Three weeks later, almost, I've killed all the bosses in Lara Croft's latest outing. It's a bit of a cheek really as it's just a souped up version of the very first Lara Croft Tomb Raider adventure. They called it Tomb Raider: Anniversary, and it did make for simpler playing, although the 'bullet moment' as it's been called was tricky to master - that's where times slows down, and Lara takes a pop at the big bad guy much more accurately than she normally can. I could do with a few of those in real life!
It was hard, it was obsessive, it nearly killed the art of conversation, but by Toutatis, it was worth it. My hand is sore, repetitive key strokes notwithstanding, but at least my head will no longer be tortured by dreams of how I should get past that tricky jump that I just can't make and have spent three days trying to jump!
Now I can't wait to go back and play it all again, this time from the comfort zone of knowing I can skip those horrid bosses if I want to...
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Eight, ate, eight, late, mate
So, I haff been tagged -mwah hah hah hah hah!
Eight - nice number, divisible by two and four, oh and one. I 'ate eight (get on with it!) Alrighty!
First:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the ficts.
2. Each participant posts eight random facts about themselves (I'm sure I've done this before).
3. Tagees should write a blogpost of eight random ficts/facts about themselves.
4. At the end of the post, eight more bloggers are tagged (named and shamed).
5. Go to their blog, leave a comment telling them they're tagged (cut and run).
Randomly generated ficts:
1. My parents had a row with the person I was to be named after, shortly after I was born, and changed my name so that I was named for Santa Barbara in California. I haven't forgiven them. Latterly.
2. I used to tell people I had a dead twin when I was about six or seven. I don't.
3. I once wrote a play about St. Augustine in primary school. I can't remember who he is now or why I thought a play about him was a good idea.
4. My mother had a pattern for a blouse that I once made about ten different versions of, across four years. Amazingly they always fitted.
5. I played the Irish harp for about three years as a teenager and got placed in Irish Feis' twice. Not conducive to looking cool as a teenager though, lugging a great big lump of wood with strings around.
6. I get really horrible stage fright before reading poetry, but try to harness the adrenaline as best I can. Bit masochistic, I think.
7. I have a really high threshold for pain (giving birth to six kids is a bit of a giveaway, really).
8. I have a really high threshold for holding hot things as a result of working with tiles and kilns a lot when I was younger. I do still have fingerprints, though.
There - phew, that waren't too bad!
Now -tagees, hmmm.
Apprentice
Debi Alper
John G's Publog
Meloney Lemon
Cybez
Maht Moontopples
Chief Biscuit
skint writer
Eight - nice number, divisible by two and four, oh and one. I 'ate eight (get on with it!) Alrighty!
First:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the ficts.
2. Each participant posts eight random facts about themselves (I'm sure I've done this before).
3. Tagees should write a blogpost of eight random ficts/facts about themselves.
4. At the end of the post, eight more bloggers are tagged (named and shamed).
5. Go to their blog, leave a comment telling them they're tagged (cut and run).
Randomly generated ficts:
1. My parents had a row with the person I was to be named after, shortly after I was born, and changed my name so that I was named for Santa Barbara in California. I haven't forgiven them. Latterly.
2. I used to tell people I had a dead twin when I was about six or seven. I don't.
3. I once wrote a play about St. Augustine in primary school. I can't remember who he is now or why I thought a play about him was a good idea.
4. My mother had a pattern for a blouse that I once made about ten different versions of, across four years. Amazingly they always fitted.
5. I played the Irish harp for about three years as a teenager and got placed in Irish Feis' twice. Not conducive to looking cool as a teenager though, lugging a great big lump of wood with strings around.
6. I get really horrible stage fright before reading poetry, but try to harness the adrenaline as best I can. Bit masochistic, I think.
7. I have a really high threshold for pain (giving birth to six kids is a bit of a giveaway, really).
8. I have a really high threshold for holding hot things as a result of working with tiles and kilns a lot when I was younger. I do still have fingerprints, though.
There - phew, that waren't too bad!
Now -tagees, hmmm.
Apprentice
Debi Alper
John G's Publog
Meloney Lemon
Cybez
Maht Moontopples
Chief Biscuit
skint writer
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Get your podcasts ready!
Send your poetry clips to Poetry Live and get another web phenomenon going.
I do like that word lately!
I do like that word lately!
Update on Take Off Your Party Dress
Debi Alper has received the book safely, so expect her piece soon.
Also there is another strand to this blog-phenomenon (not knowing what else to call it) now, as Jeff McDonald at ArcheoTexture has flagged up. He is passing it on to another West Texas blogger Janie, at Sounding Forth.
So that's how it's beginning to grow! Lowebrow and Minx - thanks! And not least to Dina Rabinovitch and the fundraising for Mount Vernon, to which she devotes proceeds of the book.
Also there is another strand to this blog-phenomenon (not knowing what else to call it) now, as Jeff McDonald at ArcheoTexture has flagged up. He is passing it on to another West Texas blogger Janie, at Sounding Forth.
So that's how it's beginning to grow! Lowebrow and Minx - thanks! And not least to Dina Rabinovitch and the fundraising for Mount Vernon, to which she devotes proceeds of the book.
Monday, June 11, 2007
You've Got Mail
I've never been so glad and yet so sad to receive post as I was today. I'm torturing myself with trying to write formal poetry for the creative writing course, which means a preoccupation with counting syllables, noting stresses and getting very stressed indeed.
Take Off Your Party Dress arrived today, sent from Minx, which came from Lowebrow. It has come from the UK to Ireland and will be going back there once I've finished this piece, as Debi Alper has already asked to be the next blogger to write about it. The idea is to raise blogging awareness and funding for the book's subject matter: breast cancer. The author Dina Rabinovitch is a journalist, whose speciality is children's authors.
The book is a collation and expansion of Dina's columns about her experiences of treatment: from her diagnosis, her chemotherapy, mastectomy, radiation therapy and follow on chemo. In that vein the book uses the present tense, which would have suited the original journalistic immediacy of the columns, but in this gathering helps establish reader empathy (yep I shed a few too), almost as though we experience with Dina her fight against The Enemy Within.
In my own case, I found myself feeling for Dina's predicament of organising her treatment around her 'blended' family - I too have a blended (largish) family, with kids going off here and there to visit with dads. Dreaded school runs, organising meals, holidays - just generally being there, whilst having some sort of thing/money/writing to call mine own...
And so I found myself drawn hugely to Dina's secure sense of familial relationships underpinning her journey through the various stages of physical treatment and psychological changes. In particular her smallest son Elon's breast feeding is a major consideration, when considering the first stages of diagnosis. Her dilemma of choosing between herself and her child demonstrates in microcosm the beginning of many decisions that change her and her family life. Dina's story rings true with me, because it is a story of Everywoman. Some day, some of us will face the same trials. A real heart-breaking moment of identification comes when she examines, post op, the area where her breast used to be, and feels the moment of milk-summoning still within her body.
Rabinovitch comes across as a real fighter: getting on with life because she must. Coping with the changes of mastectomy, by looking for clothes that work with it, rather than hiding it, because this is how she is - not a person who tells untruths to her children about her condition, but someone who wears it as it is, even when caught in the bathroom!
We read how long it takes her to master her own fears and what her coping mechanisms are. But underpinning all is Dina's sense of faith in her own family, what they are and what futures they have too. There are answers too, to the small questions - the gloriously mundane ones like, what will I do while enduring chemo injections, or what moisturiser should I use to speed the scar healing process?
I won't lie and tell you that Take Off Your Party Dress offers miracles. What it does offer is an honesty so often unheard, and imbued with the wonderful quirkiness of a writer whose deft writing skill is admirable. I would urge you, if you have had your interest piqued to go out and buy a copy. Not enough is spoken about this disease and how it is treated and Rabinovitch marshalls this story with a huge deal of grace and dignity under immense pressure.
Indeed this blogging support that has began with Lowebrow and Minx for Take Off Your Party Dress will hopefully highlight how Dina's courage in writing her story of breast cancer can indeed become, paraphrasing her, a 'necklace of women across the world.' I really do wish Dina better, as we used to say to each other in school.
Makes stressing about stresses quite small, really.
Take Off Your Party Dress arrived today, sent from Minx, which came from Lowebrow. It has come from the UK to Ireland and will be going back there once I've finished this piece, as Debi Alper has already asked to be the next blogger to write about it. The idea is to raise blogging awareness and funding for the book's subject matter: breast cancer. The author Dina Rabinovitch is a journalist, whose speciality is children's authors.
The book is a collation and expansion of Dina's columns about her experiences of treatment: from her diagnosis, her chemotherapy, mastectomy, radiation therapy and follow on chemo. In that vein the book uses the present tense, which would have suited the original journalistic immediacy of the columns, but in this gathering helps establish reader empathy (yep I shed a few too), almost as though we experience with Dina her fight against The Enemy Within.
In my own case, I found myself feeling for Dina's predicament of organising her treatment around her 'blended' family - I too have a blended (largish) family, with kids going off here and there to visit with dads. Dreaded school runs, organising meals, holidays - just generally being there, whilst having some sort of thing/money/writing to call mine own...
And so I found myself drawn hugely to Dina's secure sense of familial relationships underpinning her journey through the various stages of physical treatment and psychological changes. In particular her smallest son Elon's breast feeding is a major consideration, when considering the first stages of diagnosis. Her dilemma of choosing between herself and her child demonstrates in microcosm the beginning of many decisions that change her and her family life. Dina's story rings true with me, because it is a story of Everywoman. Some day, some of us will face the same trials. A real heart-breaking moment of identification comes when she examines, post op, the area where her breast used to be, and feels the moment of milk-summoning still within her body.
Rabinovitch comes across as a real fighter: getting on with life because she must. Coping with the changes of mastectomy, by looking for clothes that work with it, rather than hiding it, because this is how she is - not a person who tells untruths to her children about her condition, but someone who wears it as it is, even when caught in the bathroom!
We read how long it takes her to master her own fears and what her coping mechanisms are. But underpinning all is Dina's sense of faith in her own family, what they are and what futures they have too. There are answers too, to the small questions - the gloriously mundane ones like, what will I do while enduring chemo injections, or what moisturiser should I use to speed the scar healing process?
I won't lie and tell you that Take Off Your Party Dress offers miracles. What it does offer is an honesty so often unheard, and imbued with the wonderful quirkiness of a writer whose deft writing skill is admirable. I would urge you, if you have had your interest piqued to go out and buy a copy. Not enough is spoken about this disease and how it is treated and Rabinovitch marshalls this story with a huge deal of grace and dignity under immense pressure.
Indeed this blogging support that has began with Lowebrow and Minx for Take Off Your Party Dress will hopefully highlight how Dina's courage in writing her story of breast cancer can indeed become, paraphrasing her, a 'necklace of women across the world.' I really do wish Dina better, as we used to say to each other in school.
Makes stressing about stresses quite small, really.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Reality pukes!
Back from a wonderful weekend Paris-trotting and reality kicks in with a vengeance. Boy junior (8) spent weekend puking etc. and left a trail of laundry behind him as big as you like.
Thing is, this bug is one of these slow burners, and it has been working its way through the family, one by one, by one, like ninepins - or sixpins, in my case.
Ah sure it could be worse, as they say in these parts. I do motherhood so well :/
Thing is, this bug is one of these slow burners, and it has been working its way through the family, one by one, by one, like ninepins - or sixpins, in my case.
Ah sure it could be worse, as they say in these parts. I do motherhood so well :/
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Off again...
... to Paris - my favourite city! A long weekend with my husband, doing what people do when they find themselves sans kids in Paris ;)
The Shadow of the Wind
Talk about a book that brings you somewhere! I'd recently found this book sheltering in one of the many bookcases that are scattered around the house. I picked it up and read the first few pages - I was hooked pretty quickly too.
It's a Gothic tale set in Barcelona between the second world war and the sixties but encompasses a history that comes before that - confused? It gets better. The book's protagonist Daniel Sempere finds a book in a Cemetery of Forgotten Books whose story and writer gets under his skin so much that Daniel sets off on a long quest to find out why this book and others that the illusive author has written are being systematically destroyed, and additionally where the long lost writer has disappeared to.
