Manx Gaelic teacher, musician and composer, Annie Kissack was recently raised to the chair of the Manx Bard, becoming the fifth Manx writer to hold the title. Each month she shares one of her poems with us, and explains what led her to write it.

Most people will know, or ought to know, that it’s Hop tu Naa in a couple of weeks time or so. (I’ve never called it Halloween and I’m not going to start now!)

These days I’m not sure it still has the significance it had for me as a child; the feel of going out into the dark and dangerous unknown, armed only with a stout vegetable and a bit of a song, but there’s still something essential and dramatic in the air at this time of seasonal collision.

People who know me will probably say I am by nature a romantic and fascinated by many things odd, quaint or minority.

I am not alone in this. I’m delighted that organisations such as Culture Vannin are bringing so many of our lesser-known and forgotten traditions out into the public arena so effectively, so ensuring that ’nothing is lost’.

As for Hop tu Naa itself, there are organised events popping up all over the place and they seem to be good fun and well-supported.

Indeed it seems that nearly everyone is on ’How yer doin’ yessir?’ terms with Manannan himself these days

They are obviously not ’trick or treat’ but neither are they the sort of unsupervised Hop tu Naa celebrations many of us will remember from our youth on the island.

Can you over-manage a tradition in order to preserve it?

Of course you can, but this has to be balanced with the benefits of knowing a bit about the place in which you live and its cultural traditions.

Not that we’ll all agree on those traditions of course. We can get very heated in defence of our particular versions of Hop tu Naa, and that’s without any mention of pumpkins, ghoul outfits etc.

Did Jinny the witch actually go over the ditch or was it the house? And as for upside-down turnips, gobbag style; never seen in 1960s Onchan, I can tell you!

I had great fun with this poem, the structure of which evolved as I went along. Playing with words, their sounds and shapes, is such a delight. Enjoy Hop tu Naa in whatever form it takes.

Moot

The summer has gone,

Its light has fled.

We go warm-wrapped against the cold

This Hop tu Naa.

Weighted with our dull-thud wonders

Inexpertly carved, hacked

With grinning mouths cracked

Asunder, open.

Candlelight reluctant flutters, stutters

Against the strange resistance

Of the night.

Hold it to you, hold it tight.

Night-scented,

Deep-rooted,

Apple-scattered,

Old.

The winter has come,

The nights are long.

We walk word-weaving to your house

This Hop tu Naa.

Lisping softly limping verses,

Nursing words half-heard

In puzzlement, absurd,

Abandoned, Manx.

Melody’s uncertain ripple, roars

At the tight-drawn, curtained windows

Of the dull.

For we sing songs of turnip skull, of

Time-dented,

Long-looted,

Flesh-shattered

Moot.

by Annie Kissack

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