Hello all
Welcome to The Wild Edge.
This weekend, I have a double-sided post for you. Today, I am sharing a story of a salon, inspired by Lady Jane Wilde, Oscar Wilde’s mother. And tomorrow, I will share a poem which was read so beautifully by one of the participants at last Saturday’s ‘One Night’. I hope you enjoy it all.
Below, feel free to leave comments, ask questions. As ever, it is lovely to hear from you.
Happy Saturday.
Clare, and Milly.
‘One Night: A Lady Jane Wilde Inspired Salon.
A while back I read a small note by the author and host, Priya Parker . It was the story of a man in New Orleans, Pableux Johnson, who for over 20 years hosted a simple meal every Monday evening around his grandmother’s old kitchen table. He called it a Red Bean Night. The food was always the same, and simple: red beans and cornbread. It was the guests and the conversation which made it. Over those years, hundreds of people sat at the table, eating, sharing, laughing, connecting, being. This is how community is built: meal by meal, plate by plate, conversation by conversation.
I have always loved to host. Growing up, our family home was a home for others too. The food was simple, wholesome, generous. My grandmother, who lived with us, baked brown soda bread every morning. There were stews and roasts, and many guests. My parents regularly had their friends over, and I loved being on dessert duty. Serving them pavlovas, Swiss rolls, homemade apple tart, felt like a way of extending welcome, and love, and still does. Baking remains one of my love languages. Only, I lost it for a while.
Covid knocked me, like so many of us, off rhythm. Prior to it, I had continued my love of hosting and had set up a regular salon in my home, first in Dublin and then when I moved to West Cork. I had long been fascinated with Lady Jane Wilde’s Saturday night, and later Wednesday night, salon she hosted at No. 1 Merrion Square, and intrigued by the woman behind it all. While many know her as Oscar Wilde’s mother, Lady Jane Wilde, writing under the pen names ‘Speranza’, and for a while, ‘John Ellis’, was not just one of Dublin’s finest hosts, she was also a prolific writer and poet, ardent nationalist, and fierce advocate for women’s rights and suffrage. She gathered too; folklore, charms, spells, publishing in 1888, ‘Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms and Superstitions of Ireland’. There were also several extensive volumes of poetry, travelogue from encounters in Scandinavia, a biography of a Dutch painter, and several series of essays and short stories. She was a self-taught polyglot. I have read accounts that she could speak between five to ten languages, and she published poems translated from Portuguese and Russian. In the 1860s and into the 1870s, her salon was a place of conversation, political advocacy, literature and poetry. W.B Yeats, George Bernard Shaw, Bram Stroker, and of course, a young Oscar Wilde, were said to have attended. When Oscar and his brother Willie, matriculated to Trinity College in the early 1870s, their professors were invited along. The literature was no doubt an appeal, but most likely Lady Wilde eccentricities too. Yeats himself described her as ‘delightful as she certainly is unconventional’. Indeed, there was an air of mystery about her, or at least her manners might lead guests to think so; the curtains of No. 1 Merrion Sq were said to be heavy and drawn, no matter the light, and that her dress was anything but conventional, pinning portraits of her ancestors her clothes. As the Celtic revival of the late 1800s began to rouse, as Yeats and Lady Gregory gathered momentum for establishing the National Theatre, the Abbey, as conversations about the vote for women’s gathered pace, the Wilde salon was a place for ideas, inklings, stirrings. The fact that it was hosted by a woman of Lady Jane’s capacity and range, makes it, in my mind, all the more fascinating.
Lady Jane’s fate sadly did not meet fortuitous ends. Riddled with scandal and a libel case in relation to her husband’s affairs, grieving the loss of her beloved daughter Isola (who died when old ten) and later made practically bankrupt upon her husband’s death, she moved to London with her alcoholic and vagabonding son Willie. Oscar followed later, and very soon his own fame and fortunes began to rise. The salon continued, but not quite at the scope of the Dublin one. She continued to publish, but it was not long before Oscar’s tragic demise played out in public light. Lady Wilde, died, penniless, before being able to see him in Reading Gaol. She was buried in an unmarked grave in Kensel Green Cemetery in London- there were not the funds at the time for a headstone. Thankfully this has since been rectified. Her simple headstone now reads, ‘Requiescat. Jane Francesca Lady Wilde nee Elgee. ‘Speranza’ of the Nation’.