The main genre of the book is Gothic with a narrative style reminding this reader of so many 19th century novels of the Literature course AA316 last year: Madame Bovary, The Portrait of A Lady, The Woman in White, Northanger Abbey, Middlemarch etc. In other words a rich literary allusive treasure trove of a book. The writing is at times very evocative: the opening description of a dawn scene in Barcelona describes the light as pouring over 'Rambla de Santa Monica in a wreath of liquid copper.'
The Shadow of The Wind was one of those books that really encapsulates and simultaneously investigates the sensation of reading, where a book grips your imagination so much that you are reluctant to 'lose the story's spell or bid farewell to its characters.' Places and characters are described and built up so well that this reader felt like she'd spent a good while in old Barcelona, during the reign of fear of Franco's time.
I know I come late to the party with this book, discovering it long after the fuss has died down about it. But I really enjoyed all the tricks - especially since I've just finished the prose part of my Creative Writing course - the techniques being illustrated in the writing of Carlos Ruiz Zafon, and so ably translated by Lucia Graves.
It's a Gothic tale set in Barcelona between the second world war and the sixties but encompasses a history that comes before that - confused? It gets better. The book's protagonist Daniel Sempere finds a book in a Cemetery of Forgotten Books whose story and writer gets under his skin so much that Daniel sets off on a long quest to find out why this book and others that the illusive author has written are being systematically destroyed, and additionally where the long lost writer has disappeared to.
The main genre of the book is Gothic with a narrative style reminding this reader of so many 19th century novels of the Literature course AA316 last year: Madame Bovary, The Portrait of A Lady, The Woman in White, Northanger Abbey, Middlemarch etc. In other words a rich literary allusive treasure trove of a book. The writing is at times very evocative: the opening description of a dawn scene in Barcelona describes the light as pouring over 'Rambla de Santa Monica in a wreath of liquid copper.'
The Shadow of The Wind was one of those books that really encapsulates and simultaneously investigates the sensation of reading, where a book grips your imagination so much that you are reluctant to 'lose the story's spell or bid farewell to its characters.' Places and characters are described and built up so well that this reader felt like she'd spent a good while in old Barcelona, during the reign of fear of Franco's time.
I know I come late to the party with this book, discovering it long after the fuss has died down about it. But I really enjoyed all the tricks - especially since I've just finished the prose part of my Creative Writing course - the techniques being illustrated in the writing of Carlos Ruiz Zafon, and so ably translated by Lucia Graves.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Raga's Song
Above me stands the driver,
heels on the curve of my tawny rump.
I don’t mind – he’s blinded
with the weight on his mind.
He carries driftwood
connected finely to the reins.
My reign ends – his begins.
We see hear speak
the world’s weight
in pancakes and champagne.
heels on the curve of my tawny rump.
I don’t mind – he’s blinded
with the weight on his mind.
He carries driftwood
connected finely to the reins.
My reign ends – his begins.
We see hear speak
the world’s weight
in pancakes and champagne.
Inspired by Minx
I googled "Cailleach needs" and found I don't need anything!
Googling "Cailleach gets" reveals that I get up from my rocking chair, clodhop to the Eastern quarter and says, " O Ancient Ole Spirits of the Air"
As you do.
Or, Cailleach gets tickled on the air.
Hmm. Better not go there!
Googling "Cailleach gets" reveals that I get up from my rocking chair, clodhop to the Eastern quarter and says, " O Ancient Ole Spirits of the Air"
As you do.
Or, Cailleach gets tickled on the air.
Hmm. Better not go there!
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
I always knew it
| barbara smith -- [noun]: A person who is constantly high 'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com |
Saturday, May 12, 2007
May - be
Damn. I missed all that about it turning into Bealtaine and the start of summer.
So, I went in search of something to mark it. I liked the sound of Walpurgis Night which means Witches night (I know Minx will like that), where the witches have a bit of a hooley on the mountains in Germany and all over Northern Europe generally.
But the apparitions on the Brocken mountain, where some of this shindigging goes on, sound interesting -you need the right conditions to see them - but what they are is a magnified shadow (probably a human sort), combined with the moisture in the air at a certain time of day et voila, there's a weird vision!
Makes you wonder about the Yetis on the other side of the world.
Anyhow, the one thing in common with these celebrations is that May 1 is regarded as another gateway, like Halloween, where souls of the dead are abroad, and there may be an interchange between the living and the dead.
Makes sense really.
So, I went in search of something to mark it. I liked the sound of Walpurgis Night which means Witches night (I know Minx will like that), where the witches have a bit of a hooley on the mountains in Germany and all over Northern Europe generally.
But the apparitions on the Brocken mountain, where some of this shindigging goes on, sound interesting -you need the right conditions to see them - but what they are is a magnified shadow (probably a human sort), combined with the moisture in the air at a certain time of day et voila, there's a weird vision!
Makes you wonder about the Yetis on the other side of the world.
Anyhow, the one thing in common with these celebrations is that May 1 is regarded as another gateway, like Halloween, where souls of the dead are abroad, and there may be an interchange between the living and the dead.
Makes sense really.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
And now for my latest trick...
... conjuring a first collection out of nothing. I have been awarded a good whack towards publishing the collection from Dundalk Town Council, through the Arts Act 2003 funding. This is a fund that allows local authorities to back creative projects in the arts, big or small. There isn't a great big pot, so I'm very, lucky to have received what I did!
With that, my publisher has sent me a publishing contract to sign, and we will be meeting up during the summer to edit the MS and get it into tip-top shape for publishing. It's funny how you notice those glaring typos and commas, stops and out of place capitals after the fact...
So, some work done, a lot more to do, as a certain Irish political party used to advertise... or was it the national rail network, Iron roads of Eireann?
With that, my publisher has sent me a publishing contract to sign, and we will be meeting up during the summer to edit the MS and get it into tip-top shape for publishing. It's funny how you notice those glaring typos and commas, stops and out of place capitals after the fact...
So, some work done, a lot more to do, as a certain Irish political party used to advertise... or was it the national rail network, Iron roads of Eireann?
Monday, April 30, 2007
A very good cause
Been catching up with Debi's blog, and didn't realise that her partner runs the marathon practically every year, for the last seven (?) years.
Yes, I have been living my life out of a goldfish bowl recently...
Anyhoo...
Go here to read the riveting account of it. Wow!
And more importantly, go here to donate some dosh to the very worthy cause of Refuge.
Job done!
Yes, I have been living my life out of a goldfish bowl recently...
Anyhoo...
Go here to read the riveting account of it. Wow!
And more importantly, go here to donate some dosh to the very worthy cause of Refuge.
Job done!
Cuirt - Finally
I didn't get to much of the festival, bar the Grand Slam in the Kings Head, Galway on Saturday. was glad that I got to go, because hearing the many different competitors made for interesting entertainment. There were serious slams, humourous slams, thought provoking slams, ranting slams - all of them delivered with great gusto. My heart did go out to the odd one or two, who were a little overcome by nerves and fluffed lines. In the main, the standards were high enough and two pieces I loved didn't even feature in the running, but then I do have different tastes!
There were 20 entrants, 10 selected through heats and 10 selected from open submissions this year. Judges included Brendan Clancy, and two others from Galway itself. The winners were Gary whose surname I can't recollect just now, placed joint second with Katie Lawless. The overall winner was Miceál Kearney. Miceál's reaction was one of shock and complete incredulity: indeed I think he was having a smoke out the front when the announcement was made! He was thunderstruck! But his prize includes a trip to the US to Chicago, the birthplace of Slam, and also a trip to Eastern Europe to take part in their Slam finals too!
His original piece was Day tripping in Amsterdam, and his encore was the one about poetry and publishing in the style of a prayer... guess that could well be entitled A Poet's Prayer ;)
Well done to Miceál - I've seen him perform in Limerick and Galway - and I think he'll be one to watch!
There were 20 entrants, 10 selected through heats and 10 selected from open submissions this year. Judges included Brendan Clancy, and two others from Galway itself. The winners were Gary whose surname I can't recollect just now, placed joint second with Katie Lawless. The overall winner was Miceál Kearney. Miceál's reaction was one of shock and complete incredulity: indeed I think he was having a smoke out the front when the announcement was made! He was thunderstruck! But his prize includes a trip to the US to Chicago, the birthplace of Slam, and also a trip to Eastern Europe to take part in their Slam finals too!
His original piece was Day tripping in Amsterdam, and his encore was the one about poetry and publishing in the style of a prayer... guess that could well be entitled A Poet's Prayer ;)
Well done to Miceál - I've seen him perform in Limerick and Galway - and I think he'll be one to watch!
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Here's a Novelty!
Blogging Poet Laureate of the Year
Not nearly enough poets nominated, but this is the second year - so who knows how it will develop? I'm off to do the dacent thing and vote for Rob! :)
Not nearly enough poets nominated, but this is the second year - so who knows how it will develop? I'm off to do the dacent thing and vote for Rob! :)
I got my dates wrong...!
And drove to Galway yesterday, arriving in good time to have lunch at the venue where the Slam was to be held. Next week. Yep, that's right, on the 28th of April, not the 21st!!!
I had to drive home again. Not much point in being there a week early, was there?
I enjoyed the spin though. (!) 7 hours of Irish eejits on the roads. Nice.
I'm only blogging this, so that people can see that there is an Irish female version of Trig. Now I'm off to buy a diary that screams my appointments at me...!
I had to drive home again. Not much point in being there a week early, was there?
I enjoyed the spin though. (!) 7 hours of Irish eejits on the roads. Nice.
I'm only blogging this, so that people can see that there is an Irish female version of Trig. Now I'm off to buy a diary that screams my appointments at me...!
Friday, April 20, 2007
Off again...
... this time to Galway (again!) to Cuirt. Named by some as the top literary festival in Ireland (but they all say that!) the names here would make you dizzy.
Specifically I'm going to hear/see a Slam in the Kings Head, Galway and to enter negotiations with my publisher, anything else will be a bonus!
Now - that's what I call poetry!
Specifically I'm going to hear/see a Slam in the Kings Head, Galway and to enter negotiations with my publisher, anything else will be a bonus!
Now - that's what I call poetry!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Launch Night 10th April 2007 - Best of Irish Poetry 2007
I'm going to a lot of these things lately! This time the launch was for a publication entitled Best of Irish Poetry 2007, an imprint by SouthWord Editions part of the Munster Literary Centre in Cork. The launch in question was held last week, hosted by Poetry Ireland upstairs in the Unitarian Church just off St. Stephen's Green West, Dublin.
What exactly do you call a large gathering of poets anyway? This launch featured around nine poets who came to read from the Best of... giving the audience a great flavour of its contents. I must confess I already bought the imprint back in February and was well acquainted with the contents.
As I sat back in the pew contemplating stained glass illuminations featuring Discovery, Truth, Inspiration, Love and Work, I relished my glass of complimentary red wine and privately toasted the circumstances I found myself in.
Proceedings were opened with Poetry Ireland's acting Director, Jane O'Hanlon, and she introduced Pat Cotter of the Munster Literary Centre who spoke eloquently about how anthologies can allow access to poetry in a way that perhaps a single collection may not afford. Pat also raised the point that the Best of... can be seen to be a reclaiming of the shaping of the Irish canon: from an Irish perspective, rather than one defined by critics further abroad.
Best of Irish Poetry 2007, edited by Maurice Riordan and Colm Breathnach, represents a cherry picking of the best of Irish poetry published in respected journals both inside and outside Ireland published in the last twelve months. Pat Cotter explained that this anthology is set to become an annual event (something to aim for, maybe?) and its aims are to help promote and raise awareness of our contemporary writers in an accessible manner. Indeed, accessible is one very good way of describing the poetry contained, and made even more so by the readings that took place last night.
John F. Deane kicked off the readings: his poem, Towards a Conversion was received very well, and I thought the reading also added to my understanding of this beautiful poem. Other poems that stood out for me were Katie Donovan's Buying a Body and Peggie Gallagher's Letter to my Children. There was also a strong representation in Irish, from Dairenna Ni Chinneide's Fuascailt and Gabriel Rosenstock's Imram thar m'eolas.
Afterwards in closing, Pat Cotter spoke of the need to support poetry more than ever, by buying and how quickly poetry books disappear from stock in bookshops. This is not because they are flying out the door in people's shopping bags - but because bookshops don't want them on their shelves as long as they used to. That story sounds sadly familiar. Pat also raised the point about touring circuits for poets. When their publication comes out, there is a ready made tour-circuit on which they can promote their work, raising awareness of the work.
