchards, WestWard Quarterly, Lighten Up Online, Better Than Starbucks, The Madrigal, The Chained Muse, Form in Formless Times, New Lyre, The HyperTexts, The New Stylus, Southward and The Cathal Buí Anthology of Poetry. He has published three poetry collections: Lockdown Diary (2020), Lockdown (2021), and The Perfect Voice (2023). A fourth collection, The Book of Desire, is currently awaiting publication. He was shortlisted for the Red Line Poetry Prize, and is a nominee for the 2024 Pushcart Prize. He has a personal website at mccarthypoet.com, where a CD collection of his songs and other items can be purchased.

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