Speranza, meaning, hope.
While in London it is highly unlikely that Lady Jane crossed paths with any of the Bloomsbury group, given the timelines, but I like to think that her salon inspired the rather raucous gatherings of Vanessa Bell and Virgina Woolf at 46 Gordon Square. The Bloomsbury group, as they came to be known. And she defiantly did not cross paths with Gertrude Stein in Paris, whose famous Saturday night salon at 21 Rue de Fleurus, was a place which gathered the likes of Hemingway, Matisse, Picacco, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and Erza Pound. The apartment, dubbed by The New York Times as the first contemporary art museum, was a place to admire Stein’s art collection including pieces by Renoir, Cezanne, and Matisse, and no doubt was a place where lively conversations around art and literature were sparked. Might Gertrude Stein have been inspired by Lady Wilde? I like to think so.
All this to say, history is pinpricked with stories of change and culture being made in small regular gatherings, in living rooms, around kitchen tables, meal my meal, conversation by conversation.
After a stint away from Ireland, when I returned I was longing for inspiring and creative connection. I was not interested in GAA sports, hurling and Gaelic football (where lots of people gather), and not much of a drinker, so the pub did not hold appeal for me either. Thinking about how to else to both gather and bring different types of people together, it was around this time that I met Kathy Scott and a few others who were asking similar questions. Kathy and I began hosting public events in Dublin, gathering artists, change makers and culture makers to share aspects of their own story, all in unusual spaces around the city. That became The Trailblazery (which Kathy still runs), and there were a few wild years for me, as we hosted these nights in spaces we felt needed a boost of creative inspiration: old churches, an abandoned courtroom, the masonic lodge, Trinity itself. We hosted an eclectic mix of speakers, musicians, artists, poets, storytellers. The nights were electric. And yet, there was still something missing for me: the intimacy of the home, and the simple fare of a kitchen table.
Turning to Lady Wilde for inspiration, it was around then that I decided to host a poetry salon, about once a month, in my shared home in Dublin. I’d cook a big pot of food- something simple, and then invite people to gather. Up until Covid, I’d been hosting a salon about once a month ever since. Artists, writers, filmmakers, scientists, journalists, poets, medics, musicians, architects, designers, educators, entrepreneurs, food producers, - we began gathering. The conversations would be around the poems, but it was always so more than that- about the depth within us, about love and loss, longing and home, about aspirations for the self, the nation, the world. I have lost count of how many salons I have hosted now, but many. I still love that, each night, the configuration of people and poems will never quite happen in the same constellation, ever again. Each salon feels like a one off, and always brings fresh ideas and inspiration.
When Covid hit, I decided to take the Salon online- a regular poetry salon, and then seasonal ones, marking the Celtic calendar. Online makes it accessible globally. I’ve had participants from Ireland, US, Canada, India, Australia, all across Europe, South Africa. We share poems and then speak to the sentiments they carry. Sometimes we are just a few people, sometimes many more. My little mantra, borrowed from the facilitation tools of The Art of Hosting, is; whoever shows up are the right people. I am so grateful for all the right people, and the salon has been a place of such joy, soul nourishment and spark.
And here is the but: but online is just not the same.
I have missed sharing plates of food. I have missed the tingle of anticipation before a gathering: lighting candles, plumping cushions, setting out some flowers and books. I have missed bodies. And so when I read Priya Parker’s post about Pableux and his grandmother’s kitchen table something resonant in my gut stirred. I thought about my own grandmother, and how our kitchen table was a place of welcome, and I thought about Lady Wilde and how I might, in my very small way, still help to keep her legacy alive. I returned to Priya’s post. There was an update. After sharing the story of the Red Bean Night, the majority of responses were along the lines of; gosh, I’d love to be invited to one of those, or I’d really love to attend something like that. Where, Priya posed, have all the hosts gone. It felt like she was speaking directly to me. And so it was decided: time for a resurrection.