I have to say, that I had a great evening and it was worth being wrecked in work next day - magic! As to Best of Irish Poetry 2007's availability, I bought mine in February in Easons. I have looked on Amazon, but can't find it.
What exactly do you call a large gathering of poets anyway? This launch featured around nine poets who came to read from the Best of... giving the audience a great flavour of its contents. I must confess I already bought the imprint back in February and was well acquainted with the contents.
As I sat back in the pew contemplating stained glass illuminations featuring Discovery, Truth, Inspiration, Love and Work, I relished my glass of complimentary red wine and privately toasted the circumstances I found myself in.
Proceedings were opened with Poetry Ireland's acting Director, Jane O'Hanlon, and she introduced Pat Cotter of the Munster Literary Centre who spoke eloquently about how anthologies can allow access to poetry in a way that perhaps a single collection may not afford. Pat also raised the point that the Best of... can be seen to be a reclaiming of the shaping of the Irish canon: from an Irish perspective, rather than one defined by critics further abroad.
Best of Irish Poetry 2007, edited by Maurice Riordan and Colm Breathnach, represents a cherry picking of the best of Irish poetry published in respected journals both inside and outside Ireland published in the last twelve months. Pat Cotter explained that this anthology is set to become an annual event (something to aim for, maybe?) and its aims are to help promote and raise awareness of our contemporary writers in an accessible manner. Indeed, accessible is one very good way of describing the poetry contained, and made even more so by the readings that took place last night.
John F. Deane kicked off the readings: his poem, Towards a Conversion was received very well, and I thought the reading also added to my understanding of this beautiful poem. Other poems that stood out for me were Katie Donovan's Buying a Body and Peggie Gallagher's Letter to my Children. There was also a strong representation in Irish, from Dairenna Ni Chinneide's Fuascailt and Gabriel Rosenstock's Imram thar m'eolas.
Afterwards in closing, Pat Cotter spoke of the need to support poetry more than ever, by buying and how quickly poetry books disappear from stock in bookshops. This is not because they are flying out the door in people's shopping bags - but because bookshops don't want them on their shelves as long as they used to. That story sounds sadly familiar. Pat also raised the point about touring circuits for poets. When their publication comes out, there is a ready made tour-circuit on which they can promote their work, raising awareness of the work.
I have to say, that I had a great evening and it was worth being wrecked in work next day - magic! As to Best of Irish Poetry 2007's availability, I bought mine in February in Easons. I have looked on Amazon, but can't find it.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
An offer like that...
...doesn't come your way every day!
I got a letter on Good Friday from Queen's University Belfast, offering a place on their Masters in Creative Writing, in the School of English. Pending results from this year of course.
Fingers crossed everyone!
I got a letter on Good Friday from Queen's University Belfast, offering a place on their Masters in Creative Writing, in the School of English. Pending results from this year of course.
Fingers crossed everyone!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Paschal, pacques, pesach... ostara, Easter, oeufs!!!
So many word derivations for the feast of Easter, as Christians have it, or Pesach, passover as Judaism has it. I love etymology and looking up the origination of a word. So many times you'll come across a serendipitous discovery, and if words are your hardest currency, I'm guessing that you like looking inside a word, seeing where it's come from, where it's been and who it's met on the way. Google: a girl's best friend (closely followed by nice underwear, red wine, chocolate and possibly a... ahem, I forgot where I was!) Anyway...!
Paschal: the candle lit
over Easter ceremonies
in churches, replacing
the mourning purple.
Tall, widely girthed,
and creamy white
lit by a wavering taper,
held up to it by the fat
priest on tippy toes.
I'm only writing this, because Minx' post about Ostara reminded me of that older pagan feast, which I'd guess had been absorbed by the early Celtic Church as it inveigled its way into peoples' lives, using what was there already to bind people into the budding religion... okay, 'nuff of that for now!
What I'm wondering now is how to get from Paschal to Oeufs in only six degrees of separation...? Any takers? :)
Paschal: the candle lit
over Easter ceremonies
in churches, replacing
the mourning purple.
Tall, widely girthed,
and creamy white
lit by a wavering taper,
held up to it by the fat
priest on tippy toes.
I'm only writing this, because Minx' post about Ostara reminded me of that older pagan feast, which I'd guess had been absorbed by the early Celtic Church as it inveigled its way into peoples' lives, using what was there already to bind people into the budding religion... okay, 'nuff of that for now!
What I'm wondering now is how to get from Paschal to Oeufs in only six degrees of separation...? Any takers? :)
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
The Wedding Group
The Wedding Group
He looks to the centre –eyes glazed.
She looks to the right – smile glazed.
Baby’s eyes are devil red, facing front
as are the eldest sons of He and She.
The foreground is a blur of children.
Tired eyes rubbed, a curtsy of
thirsty white chiffon,
and a stampede of five year olds.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
You wanted it - You got it!
Toddle on over to Eyewear, to see a brand new poem by me!
Many thanks to the ever prescient Eyewear, aka Todd Swift, for the promotion.
Every Friday, Todd introduces a different poet and a poem of theirs. Wouldn't it be great if some day there was a published collection of all these contemporary gems...? You know, like Ruth Padel's 52 Ways of Looking at a poem - only different...
Many thanks to the ever prescient Eyewear, aka Todd Swift, for the promotion.
Every Friday, Todd introduces a different poet and a poem of theirs. Wouldn't it be great if some day there was a published collection of all these contemporary gems...? You know, like Ruth Padel's 52 Ways of Looking at a poem - only different...
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Peculiar Happenings in Western Ireland
A man who was found dressed in latex and handcuffs brought a donkey to his room in a Galway city centre hotel, because he was advised "to get out and meet people," the local court heard last week... read more here!
This story has done the rounds of the world, apparently, and demonstrates how the maxim, 'Never let the truth get in the way of a good story', still holds true!
This story has done the rounds of the world, apparently, and demonstrates how the maxim, 'Never let the truth get in the way of a good story', still holds true!
Anthology Launch Invite
Next Tuesday, I've been invited to attend a launch for an anthology called Drogheda Writes, an anthology being published in my old home town, which is about thirty miles away from where I live.
I say home town, because I spent a good eleven years living there and felt like part of the town. It was quite unnerving moving back to Dundalk in 2005 after not having lived here for almost sixteen years. But I got used to it.
Anyway, Roger Hudson, one of the co-runners of Drogheda Creative Writers invited me to submit poetry to the journal, so I did! And next week I'll get me grubby mitts on my contributor copy :)
The launch is being presented by Catherine Brophy, an Irish novelist, short story writer, and also a scriptwriter for the long running soap, Fair City, on RTE 1 (think Coronation Street, but with Dublin accents).
I will be rounding up relatives and friends to come along and buy lots of copies to show support for the project. As ever, my camera will be in tow!
I say home town, because I spent a good eleven years living there and felt like part of the town. It was quite unnerving moving back to Dundalk in 2005 after not having lived here for almost sixteen years. But I got used to it.
Anyway, Roger Hudson, one of the co-runners of Drogheda Creative Writers invited me to submit poetry to the journal, so I did! And next week I'll get me grubby mitts on my contributor copy :)
The launch is being presented by Catherine Brophy, an Irish novelist, short story writer, and also a scriptwriter for the long running soap, Fair City, on RTE 1 (think Coronation Street, but with Dublin accents).
I will be rounding up relatives and friends to come along and buy lots of copies to show support for the project. As ever, my camera will be in tow!
Thursday, March 08, 2007
T-I-R-E-D!
R-e-s-p-e-c-t! Find out what it means to me!
Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me...
This is one very tired girl reporting in from Ireland! Just started new job with the PGA Irish region in the local Golf Club - before you start thinking, 'Ooooh,' it sounds more exciting than it actually is. My job is my first real love - accounts, which I only discovered about five years ago.
Being one of those in school that thought 'Maths! Yeuch!', it came as some surprise to find that accounting for things is something that I really enjoy. Well, it shouldn't have been a surprise, really, I do organised quite well - sometimes - and to me accounting is something that is an extension of that. It's just organising on paper, and computer, and in boxes, and in folders. And that's the thing really, I do like putting order on things.
Now, if only I could apply the same method to my words and get a handle on form..?
This is my next mission. As I'm currently tackling a Creative Writing course that involves challenging my notions of what constitutes methods and forms of writing, poetic form is on my list of things to do this year. We are going to be tackling the nebulous area of form and how to overcome the jitters . I can't wait until that section of the course - but - there's the fiction part to get through first, and surprisingly for me, I am enjoying that part tremendously, stretching wee 'fictional' muscles that haven't seen the light of day since way back when.
Oh, and I've been invited to a launch of a collection of writing that includes mine! More news soon!
Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me...
This is one very tired girl reporting in from Ireland! Just started new job with the PGA Irish region in the local Golf Club - before you start thinking, 'Ooooh,' it sounds more exciting than it actually is. My job is my first real love - accounts, which I only discovered about five years ago.
Being one of those in school that thought 'Maths! Yeuch!', it came as some surprise to find that accounting for things is something that I really enjoy. Well, it shouldn't have been a surprise, really, I do organised quite well - sometimes - and to me accounting is something that is an extension of that. It's just organising on paper, and computer, and in boxes, and in folders. And that's the thing really, I do like putting order on things.
Now, if only I could apply the same method to my words and get a handle on form..?
This is my next mission. As I'm currently tackling a Creative Writing course that involves challenging my notions of what constitutes methods and forms of writing, poetic form is on my list of things to do this year. We are going to be tackling the nebulous area of form and how to overcome the jitters . I can't wait until that section of the course - but - there's the fiction part to get through first, and surprisingly for me, I am enjoying that part tremendously, stretching wee 'fictional' muscles that haven't seen the light of day since way back when.
Oh, and I've been invited to a launch of a collection of writing that includes mine! More news soon!
Monday, March 05, 2007
Carried away by a Moonlight Shadow
Apprentice has some lovely pics here from Saturday's eclipse.
They beat the pants off the tiny white speck on hubby's mobile phone camera!
They beat the pants off the tiny white speck on hubby's mobile phone camera!
Saturday, March 03, 2007
When there's nothing else for it...
... there's always The Cure - Lor' Bless 'em!
Especially Faith, Kiss me, Kiss me, Kiss me with my personal all-time track, 'If only tonight we could sleep' and my particular other favourite album, The Head on The Door.
Deep dark stuff, or not as you like it - but I really don't think they make being a teenager like this any more. Aahhhh!
How's your eclipse...?
Especially Faith, Kiss me, Kiss me, Kiss me with my personal all-time track, 'If only tonight we could sleep' and my particular other favourite album, The Head on The Door.
Deep dark stuff, or not as you like it - but I really don't think they make being a teenager like this any more. Aahhhh!
How's your eclipse...?
Getting Ready to Fail
Today has been, as has most of the week, get ready-for-the-new-job day. I usually shop once a week for basics for the house - you know - toilet paper, tins of tomatoes, fabic conditioner - that sort of non-perishable, non-branded stuff, at a local cheap-as-chips supermarket.
I then shop on a second day basis for fresh fruit and veg and meat to make the main meals that constitute keeping six feckers and two grown adults in eating. But that had to be upscaled today, as I adopted the tactics usually observed by people who believe that the world is going to end - or when there's snow expected.
My second youngest daughter said it all:
'Wow, the fridge is full, Mammy. The last time it was full was when Granddad had his party here.'
Um.
You see, living with this lot is like living with a herd of one year old bullocks. They graze from one end of the field to the bottom, liberally spraying the place with cow-pats while they're at it. Okay, except for the cowpats, but you'd wonder sometimes when you visit the bathroom and have to flush before you use the loo! I digress.
Another part of the frantic rushing around has been that the oul 106 finally made it over the NCT (MOT) hurdle at the second attempt after a quite definite refusal first time around. Reparations (I do mean that) to the car included: a new bonnet, which had to be re-sprayed, a quick changing around of tyres, but the worst bit was the emissions bit. This is where the Hydrocarbons and other noxious bits must fall between certain tolerances. My wee 106 failed on the closest of fails to these tolerance levels.
It was supposed to be serviced by the garage. They did not do this job - why? Well, I reckon it just didn't occur to yer man to actually figure that bit out. It certainly wasn't for the want of asking. I took the car to another garage to have its exhaust checked. Nothing wrong with it there.
So, what do you do when you're car's not well, and you know what's wrong but just want a quick fix? That's right, look it up on the internet and see what fellow NCT strugglers have done. The last word on emissions, is an engine additive called STOP SMOKE. No - it's not another prophylactic for would be non-smokers, it's for the 'older' engine.
After this addition I took it to yet another garage man to have the emission levels checked again. Before testing it, he comfortingly told me that his machine has been on the blink for several weeks. He then tested it. His machine told him that my car could beat records for Hydrocarbons - three times the levels it should have. I came home in a stinking bad mood. My car would fail the test again...
This morning I took my wee car for a short drive along the coastal route near where I live, through a small village called Blackrock to warm up the engine.
I then drove it into the test centre, fully prepared for the white sheet of paper afterwards telling me how it had broken the test centre records for failures. Turns out that your man's machine was definitely up the Swanee river. My car passed!
And the best laugh of all is that all this bringing it here and there to get it to pass cost me - the grand total of €0. How could they charge me, when they hadn't actually done anything? Well, except perhaps for the €4.99 for the Smoke treatment additive and I put that in myself.
By the way, did you know that there's a lunar eclipse about tonight? Hmm.
I then shop on a second day basis for fresh fruit and veg and meat to make the main meals that constitute keeping six feckers and two grown adults in eating. But that had to be upscaled today, as I adopted the tactics usually observed by people who believe that the world is going to end - or when there's snow expected.
My second youngest daughter said it all:
'Wow, the fridge is full, Mammy. The last time it was full was when Granddad had his party here.'
Um.
You see, living with this lot is like living with a herd of one year old bullocks. They graze from one end of the field to the bottom, liberally spraying the place with cow-pats while they're at it. Okay, except for the cowpats, but you'd wonder sometimes when you visit the bathroom and have to flush before you use the loo! I digress.
Another part of the frantic rushing around has been that the oul 106 finally made it over the NCT (MOT) hurdle at the second attempt after a quite definite refusal first time around. Reparations (I do mean that) to the car included: a new bonnet, which had to be re-sprayed, a quick changing around of tyres, but the worst bit was the emissions bit. This is where the Hydrocarbons and other noxious bits must fall between certain tolerances. My wee 106 failed on the closest of fails to these tolerance levels.
It was supposed to be serviced by the garage. They did not do this job - why? Well, I reckon it just didn't occur to yer man to actually figure that bit out. It certainly wasn't for the want of asking. I took the car to another garage to have its exhaust checked. Nothing wrong with it there.
So, what do you do when you're car's not well, and you know what's wrong but just want a quick fix? That's right, look it up on the internet and see what fellow NCT strugglers have done. The last word on emissions, is an engine additive called STOP SMOKE. No - it's not another prophylactic for would be non-smokers, it's for the 'older' engine.
After this addition I took it to yet another garage man to have the emission levels checked again. Before testing it, he comfortingly told me that his machine has been on the blink for several weeks. He then tested it. His machine told him that my car could beat records for Hydrocarbons - three times the levels it should have. I came home in a stinking bad mood. My car would fail the test again...
This morning I took my wee car for a short drive along the coastal route near where I live, through a small village called Blackrock to warm up the engine.
I then drove it into the test centre, fully prepared for the white sheet of paper afterwards telling me how it had broken the test centre records for failures. Turns out that your man's machine was definitely up the Swanee river. My car passed!
And the best laugh of all is that all this bringing it here and there to get it to pass cost me - the grand total of €0. How could they charge me, when they hadn't actually done anything? Well, except perhaps for the €4.99 for the Smoke treatment additive and I put that in myself.
By the way, did you know that there's a lunar eclipse about tonight? Hmm.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
So, You're interested in Writing?
I bumped into Laurence O'Dwyer the other evening at the George Szirtes evening in Dublin. Laurence read with me at our Poetry Ireland Introductions evening in late May 2005. Laurence's work has won awards and a good deal of attention already!
Anyway, in the pub afterwards, we had a great time talking about various aspects of poetry and sharing insights and resources that we had read on poets and other writers too. This site, recommended by Lar, is the American Literature Library and in particular you might check out Sherwood Anderson, in particular his Winesburg, Ohio. Very understated fiction and character realizations here, which go for the psychological, through the physical using fairly pared down language - the American idiom for the most part.
While you're there, look out for a very short story by Liam O'Flaherty, 'The Sniper' and my favourite lady from last year's 20thc Lit course, Virginia Woolf, with 'The Haunted House'.
Anyway, in the pub afterwards, we had a great time talking about various aspects of poetry and sharing insights and resources that we had read on poets and other writers too. This site, recommended by Lar, is the American Literature Library and in particular you might check out Sherwood Anderson, in particular his Winesburg, Ohio. Very understated fiction and character realizations here, which go for the psychological, through the physical using fairly pared down language - the American idiom for the most part.
While you're there, look out for a very short story by Liam O'Flaherty, 'The Sniper' and my favourite lady from last year's 20thc Lit course, Virginia Woolf, with 'The Haunted House'.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Poetry and Politics - Szirtes View
Last night I attended one of the talks in a series that has been running in Trinity College Dublin. The series investigates with the help of a number of poets, how different poets deal with and relate to politics in their work. George Szirtes was the speaker last night and gave the audience a good insight into how his work is informed by politics.
Beforehand, I had scrutinized his last publication, Reel, for signs of his 'politics.' Some references and exploration of his personal background as an emigre from Hungary, but little of the rabble rousing calls that some poets may make. There was a very good reason for this as we learned during the course of the talk.
George Szirtes began by giving an overview of the upheavals of Hungary. Hungary is a land-locked country, and it's size has swollen and shrunk with each passing revolution. He began by telling us about the poet Sandor Petofi, whose statue has been used as a rallying point both in 1956 and again in 1989. A quote from a poem that Petofi wrote, NEMZETI DAL, asks
Shall we live as slaves or free men?
That's the question
This became a rallying call for Hungarians in the year of revolutions in 1848. Szirtes focused on this quote, looking at the binary connections: either/or, for/against and described how his poetical outlook questions that simplicity. For him it is much more complex than that, because human beings are more complex and the nature of our political struggles is always more complex too. Szirtes believes that for most 20th century poets, it is not enough to think in those on/off connections either.
Szirtes went on to talk about his personal family history, and the discoveries made about his family, in the mid 70s about a Jewish connection, and the history of how names changed in Hungary with the changes in country borders. Germanic names became Hungaricised - people tried to fit into their new territories, and by extension, the Szirtes family became Anglicised when they moved to England in 1956. This was by way of showing how complicated the idea of identity can become. And by extension, when you are an emigre, it is more difficult to go with that binary idea of black/white, yes/no.
So in effect what Szirtes explored in his writing was that type of politics - the exploration of discovery within the family unit could inform a wider point of view. As he prefers to think of it, poetry may not just be a statement of affiliation, but more a commentary on the discovery. There is a telling quote at the beginning of Reel, from Martin Bell's 'Ode to Himself':
To watch is possible: therefore you must watch.
From here then it was an easy jump to one of Szirtes' favourite muses, Clio, or history. He explained how Clio watches from afar, not concerned with the meaning of the individual story, but where it fits into the greater scheme of History itself. Clio is interpreted by Szirtes as someone involved in movies, recording things but remaining aloof: editing the film, or on the judging panel at the film festival, maybe. By way of background to the first poem he read, he described how he discovered that his mother had been detained in a concentration camp during WWII, at Ravensbruck - never mentioned until after his mother's death.
Szirtes' research showed that Ravensbruck had been liberated by the Russians. But it turns out that by this stage his mother had been moved to another camp, Penig which was liberated by the Americans, and which liberation was also captured on film! The poem itself used the flickering grey images and used the idea of Clio, the watcher, the recorder, to keep a distance from this emotive subject, as does the actual form, which I think was terza rima. Still very moving.
His next piece came from a poem commissioned to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Hungarian uprising in 1956. This poem used the idea of North, cold and truth and borrowed from John Mandeville's travels, the idea of sounds being frozen. Szirtes has incorporated this into the poem as a strong look at how we can't view History the way it happened at the time, at a later date - how we revise the past, as though it were frozen and then reassembled later on. He read two sequences from this long piece, Nova Zemble.
Afterwards, there was a Q&A session which allowed the audience to learn more about Szirtes' method and poetics. We learned that Szirtes fascination with form came after 1975, and that he considered it took it him about six or seven years to get into this craft (!). He became a more formal poet, using form to contain the meaning of the formlessness of existence (my words, not his!). Szirtes also views the relationship between poet and language rather like that of two dancers: language usually does the leading. Language when used in form always offers resistance, that resistance leads to new discoveries. On 'truth' he believes that a fidelity to the apprehension of things, will allow truth to speak - a very delicate concept. By his own admission, his use of, and view of politics in poetry is oblique, but that is because his method is more to discover through the exploration of watching and recording.
Postscript: of course, you could simply just visit George Szirtes' Blog and see how he frames the evening - much better than I did- he knew what he was trying to say: I am but one interpreter.
Beforehand, I had scrutinized his last publication, Reel, for signs of his 'politics.' Some references and exploration of his personal background as an emigre from Hungary, but little of the rabble rousing calls that some poets may make. There was a very good reason for this as we learned during the course of the talk.
George Szirtes began by giving an overview of the upheavals of Hungary. Hungary is a land-locked country, and it's size has swollen and shrunk with each passing revolution. He began by telling us about the poet Sandor Petofi, whose statue has been used as a rallying point both in 1956 and again in 1989. A quote from a poem that Petofi wrote, NEMZETI DAL, asks
Shall we live as slaves or free men?
That's the question
This became a rallying call for Hungarians in the year of revolutions in 1848. Szirtes focused on this quote, looking at the binary connections: either/or, for/against and described how his poetical outlook questions that simplicity. For him it is much more complex than that, because human beings are more complex and the nature of our political struggles is always more complex too. Szirtes believes that for most 20th century poets, it is not enough to think in those on/off connections either.
Szirtes went on to talk about his personal family history, and the discoveries made about his family, in the mid 70s about a Jewish connection, and the history of how names changed in Hungary with the changes in country borders. Germanic names became Hungaricised - people tried to fit into their new territories, and by extension, the Szirtes family became Anglicised when they moved to England in 1956. This was by way of showing how complicated the idea of identity can become. And by extension, when you are an emigre, it is more difficult to go with that binary idea of black/white, yes/no.
So in effect what Szirtes explored in his writing was that type of politics - the exploration of discovery within the family unit could inform a wider point of view. As he prefers to think of it, poetry may not just be a statement of affiliation, but more a commentary on the discovery. There is a telling quote at the beginning of Reel, from Martin Bell's 'Ode to Himself':
To watch is possible: therefore you must watch.
From here then it was an easy jump to one of Szirtes' favourite muses, Clio, or history. He explained how Clio watches from afar, not concerned with the meaning of the individual story, but where it fits into the greater scheme of History itself. Clio is interpreted by Szirtes as someone involved in movies, recording things but remaining aloof: editing the film, or on the judging panel at the film festival, maybe. By way of background to the first poem he read, he described how he discovered that his mother had been detained in a concentration camp during WWII, at Ravensbruck - never mentioned until after his mother's death.
Szirtes' research showed that Ravensbruck had been liberated by the Russians. But it turns out that by this stage his mother had been moved to another camp, Penig which was liberated by the Americans, and which liberation was also captured on film! The poem itself used the flickering grey images and used the idea of Clio, the watcher, the recorder, to keep a distance from this emotive subject, as does the actual form, which I think was terza rima. Still very moving.
His next piece came from a poem commissioned to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Hungarian uprising in 1956. This poem used the idea of North, cold and truth and borrowed from John Mandeville's travels, the idea of sounds being frozen. Szirtes has incorporated this into the poem as a strong look at how we can't view History the way it happened at the time, at a later date - how we revise the past, as though it were frozen and then reassembled later on. He read two sequences from this long piece, Nova Zemble.
Afterwards, there was a Q&A session which allowed the audience to learn more about Szirtes' method and poetics. We learned that Szirtes fascination with form came after 1975, and that he considered it took it him about six or seven years to get into this craft (!). He became a more formal poet, using form to contain the meaning of the formlessness of existence (my words, not his!). Szirtes also views the relationship between poet and language rather like that of two dancers: language usually does the leading. Language when used in form always offers resistance, that resistance leads to new discoveries. On 'truth' he believes that a fidelity to the apprehension of things, will allow truth to speak - a very delicate concept. By his own admission, his use of, and view of politics in poetry is oblique, but that is because his method is more to discover through the exploration of watching and recording.