Last Christmas, setting out with some intentions for the new year, I decided I’d bring back in-person hosting, both the salon and other gatherings (in development!). I also heard on the local grapevine that inviting people to a poetry salon can feel a bit intimating. But in Ireland, alongside the bardic lineage, we have a very long tradition of storytelling and song, so I was wondering how best to incorporate those elements while keeping the salon format simple. It came to me one day walking the hills: ‘One Nights’, I’d call them that. I’d cook up a simple pot of food- a Dahl or a curry, and people are invited to bring one poem, one story or one song. A plus one is welcome too.
Since new year, I’ve hosted five ‘One Nights’ so far, and I have to say, they have each been amazing. Writers, filmmakers, medics, musicians, growers… we are gathering again across disciplines and fields of enquiry. We’ve had laughter and tears, song and story. Last Saturday, there was a musician sharing some of his own compositions, a visitor from Canada who recounted an ancient myth, an essay about ‘ultimology’, the study of dying things, stories of meeting Seamus Heaney, a poem about a epic voyage, and there was also an incredible poem which I literally can not get out of my heart and mind, which I will share in my next post with you .
Five people, six people, nine people. And Milly the dog, of course. The One Nights are taking on a life of their own. My home is small, but it can seat nine and more on the floor, if needed. I introduce the evening, explain the format, then we eat - a plate on our laps. Bellies full, the poems and stories can commence. Mid-way through, there is tea and something sweet. We continue.
I got text messages last Sunday from all the guests gathered that night- they were buzzing, literally afterwards, unable to sleep what with the thoughts and energy swirling through them. That evening, I gathered the poems and references from the night, and emailed them out to guests, so we have a record. I realise I have an archive now of over 15 years worth of salons- and I am so happy it’s continuing. Finally, I’ve got my hosting mojo back.
I plan to do one monthly. Over the summer, weather dependant, I plan to adapt them a little too, and have a ‘One Picnic’ instead- same idea, just a picnic by the sea, with poems and stories and songs.
The salon, I have seen, is a homecoming in so many ways- to ourselves, and each other. Community being built, poem by poem, story by story, song by song, conversation by conversation, plate by plate, one generation after the next, keeping legacies, and hope, alive.
An invite to you:
So, this is my invite to you. Become a host too. Take inspiration from Lady Jane Wilde, The Bloomsbury Group, Gertrude Stein, Pableux Johnson. Take the ‘One Night’ format if you wish. Ask people to being bring one story, one song, one poem. Cook a simple pot of food. (You can find Pableux’s Red Bean and Rice recipe here, or I use a version of this with roasted butternut squash).
Here is the text of the WhatsApp invite I use- feel free to adapt, and an image I drew. You can use it too. ( I want to upgrade the image, but haven’t got to that yet- but can share a version when I do).
You’re invited to ‘One Night’
(Add Date and time)
Here’s how it flows: I’ll cook one big pot of veggie food for everyone to share, and each guest brings one offering — a poem, a story, or a song.
Your piece can be something that inspires or intrigues you, or even something you’ve written yourself.
A plus one is welcome too.
Dinner is covered. If you’d like to bring a small dessert or a nibble to share, you’re very welcome to, but it’s absolutely not required.
Please RSVP so I know how many are in the pot (I have space for 8-10 people).
If you do decide to host one, I’d love to know how you get along.
And if you have any hosting questions, pop them into the comments here.
.
June Salons Coming Up
In June, I’m hosting three salons- two online (they will still be great!), and one in-person, in the magical grounds of Knockelly Castle, Co. Tipperary.
Poetry Salon:
Sunday 14th June- 6-7pm Irish UK/Time. Tickets included in membership of The Wild Edge.
Summer Solstice Salon: Saturday 20th June, Co. Tipperary
An Online Seasonal Salon gathering, 7-8.30pm, Irish/Uk time.
Poems, prompts and seasonal reflections to mark the next turning in the Celtic Calendar. Tickets included in Gold Membership of The Wild Edge, or can be purchased here:
Thank you all,
Happy hosting and being hosted,
Clare.