Postscript: of course, you could simply just visit George Szirtes' Blog and see how he frames the evening - much better than I did- he knew what he was trying to say: I am but one interpreter.
Monday, February 26, 2007
A Recipe: Organizing to see George Szirtes
... tomorrow, if everything falls according to my plans...
Here's how it goes - collect smallest child from school, feed, homework, park in front of telly.
Collect four older brothers and sisters later, homework them, feed them, park in front of telly also.
Rush round to secondary school, collect eldest son, feed, admonish to do homework and park in front of second telly. Warning: teenager + smaller children = big bust-up.
Pray that WWIII does not break out as smaller children come to the boil in the sitting room/cauldron.
Drive to train station. Get on train. Text hubby, to see that he has made it home...
and relax. Go and enjoy evening of poetry and politics as discussed by George Szirtes
Return home on train, get in car, drive to house, guzzle glass of beer/wine - and collapse in heap!
Here's how it goes - collect smallest child from school, feed, homework, park in front of telly.
Collect four older brothers and sisters later, homework them, feed them, park in front of telly also.
Rush round to secondary school, collect eldest son, feed, admonish to do homework and park in front of second telly. Warning: teenager + smaller children = big bust-up.
Pray that WWIII does not break out as smaller children come to the boil in the sitting room/cauldron.
Drive to train station. Get on train. Text hubby, to see that he has made it home...
and relax. Go and enjoy evening of poetry and politics as discussed by George Szirtes
Return home on train, get in car, drive to house, guzzle glass of beer/wine - and collapse in heap!
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Do Not...
...look at this site if you suffer with epilepsy, or are sensitive to flashing lights.
The Pig after the Wolf blew down the house
The Pig after the Wolf blew down the house
Rob's Tip for the Day
Submit your poetry book or chapbook, pamphlet to the Great Poetry Book exchange!
NOW!
How could it hurt...?
Courtesy of Rob MacKenzie over there in Scotia!
NOW!
How could it hurt...?
Courtesy of Rob MacKenzie over there in Scotia!
Friday, February 23, 2007
Surviving Half-Term
Just when you think you've got to the end of week without maiming either yourself or the children, along come a set of circumstances fit to try the best goodwill of anyone.
I'm sitting here freezing in my little corner of the dining room, which is sandwiched between two doors. I'm freezing because the job allocated to my husband, checking the oil level, wasn't done. No oil delivery until later on, so this morning's activites are reduced to me telling said children not to leave the internal doors open, to try and conserve the heat generated by the breathing of six children.
I'm also waiting to see what the garage have to say about my car. I called into them on Tuesday to book it in for today to get it's emissions sorted out. We have a test for cars over a certain age here: the NCT - like the MOT only Irish. It's done every two years. This time, not wanting to get stung like the last time (where they ruined a perfectly good set of back brakes!), I didn't bother with all the pre-testing business, opting for my little 1999 Peugeot 106 to fail for whatever reasons.
Guess what? It failed. Rust under the bonnet, non-matching tyres on the back axle, and a wee problem with emissions at high revs - and they did rev the hell out of it in the test centre. I was there in the waiting room with all the men who knew how their cars would perform, pretending it wasn't mine.
So, a new bonnet was procured, resprayed the right colour and fitted, and the right tyre put back on the back wheel, by yours truly. When they were giving out useful husbands, I seem to have been out the back having a fag. I'm now just waiting to see what the emissions end of things throws up. When I called the other day to the garage, the mechanic nearly choked on his teeth, so deep was the sucking in sound. I thought I might have to administer mouth-to-mouth on him!
Fingers crossed - stressing calamities tend to come in threes, so they say, so I'm not holding me breath to see what the last one is... maybe I can count Half-term itself???
I'm sitting here freezing in my little corner of the dining room, which is sandwiched between two doors. I'm freezing because the job allocated to my husband, checking the oil level, wasn't done. No oil delivery until later on, so this morning's activites are reduced to me telling said children not to leave the internal doors open, to try and conserve the heat generated by the breathing of six children.
I'm also waiting to see what the garage have to say about my car. I called into them on Tuesday to book it in for today to get it's emissions sorted out. We have a test for cars over a certain age here: the NCT - like the MOT only Irish. It's done every two years. This time, not wanting to get stung like the last time (where they ruined a perfectly good set of back brakes!), I didn't bother with all the pre-testing business, opting for my little 1999 Peugeot 106 to fail for whatever reasons.
Guess what? It failed. Rust under the bonnet, non-matching tyres on the back axle, and a wee problem with emissions at high revs - and they did rev the hell out of it in the test centre. I was there in the waiting room with all the men who knew how their cars would perform, pretending it wasn't mine.
So, a new bonnet was procured, resprayed the right colour and fitted, and the right tyre put back on the back wheel, by yours truly. When they were giving out useful husbands, I seem to have been out the back having a fag. I'm now just waiting to see what the emissions end of things throws up. When I called the other day to the garage, the mechanic nearly choked on his teeth, so deep was the sucking in sound. I thought I might have to administer mouth-to-mouth on him!
Fingers crossed - stressing calamities tend to come in threes, so they say, so I'm not holding me breath to see what the last one is... maybe I can count Half-term itself???
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
That Lowe Thang - Mortal Ghost
Every week, or possibly every two weeks, if I've been a bit remiss, I go to see the latest installment in Mortal Ghost.
I've never read anything quite like it, for the combination of writing craft, the portrayal of emotion and its sheer beauty.
And it seems like months ago, which indeed it was, that I began reading this, thinking that I could not sustain the supense over forty weeks, which was the time-frame set out for this method of bringing a new novel to an audience in an unusual manner. As it is, it almost coming to a close - there are only a few short weeks left to the conclusion!!!
I would love to see this novel become published and read by those (like the teenage son I have) who devour stories about protagonists a little like them but with powers outside the normal range of teenagers (thank goodness!).
Put this one on your blog-roll, blab about it to your friends - but do go and read it, if you've not already. It's jaw-droppingly gorgeously written - I am so envious!
Of course, it would help if I linked it properly - duh!
I've never read anything quite like it, for the combination of writing craft, the portrayal of emotion and its sheer beauty.
And it seems like months ago, which indeed it was, that I began reading this, thinking that I could not sustain the supense over forty weeks, which was the time-frame set out for this method of bringing a new novel to an audience in an unusual manner. As it is, it almost coming to a close - there are only a few short weeks left to the conclusion!!!
I would love to see this novel become published and read by those (like the teenage son I have) who devour stories about protagonists a little like them but with powers outside the normal range of teenagers (thank goodness!).
Put this one on your blog-roll, blab about it to your friends - but do go and read it, if you've not already. It's jaw-droppingly gorgeously written - I am so envious!
Of course, it would help if I linked it properly - duh!
Friday, February 16, 2007
Galway Slam Night
Just back and feeling relatively normal (well as normal as a hangover will allow!). I had a heck of a night last night in BK's Wine Bar - just listening to the sheer talent of the readers that slammed at North Beach Nights, before the main event of guest reader Kevin Higgins. It was a difficult call for the judges in the audience for those picked to make the final three, and the overall winner was picked by a hair's breadth. The night was ably emceed by Gary King, who kept things moving along in an organised manner.
Here's how their slam works. Whoever signs up for reading gets their name put into a hat and then the readers read in that order. Ten slammers took up the challenge last night and three were picked for the second round: Denise Heneghan, Brendan Murphy and Steve Murray, which took place after the guest reader.
The original lineup included Mary Madec, Denise Heneghan, Leonor Silvestri, John Walsh, Susan Millar DuMars, Miceál Kearney, Steve Murray, Dave Rock, Brendan Murphy and Carolyn Kimbel. Oh, and me too. I hope I've not forgotten anyone - there was so much to take in.
Here's how their slam works. Whoever signs up for reading gets their name put into a hat and then the readers read in that order. Ten slammers took up the challenge last night and three were picked for the second round: Denise Heneghan, Brendan Murphy and Steve Murray, which took place after the guest reader.
The original lineup included Mary Madec, Denise Heneghan, Leonor Silvestri, John Walsh, Susan Millar DuMars, Miceál Kearney, Steve Murray, Dave Rock, Brendan Murphy and Carolyn Kimbel. Oh, and me too. I hope I've not forgotten anyone - there was so much to take in.
Denise, Steve, Brendan and Miceál
The range of poetry was quite wide, from formal poems like sestinas to freewheeling free verse and the subjects ranged from marriage proposals through computers to the changes in Croke Park (allowing rugby to be played on the hallowed turf of GAA, for those outside of Ireland) and the state of humanity and beyond. So, quite a diverse range of writing and styles!
Kevin's set itself made for interesting hearing. His loose easy style of reading and humoured delivery belies the actual work that must go into his writing and these poems from his future collection, Time Gentlemen, Please! went down very well with the appreciative audience, which itself reflected the rich diversity of Galway, from students to those involved in all aspects of the arts. It's great to see poetry so warmly supported in Galway in this way.
Kevin and his Mum, MaryWhile there I also got a chance to speak with the three of the four Galway poets whose work has been selected for the Poetry Ireland Introductions series: Mary Madec, Aoife Casby & Susan Millar DuMars, two of whom slammed on the night. They were looking forward to their Poetry Ireland Masterclass at the end of February and their actual readings which will be in Aprilish (another date for my culture vulture diary).
Aoife , Mary and Susan
I also spoke briefly to the slam winner Denise Heneghan, about the sources that we draw on for writing and how to fit writing into the demands of family life.
And lastly a quick wave to Miceál Kearney without whom I wouldn't have known about North Beach Nights, which as it happens derives its name from the inspiration of the original sessions organised by the beat poets in San Francisco back in the 50s.
Finally - my apologies if I've anyone's name spelled wrong or incorrectly given - leave a comment and I'll come back and fix it! And yes, I know the formatting isn't what it should be - Blogger seems to have a mind of its own lately! Grrr!
Thursday, February 15, 2007
North Beach Nights
I'm off to Galway today again to see North Beach Nights monthly Slam, with featured poet Kevin Higgins. Kevin has a fine collection called The Boy With No Face available from Salmon Poetry. There are sample poems on the page featuring his book.
Here's a snippet from a review:
"Upfront, delivered in an informal, conversational manner which delights in its own wry black humour, it is the poetry of the urban twenty-first century, casting a sharply critical eye over the condition of contemporary society." Metre
Kevin has a new collection due out next year called Time Gentlemen, Please! from which tonight's poems will be read. I believe he's off to the US in a week or so to read in the Annual Irish Cultural Festival at Loyola Marymount University on February 21st.
Nice work if you can get it!
There's also a slam feature at North Beach Nights too, and I hope to get in there and get a poem in and hear a few from others. The gig is at BK's Wine Bar, Spanish Parade, Galway City, Adm: €4.00. Full report when I get back, hopefully with pictures this time!
Here's a snippet from a review:
"Upfront, delivered in an informal, conversational manner which delights in its own wry black humour, it is the poetry of the urban twenty-first century, casting a sharply critical eye over the condition of contemporary society." Metre
Kevin has a new collection due out next year called Time Gentlemen, Please! from which tonight's poems will be read. I believe he's off to the US in a week or so to read in the Annual Irish Cultural Festival at Loyola Marymount University on February 21st.
Nice work if you can get it!
There's also a slam feature at North Beach Nights too, and I hope to get in there and get a poem in and hear a few from others. The gig is at BK's Wine Bar, Spanish Parade, Galway City, Adm: €4.00. Full report when I get back, hopefully with pictures this time!
Monday, February 12, 2007
You'll Never Guess!!!
I sent a poem to the RTE Radio 1 programme, The Poetry Programme two weeks ago in response to a request for poems on the subject of Valentine's Day. RTE Radio 1 would be sort of the Irish national equivalent to BBC Radio 4, except without the plummy voices ;)
I received an email back from producer Aoife Nic Cormaic, thanking me for my contribution and telling me that I had been shortlisted for reading during the programme.
I didn't get my hopes up too much and we tuned in on Saturday evening, as myself and hubby were eating our weekly sit-down-and-catch-up-meal, but we missed the opening minutes of the programme, due to the potatoes needing mashing.
We listened to Sally Emerson and Michael O'Loughlin discussing love poetry with the presenter well-known poet Irish poet Pat Boran, citing and quoting some great examples from old and contemporary poets. This was interspersed with readings by Catherine Brennan of reader's contributions.
As the programme progressed hubby said reassuringly, 'I'm sure they'll read yours out.'
I said, no, surely there would be stiff competition and I'd be lucky to get mine read, especially as the short half-hour programme might not fit in the advertised quota of ten. By the close, I wasn't too disappointed and the great poem 'Atlas' by U.A. Fanthorpe was picked out as a particular favourite and read out by Sally Emerson, which made up for it.
Imagine my surprise when I checked the website and clicked on the link for Saturday's programme. The first poem read out was the one I had sent in. Missing the first few minutes of the programme had been crucial, after all!!!
You can listen here if you have Real Player (which I think is still free to DL, if you've not got it) - just fast forward past the news and weather to about 2:50 mins. It's called 'Cupidity'.
The Atlas poem is later, around about 26:00 mins. or so, but the whole programme is interesting in its own right.
You can also catch up with previous Poetry Programmes, and listen to them if you like what you see on the RTE menu!
I received an email back from producer Aoife Nic Cormaic, thanking me for my contribution and telling me that I had been shortlisted for reading during the programme.
I didn't get my hopes up too much and we tuned in on Saturday evening, as myself and hubby were eating our weekly sit-down-and-catch-up-meal, but we missed the opening minutes of the programme, due to the potatoes needing mashing.
We listened to Sally Emerson and Michael O'Loughlin discussing love poetry with the presenter well-known poet Irish poet Pat Boran, citing and quoting some great examples from old and contemporary poets. This was interspersed with readings by Catherine Brennan of reader's contributions.
As the programme progressed hubby said reassuringly, 'I'm sure they'll read yours out.'
I said, no, surely there would be stiff competition and I'd be lucky to get mine read, especially as the short half-hour programme might not fit in the advertised quota of ten. By the close, I wasn't too disappointed and the great poem 'Atlas' by U.A. Fanthorpe was picked out as a particular favourite and read out by Sally Emerson, which made up for it.
Imagine my surprise when I checked the website and clicked on the link for Saturday's programme. The first poem read out was the one I had sent in. Missing the first few minutes of the programme had been crucial, after all!!!
You can listen here if you have Real Player (which I think is still free to DL, if you've not got it) - just fast forward past the news and weather to about 2:50 mins. It's called 'Cupidity'.
The Atlas poem is later, around about 26:00 mins. or so, but the whole programme is interesting in its own right.
You can also catch up with previous Poetry Programmes, and listen to them if you like what you see on the RTE menu!
Your help, Again..?!?
Being a bit slow, I didn't realise the Irish Blog Awards are now open to voting!
Only for Jason Roe's Blog, I'd never have known.
So, I'm asking very nicely once again, if you wouldn't mind popping in and voting on their Voting Form. I've got nominations under Best Irish Blog and Best Personal Blog - I'll leave it up to you to decide before February 16th passes.
And Jason - you have my vote and thanks :)
Only for Jason Roe's Blog, I'd never have known.
So, I'm asking very nicely once again, if you wouldn't mind popping in and voting on their Voting Form. I've got nominations under Best Irish Blog and Best Personal Blog - I'll leave it up to you to decide before February 16th passes.
And Jason - you have my vote and thanks :)
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Who are We?
We are
you and me
more than one,
less than our whole.
These bubbles of love
circumnavigate us,
leave rainbows behind.
Skint's challenge - he is alive and well!!!
you and me
more than one,
less than our whole.
These bubbles of love
circumnavigate us,
leave rainbows behind.
Skint's challenge - he is alive and well!!!
Not what you'd expect...?!?
| You May Be a Bit Schizotypal... |
 |
Nicked from Jude's Blog
Actually the more I think about it... nah!
Monday, February 05, 2007
Balancing on the High Wire, Again!
Back to the coal face once again, when I rejoin the legions of employed people. This time, it's back to book-cooking at a local small firm, from the hours of 9 until 1pm, for a more reasonable wage than the last job.
Hopefully that's going to give me still enough energy and time left to write (and hang around on the internet) as well as mind the kids (smallest she-fecker finishes at 1pm) and cook meals, wash clothes etc., etc.
Now I'm just off to rummage through the wardrobe to see if I've anything suitable to (a) fend off sub-zero temperatures, and (b) look the business.
No suits!
Hopefully that's going to give me still enough energy and time left to write (and hang around on the internet) as well as mind the kids (smallest she-fecker finishes at 1pm) and cook meals, wash clothes etc., etc.
Now I'm just off to rummage through the wardrobe to see if I've anything suitable to (a) fend off sub-zero temperatures, and (b) look the business.
No suits!
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Finding Out Shantih, or, how to get from A to W
There is a post on George Szirtes blog where he mentions a novel that has been written about the Byzantine world of collegiate bureacracy (at least that's what I thought). He mentions a spoof of T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land, by Edward Pygge, with the line "shantih, shantih, shantih / it's only a shantih in old shantih town"
So this sends me off looking on the internet, because I love spoof poems and I like mysteries too. First I find Waste Paper - A Poem of Profound Insignificence by H. P. Lovecraft, which presses a few of the right buttons, but not the line I'm looking for. Interesting p-take of Eliot though. Don't get me wrong, I do like Eliot in small doses, but I also like what came afterwards too, even if it is irreverent.
Then I search under Edward Pygge, and find this is connected to Ian Hamilton, John Fuller, Clive James, Russell Davies and Julian Barnes. They used Edward Pygge as a cover all pseudonym for publishing spoofs and Ian Hamilton was involved with The Review, and later The New Review, poetry journals that looked to extend and push against the prescribed poetics of the times (sound familiar?).
Further research shows that the poem The Wasted Land, the Eliot spoof, is contained in Clive James collection, The Book of My Enemy. Naturally there is a website for Clive James, and a little poking has revealed that there are some poems contained there like The Australian Suicide Bomber's Heavenly Reward and this too, Statement from the Secretary of Defense .
I've been threatening to go round to Amazon and pick up that list of books I keep adding to. Now seems like a really good time to get The Book of My Enemy as well.
So this sends me off looking on the internet, because I love spoof poems and I like mysteries too. First I find Waste Paper - A Poem of Profound Insignificence by H. P. Lovecraft, which presses a few of the right buttons, but not the line I'm looking for. Interesting p-take of Eliot though. Don't get me wrong, I do like Eliot in small doses, but I also like what came afterwards too, even if it is irreverent.
Then I search under Edward Pygge, and find this is connected to Ian Hamilton, John Fuller, Clive James, Russell Davies and Julian Barnes. They used Edward Pygge as a cover all pseudonym for publishing spoofs and Ian Hamilton was involved with The Review, and later The New Review, poetry journals that looked to extend and push against the prescribed poetics of the times (sound familiar?).
Further research shows that the poem The Wasted Land, the Eliot spoof, is contained in Clive James collection, The Book of My Enemy. Naturally there is a website for Clive James, and a little poking has revealed that there are some poems contained there like The Australian Suicide Bomber's Heavenly Reward and this too, Statement from the Secretary of Defense .
I've been threatening to go round to Amazon and pick up that list of books I keep adding to. Now seems like a really good time to get The Book of My Enemy as well.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Wow, wow, wow!
One of my favourite poets is poet of the week over at Poetry SuperHighway this week. I just found out via Books Inq.
The first link will take you to a piece, Getting Lucky, which is such a cool take on the moon, by the poet Howard Miller, aka Hedgie.
I wonder what he taught in college? I bet his classes were always interesting. And, I've just found this ten questions post which gives an insight into how Howard thinks about poetry - a personal ars poetica.
The first link will take you to a piece, Getting Lucky, which is such a cool take on the moon, by the poet Howard Miller, aka Hedgie.
I wonder what he taught in college? I bet his classes were always interesting. And, I've just found this ten questions post which gives an insight into how Howard thinks about poetry - a personal ars poetica.
Brigid's Day
Today is the first day of Imbolg and Brigid, having being welcomed in and glossed out of recognition by the celtic christian church eons ago, is the patron saint of today.
When we were kids there was the annual scramble on the way home from school to collect armfuls of rushes so that we could make Brigid's crosses the following day in school - anything to get out of lessons. Rushes usually grow in marshy, swampy land, they are a lustrous dark green when healthy and new, but they dry out to a fragile weather-beaten straw brown, once you incorporate them into a cross.
Once made, tradition has it that they were hung over the front door of a dwelling to protect the occupants. Another tradition has it that they were put into the thatch of a house to protect it from fire!
If you fancy making one yourself here are instructions I'll be making one later for my kids when I get one of them to hop over the back fence and collect some rushes from the swamp out the back.
When we were kids there was the annual scramble on the way home from school to collect armfuls of rushes so that we could make Brigid's crosses the following day in school - anything to get out of lessons. Rushes usually grow in marshy, swampy land, they are a lustrous dark green when healthy and new, but they dry out to a fragile weather-beaten straw brown, once you incorporate them into a cross.
Once made, tradition has it that they were hung over the front door of a dwelling to protect the occupants. Another tradition has it that they were put into the thatch of a house to protect it from fire!
If you fancy making one yourself here are instructions I'll be making one later for my kids when I get one of them to hop over the back fence and collect some rushes from the swamp out the back.
Big Fanfare!
Moon Topple's wondrous fiction contest - 500 words on the topic of 'Vision' before the 7th of Feb
Go here for full rules and details. Get writing!
Go here for full rules and details. Get writing!
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Todd Swift reading in Limerick
I've just found this on White House Poets and wanted to share here. It's Todd Swift reading his Houdini poem, the one that combines memories of his father with Houdini's larger than life persona. It misses the first line or so, but gives a great flavour of how Todd reads. He comes across well, and even has his pint of plain there on the table with him.
Isn't technology cool!
Isn't technology cool!
Monday, January 29, 2007
How to Read a Poem Part 2
Terry Eagleton's The Times column continues with the second part on rhyme and metre discussing rhyme giving examples from Pope, of true rhyme and from Wilfred Owen of para-rhyme and the effects of order or dissonance that these examples demonstrate to the reader. Eagleton goes on to elaborate on metre, explaining how the line length and the stressed syllables adds a rhythm, which in turn compounds the effect that rhyme is setting up in the first place. But it's not just the rhythm of a regular beat, explains Eagleton; he adds in the variable of the speaking voice and how that can escalate a poem into an additional realm, depending on what way the voice is used.
What I like about the article is that he explains in plain terms what is going on in the examples, but also how the particular effect is created, which in turn adds more depth and complexity to the example allowing a fuller appreciation of the writer's skills. That book of his is definitely going to be bought, when I get paid!
What I like about the article is that he explains in plain terms what is going on in the examples, but also how the particular effect is created, which in turn adds more depth and complexity to the example allowing a fuller appreciation of the writer's skills. That book of his is definitely going to be bought, when I get paid!
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Galway Hooker
Sorry about the tagline, but I'm turning into a total poetry culture vulture over here!
Getting to Galway on Thursday 25th January proved to be every bit as interesting as the Over The Edge Reading I was there to attend - but I'll leave it at the wee walk I took around it watching the crowds of students and other assorted humanity that I came across, and the feisty gull that parked itself on the wall beside me, hoping for food, whilst the full rage of the river Corrib chucked itself under the nearby bridge.
The fish in Conlon's was very good but the poetry served later in Galway City Library was even better. The evening was MCed by Susan Millar DuMars, introducing Elaine Feeney, from Athenry who kicked off the reading with some of her work. Her first poem about the lament of losing the potential of a traveller boy to early parenthood and responsibilities, wove in ideas of what poetry is for, in a convincing way. Elaine's later 'revenge' poem got a good response from the audience in terms of humour and she finished with Irish Country Girl visits Tate Modern, capturing well that confusing clash of cultural input against what you have come from.
Mary Mullen read next, beginning with her 'pink pregnancy' poem, which I know I have read before lately, and admired but cannot find the link or the reference! Either that, or I'm suffering from a weird case of deja vu. Her set focused on the fruits of that pregnancy poem, her daughter Lily, with a thoughtful exploration of her relationship with her.
Lastly, Todd Swift read his set, which included poems from his current chapbook, Natural Curve, which I later purchased, and previous collections that he has published which include Budavox etc. One amusing poem gave the audience a humorous insight into the life of an editor, sampling some of the email comments that prospective poets make, in applying to have their work published. Another poem of Todd's was a poignant homage to his late father deceased very recently. Todd's selection demonstrated his wide range of material and moods very amply, and his ability to read an audience.
There was an Open Mic session where a selection of the many talented poets and writers that attend the workshops of Susan and Kevin Higgins read from work in progress, giving a good flavour of the talent being 'grown' in Galway presently. I also has the pleasure of hearing Miceal Kearney read again: another wry humorous observance featuring GTA or Grand Theft Auto. I also squeezed in two quick ones of my own.
Later proceedings repaired to a local pub, Sheridan's, where the relaxed atmosphere (and wonderful guitar-playing) encouraged many libations to be poured. I spoke to Elaine at great length about the trials and tribulations of finding time to write amongst the pulls of motherhood and paying the bills and I met two wonderful characters in Ron and Colm who chatted amiably about writing and sources of inspiration.
I also met Susan and Kevin properly and expressed my admiration for their perseverance with the Over The Edge series of readings, which actually celebrated its fourth birthday on the night, and ended the evening chatting to Todd about the locale where I currently live, amongst other things. It's a small world.
It was a wonderful evening of poetry and food for the mind, as well as forging new connections for the future: another landscape I hope to visit again quite soon.
Getting to Galway on Thursday 25th January proved to be every bit as interesting as the Over The Edge Reading I was there to attend - but I'll leave it at the wee walk I took around it watching the crowds of students and other assorted humanity that I came across, and the feisty gull that parked itself on the wall beside me, hoping for food, whilst the full rage of the river Corrib chucked itself under the nearby bridge.
The fish in Conlon's was very good but the poetry served later in Galway City Library was even better. The evening was MCed by Susan Millar DuMars, introducing Elaine Feeney, from Athenry who kicked off the reading with some of her work. Her first poem about the lament of losing the potential of a traveller boy to early parenthood and responsibilities, wove in ideas of what poetry is for, in a convincing way. Elaine's later 'revenge' poem got a good response from the audience in terms of humour and she finished with Irish Country Girl visits Tate Modern, capturing well that confusing clash of cultural input against what you have come from.
Mary Mullen read next, beginning with her 'pink pregnancy' poem, which I know I have read before lately, and admired but cannot find the link or the reference! Either that, or I'm suffering from a weird case of deja vu. Her set focused on the fruits of that pregnancy poem, her daughter Lily, with a thoughtful exploration of her relationship with her.
Lastly, Todd Swift read his set, which included poems from his current chapbook, Natural Curve, which I later purchased, and previous collections that he has published which include Budavox etc. One amusing poem gave the audience a humorous insight into the life of an editor, sampling some of the email comments that prospective poets make, in applying to have their work published. Another poem of Todd's was a poignant homage to his late father deceased very recently. Todd's selection demonstrated his wide range of material and moods very amply, and his ability to read an audience.
There was an Open Mic session where a selection of the many talented poets and writers that attend the workshops of Susan and Kevin Higgins read from work in progress, giving a good flavour of the talent being 'grown' in Galway presently. I also has the pleasure of hearing Miceal Kearney read again: another wry humorous observance featuring GTA or Grand Theft Auto. I also squeezed in two quick ones of my own.
Later proceedings repaired to a local pub, Sheridan's, where the relaxed atmosphere (and wonderful guitar-playing) encouraged many libations to be poured. I spoke to Elaine at great length about the trials and tribulations of finding time to write amongst the pulls of motherhood and paying the bills and I met two wonderful characters in Ron and Colm who chatted amiably about writing and sources of inspiration.
I also met Susan and Kevin properly and expressed my admiration for their perseverance with the Over The Edge series of readings, which actually celebrated its fourth birthday on the night, and ended the evening chatting to Todd about the locale where I currently live, amongst other things. It's a small world.
It was a wonderful evening of poetry and food for the mind, as well as forging new connections for the future: another landscape I hope to visit again quite soon.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
The Next New Thing in Poetry?
Todd Swift makes some salient points about the state of poetry discussion in the UK on his blog Eyewear, in relation to the BBC 2 Newsnight media coverage of Daljit Nagra, whose first collection, Look We Have Coming To Dover!, (you can look and listen on Faber's site) is being published by Faber and Faber on 1st of February.
Todd describes how the panellists on the programme practically slavered and slobbered over the idea of a new poet that seemed 'different' to what had gone before, which begs the question where has poetry been for the last while? What about Seamus Heaney et al other events poetry-wise in the UK?
I'm not denigrating Daljit Nagra's collection - and neither is Mr Swift - it's more a lament for the inability of the general media to generate a wider debate that is based on what is good about contemporary poetry, raising contemporary poetry's profile, rather than seize upon the next-big-thing in poetry and worry it like a rottweiller with a particular juicy bone.
After all, juicy bones tend to either get crunched up to get at the marrow, or buried and possibly forgotten about, by those pesky 'meja dawgs'.
As for me, well, I guess I will be getting a copy of Daljit Nagra's first collection and see what all the fuss is about! ;)
Todd describes how the panellists on the programme practically slavered and slobbered over the idea of a new poet that seemed 'different' to what had gone before, which begs the question where has poetry been for the last while? What about Seamus Heaney et al other events poetry-wise in the UK?
I'm not denigrating Daljit Nagra's collection - and neither is Mr Swift - it's more a lament for the inability of the general media to generate a wider debate that is based on what is good about contemporary poetry, raising contemporary poetry's profile, rather than seize upon the next-big-thing in poetry and worry it like a rottweiller with a particular juicy bone.
After all, juicy bones tend to either get crunched up to get at the marrow, or buried and possibly forgotten about, by those pesky 'meja dawgs'.
As for me, well, I guess I will be getting a copy of Daljit Nagra's first collection and see what all the fuss is about! ;)
Monday, January 22, 2007
How to Read Poetry
Terry Eagleton has begun a new weekly column in the Times. Who is Terry Eagleton, I hear you ask? He's a very lucid writer who writes critical books on literature. I've one or two of his books that helped me out last year, and I just find him so easy to understand, so much so that it actually feels pleasurable.
Anyway, his weekly column is introduced here, How to Read Poetry, and he will be going on to investigate metre, rhyme and lots of other aspects that go into the making of poetry.
I loved his analogy of the window: how prose writers aim to create a window that allows the writer a clear view, whereas a poet is fascinated with the minutiae of how the glass is made up - the actual structure itself.
Enjoy!
Anyway, his weekly column is introduced here, How to Read Poetry, and he will be going on to investigate metre, rhyme and lots of other aspects that go into the making of poetry.
I loved his analogy of the window: how prose writers aim to create a window that allows the writer a clear view, whereas a poet is fascinated with the minutiae of how the glass is made up - the actual structure itself.
Enjoy!
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Which Science Fiction Writer are you?
 | I am:Stanislav LemThis pessimistic Pole has spent a whole career telling ironic stories of futility and frustration. Yet he is also a master of wordplay so witty that it sparkles even when translated into English. |
Yes I know, not very original, but fun to do - and the questions are very interesting!
Nicked from Books Inq
Friday, January 19, 2007
Irish Blog Awards - Shameless push
There's an Irish Blog Awards site where you can nominate Irish Blogs under all different kinds of categories.
If you have a chance, I'm asking you nicely to go and nominate someone who:
either has an Irish Blog,
or lives and works in Ireland and keeps a blog going.
That could be me, if you wish, or someone else you know ;)
If you have a chance, I'm asking you nicely to go and nominate someone who:
either has an Irish Blog,
or lives and works in Ireland and keeps a blog going.
That could be me, if you wish, or someone else you know ;)
Kindness, Generosity and great Poetry too.
I picked a very good night to venture down to Limerick. With the launch of the second issue of Revival, a good crowd of people arrived to the White House pub on O'Connell Street. Some were contributors and others were proud supporters.
Many contributors read from their freshly minted Revival copies, including me, and the support and reception were tremendous. I spoke briefly to the Editor, Dominic Taylor, expressing my admiration to him and Barney Sheehan, for the work they put in weekly in bringing diverse talents to their loyal audience at the White House Pub, and their hard work in promoting the written and spoken word in Limerick and its hinterlands.
The MC, Barney Sheehan, (he's the guy with the dicky-bow) kept the flow moving along nicely and once Revival was launched, read from, and declared to be selling well, the proceedings moved along to the Belfast Poets group.
Barney Sheehan
The Belfast Poets present touring group comprises: PhatBob, Aisling Doherty, Ellen Factor, Chelley McLear, Gordon Hewitt and Jenni Doherty. Their readings are vivid and expressive, using visuals to back up their readings, adding depth to the performance. Their writing is born out of the context of NorthernIreland as it effects them, with some emphasis on the political. They take that political edge and fuse it with their individualised vision, personalising it both in the words they use and in the method of expression, and making it relevant in the wider context of the world - calling to mind world experiences of human atrocity.
I really enjoyed the whole set; in particular the duet, His Words, by Ellen Factor and read to great effect by herself and Aisling Doherty; and the chilling piece by Chelley McLear, Silence is Deadly, with its really effective visuals and voiceover. Gordon Hewitt's reading of Welcome to the Terrordome took performance poetry to another dimension - his energy is almost tangible; and PhatBob's gentle romantic lyrics in Not Sleeping Without You grounded the performance in a calm expression of humanity too.
Aisling and Ellen
The group offers something for everyone, and not least is their interpretation of poetry as a performance, as something that makes you think again about the world around you. The effect on the audience was palpable, raising the bar on poetic expectations of what performance can add to poetry.When I spoke to them later, they told me about their Australian Tour last year, and how they were welcomed there.
But they also told of the personal cost of making that Tour happen: that was when I really realised their commitment to their passion in poetry. And if you have passion and talent - poetry might carry you further than you think. Buying their chapbook afterwards showed my support and allowed me to re-read in calm the poems that had fired me up.
To round out the night nicely, the MC invited readers to participate in the Open Mic part, and many volunteers read again, including me, allowing everyone a chance to air work in progress.
Afterwards a few of us retired to a later-opening hostelry across the road, where I had the chance to speak to PhatBob and Ellen Factor about their work and ethos. I also made great friends with Bertha, Martin, Seadna, Ed and Kate, an artist, and we even made it as far as the dance floor!
I learned from an earlier exchange with Miceal Kearney, a Revival contributor, about North Beach Nights, (that's Galway, not San Francisco), a Monthly Open Mic night in Galway, and that both of us would be attending the Over the Edge reading next Thursday, also in Galway - so someone to look out for there too!
Overall the night was so enjoyable. I made some new friends and the generosity and hospitality shown to me was so warm and welcoming (in the tradition of all those in the Wesht!), I felt like part of the furniture in such a short time.
I'll definitely be returning to Limerick! A big thank you to you all down there!
Barbara Smith
All pictures can be viewed here, courtesy of Dominic Taylor:
Revival Launch 2
Many contributors read from their freshly minted Revival copies, including me, and the support and reception were tremendous. I spoke briefly to the Editor, Dominic Taylor, expressing my admiration to him and Barney Sheehan, for the work they put in weekly in bringing diverse talents to their loyal audience at the White House Pub, and their hard work in promoting the written and spoken word in Limerick and its hinterlands.
The MC, Barney Sheehan, (he's the guy with the dicky-bow) kept the flow moving along nicely and once Revival was launched, read from, and declared to be selling well, the proceedings moved along to the Belfast Poets group.
Barney SheehanThe Belfast Poets present touring group comprises: PhatBob, Aisling Doherty, Ellen Factor, Chelley McLear, Gordon Hewitt and Jenni Doherty. Their readings are vivid and expressive, using visuals to back up their readings, adding depth to the performance. Their writing is born out of the context of NorthernIreland as it effects them, with some emphasis on the political. They take that political edge and fuse it with their individualised vision, personalising it both in the words they use and in the method of expression, and making it relevant in the wider context of the world - calling to mind world experiences of human atrocity.
I really enjoyed the whole set; in particular the duet, His Words, by Ellen Factor and read to great effect by herself and Aisling Doherty; and the chilling piece by Chelley McLear, Silence is Deadly, with its really effective visuals and voiceover. Gordon Hewitt's reading of Welcome to the Terrordome took performance poetry to another dimension - his energy is almost tangible; and PhatBob's gentle romantic lyrics in Not Sleeping Without You grounded the performance in a calm expression of humanity too.
Aisling and EllenThe group offers something for everyone, and not least is their interpretation of poetry as a performance, as something that makes you think again about the world around you. The effect on the audience was palpable, raising the bar on poetic expectations of what performance can add to poetry.When I spoke to them later, they told me about their Australian Tour last year, and how they were welcomed there.
But they also told of the personal cost of making that Tour happen: that was when I really realised their commitment to their passion in poetry. And if you have passion and talent - poetry might carry you further than you think. Buying their chapbook afterwards showed my support and allowed me to re-read in calm the poems that had fired me up.
To round out the night nicely, the MC invited readers to participate in the Open Mic part, and many volunteers read again, including me, allowing everyone a chance to air work in progress.
Afterwards a few of us retired to a later-opening hostelry across the road, where I had the chance to speak to PhatBob and Ellen Factor about their work and ethos. I also made great friends with Bertha, Martin, Seadna, Ed and Kate, an artist, and we even made it as far as the dance floor!
I learned from an earlier exchange with Miceal Kearney, a Revival contributor, about North Beach Nights, (that's Galway, not San Francisco), a Monthly Open Mic night in Galway, and that both of us would be attending the Over the Edge reading next Thursday, also in Galway - so someone to look out for there too!
Overall the night was so enjoyable. I made some new friends and the generosity and hospitality shown to me was so warm and welcoming (in the tradition of all those in the Wesht!), I felt like part of the furniture in such a short time.
I'll definitely be returning to Limerick! A big thank you to you all down there!
Barbara SmithAll pictures can be viewed here, courtesy of Dominic Taylor:
Revival Launch 2
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Off on my travels or...
...should that be travails?
Catching the 11:38 to Dublin and thence on to Dublin Heuston to catch a train to Limerick.
Wish me luck for the reading tonight, at 9pm sharp and I'll raise a glass to you all afterwards when I get to relax and listen to the Belast Poets doing their stuff!
See you when I get back - with some pictures hopefully!
Catching the 11:38 to Dublin and thence on to Dublin Heuston to catch a train to Limerick.
Wish me luck for the reading tonight, at 9pm sharp and I'll raise a glass to you all afterwards when I get to relax and listen to the Belast Poets doing their stuff!
See you when I get back - with some pictures hopefully!
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Busy Bee
Really busy this week, or at least I'm kidding myself that I will be. I've started wallpapering my bedroom, stripped as it has been for the last three months. Although I did like the blank canvas effect for a while, it seems a lot cosier with the new wallpaper one third up already. There already was a dado rail (don't really like them but what can you do, when the previous encumbent has left them?) splitting the wall almost in two. I put a pale gold paper slightly embossed with a feathery grass repeat pattern on the top and a creamy match on the bottom. I was going to do them the other way around but thought I'd see more of the warming gold colour if I put it on the top.
Funny thing was when I got the paper up to the quarter mark, I wryly remembered The Yellow Wallpaper short story by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, from our Level 2 Approaching Literature course, which features a female protagonist suffering from post-natal depression, in the days when the prescribed cure was to lock you away from everything. She ends up going a bit bonkers behind the wallpaper. Read the story, it's rather good.
I remember feeling like that a few times after popping a few of mine, but I put it down to having so much to do with all the others, besides whichever baby happened to be current. Maybe my wallpaper choice is an advance-reverse reaction to that idea of the madwoman in the attic. Oh dear.
I'd better finish the room early this week, as there are some great poetry events coming up over here. On Wednesday 17th there's the Revival Launch, which I mentioned I'm attending before, but the journal launch paled into insignificance, when I realised that the Belfast Poets would be performing at the White House Poetry Revival too! These guys are worth checking out, they're not long back, last year, from a tour around Australia (the lucky buggers!). Oh joy! Noel King told me that you can never have a bad night at the White House, (pardon me Dubya) but I think it's now been lifted into the category of legendary!
And next week on the 25th, I'm off to Galway city. I've never had a bad night there! The event is the Over the Edge series of readings organised by Kevin Higgins and Susan Millar DuMars, featuring Elaine Feeney, Mary Mullen & Todd Swift. Can't pass on that one!
Funny thing was when I got the paper up to the quarter mark, I wryly remembered The Yellow Wallpaper short story by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, from our Level 2 Approaching Literature course, which features a female protagonist suffering from post-natal depression, in the days when the prescribed cure was to lock you away from everything. She ends up going a bit bonkers behind the wallpaper. Read the story, it's rather good.
I remember feeling like that a few times after popping a few of mine, but I put it down to having so much to do with all the others, besides whichever baby happened to be current. Maybe my wallpaper choice is an advance-reverse reaction to that idea of the madwoman in the attic. Oh dear.
I'd better finish the room early this week, as there are some great poetry events coming up over here. On Wednesday 17th there's the Revival Launch, which I mentioned I'm attending before, but the journal launch paled into insignificance, when I realised that the Belfast Poets would be performing at the White House Poetry Revival too! These guys are worth checking out, they're not long back, last year, from a tour around Australia (the lucky buggers!). Oh joy! Noel King told me that you can never have a bad night at the White House, (pardon me Dubya) but I think it's now been lifted into the category of legendary!
And next week on the 25th, I'm off to Galway city. I've never had a bad night there! The event is the Over the Edge series of readings organised by Kevin Higgins and Susan Millar DuMars, featuring Elaine Feeney, Mary Mullen & Todd Swift. Can't pass on that one!
Friday, January 12, 2007
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Moving swiftly on...
Today is the last day of my part-time job in the call-centre. I'm not sorry it's over, just sorry that I won't have the few extra bob to stuff in the cracks, when the unforeseen emergency that is part of raising a big family comes along.
I've applied to Queen's University Belfast for a MA in Eng. Lit: Irish Writing which I shall have to wait and see about. They've very kindly allowed me to apply even though I should wait for the honours component to be awarded. I've already done the hard work, getting the Level 3 courses done last year, and the course this year is only a Level 2 which wouldn't impact too heavily on the end classification. Better start saving then, hadn't I?
And I squeezed in a small short for The Clarity of Night's latest competition of 250 words based on an intriguing photgraph, as well as reading all the entries today. There's some stiff competition out there! But I'm glad I tried, I need a good prod every now and then to actually do stuff!
My new 'diet' is going along - in case you're wondering, it's not a lose-weight-diet, more a be-kind-to-my-colon diet, prompted by a diagnosis of IBS - and there was me thinking I was dying from an ulcer or summat! I'm still getting funny pains, even though I'm eating All-bran, have cut out yeasty bread and it has now been three-weeks-since-my-last-alcoholic-drink.
Water is going in, lots of green leafy vegetables and I'm avoiding eggs like the plague, since they are not pleasant for onlookers about 3 hours later to smell... ahem. I'm doing as I'm told, but am still waiting for all to right itself. Impatient, moi?
And I'm waiting on my course books to turn up. In fairness, books from the OU have never been so late as they are now. I did ring up about them but was told that 'they will probably turn up' next week and to be patient and wait and see do they come next week. If not Despatch will DHL them to me.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. Fingers drumming on desktop...
Oh, and I'm going to Limerick next week to attend the launch of Revival no. 2. Should be interesting, if I don't get lost trying to get there!
I've applied to Queen's University Belfast for a MA in Eng. Lit: Irish Writing which I shall have to wait and see about. They've very kindly allowed me to apply even though I should wait for the honours component to be awarded. I've already done the hard work, getting the Level 3 courses done last year, and the course this year is only a Level 2 which wouldn't impact too heavily on the end classification. Better start saving then, hadn't I?
And I squeezed in a small short for The Clarity of Night's latest competition of 250 words based on an intriguing photgraph, as well as reading all the entries today. There's some stiff competition out there! But I'm glad I tried, I need a good prod every now and then to actually do stuff!
My new 'diet' is going along - in case you're wondering, it's not a lose-weight-diet, more a be-kind-to-my-colon diet, prompted by a diagnosis of IBS - and there was me thinking I was dying from an ulcer or summat! I'm still getting funny pains, even though I'm eating All-bran, have cut out yeasty bread and it has now been three-weeks-since-my-last-alcoholic-drink.
Water is going in, lots of green leafy vegetables and I'm avoiding eggs like the plague, since they are not pleasant for onlookers about 3 hours later to smell... ahem. I'm doing as I'm told, but am still waiting for all to right itself. Impatient, moi?
And I'm waiting on my course books to turn up. In fairness, books from the OU have never been so late as they are now. I did ring up about them but was told that 'they will probably turn up' next week and to be patient and wait and see do they come next week. If not Despatch will DHL them to me.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. Fingers drumming on desktop...
Oh, and I'm going to Limerick next week to attend the launch of Revival no. 2. Should be interesting, if I don't get lost trying to get there!
Monday, January 08, 2007
The book grab meme
It's a really horrible rainy morning here in Ireland, the kind where you get up and immediately want to go back to bed to keep warm.
I'm supposed to be doing the gathering bit of the hunter-gatherer deal (we women always get the wrong end of the deal!), by going to the supermarket and getting in the weeks groceries, but that involves popping my toe outside the front door and getting very, very wet. There is a twelve foot long puddle on the road outside the drive and every time a car passes by on the road you get a mighty soaking. Forays outside the front door must be very carefully timed indeed.
Instead I'm doing skint's meme.
Grabbing the nearest book,
going to page 123
sentence 5
and posting the next two sentences:
"He hoped the boys would stop, but they still waded slowly on. It suddenly dawned on Tom that it was become very lonely and still."
Now, you're supposed to guess the subject of the book.
I'm supposed to be doing the gathering bit of the hunter-gatherer deal (we women always get the wrong end of the deal!), by going to the supermarket and getting in the weeks groceries, but that involves popping my toe outside the front door and getting very, very wet. There is a twelve foot long puddle on the road outside the drive and every time a car passes by on the road you get a mighty soaking. Forays outside the front door must be very carefully timed indeed.
Instead I'm doing skint's meme.
Grabbing the nearest book,
going to page 123
sentence 5
and posting the next two sentences:
"He hoped the boys would stop, but they still waded slowly on. It suddenly dawned on Tom that it was become very lonely and still."
Now, you're supposed to guess the subject of the book.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
A Happy New Year to all!
It's almost a year since I began blogging as one of my New Year Resolutions last year. Strange to think that I began it as a record of my giving up smoking. The blogging lasted longer though!
This last few days have been ones of appraisal and wondering about what to do this year. I'm researching whether a university in Belfast will take me in this autumn to do a Masters, or whether I'll have to wait until the honours component is completely sewn up and the degree awarded in full - which would take until April twelvemonth. Decisions, decisions!
In the meantime, there is the delicious news that a submission I made in November has been taken for an Irish journal, Revival born out of a weekly reading series in Limerick. Thanks to a lot of hard work and courage, this series has grown from strength to strength, over three years and features the best that Irish poetry has to offer in a live setting.
It just goes to show you what can happen if you stick around long enough, whether on a small scale, as in blogging, or in having courage and belief in something wider.
I think the same could be said about a lot of bloggers out there too - I'm thinking of skint, Inner Minx, Apprentice, BB Rob MacKenzie, Chief Biscuit, Debi Alper, Hedgie, Julie Carter, Dick Jones, Eloise, Shameless, and probably so many more other bloggers that I haven't thought of, that have all demonstrated the ease and talent of their writing.
I wish everyone a Happy New Year, and to be one step closer to their writing heart's desire.
This last few days have been ones of appraisal and wondering about what to do this year. I'm researching whether a university in Belfast will take me in this autumn to do a Masters, or whether I'll have to wait until the honours component is completely sewn up and the degree awarded in full - which would take until April twelvemonth. Decisions, decisions!
In the meantime, there is the delicious news that a submission I made in November has been taken for an Irish journal, Revival born out of a weekly reading series in Limerick. Thanks to a lot of hard work and courage, this series has grown from strength to strength, over three years and features the best that Irish poetry has to offer in a live setting.
It just goes to show you what can happen if you stick around long enough, whether on a small scale, as in blogging, or in having courage and belief in something wider.
I think the same could be said about a lot of bloggers out there too - I'm thinking of skint, Inner Minx, Apprentice, BB Rob MacKenzie, Chief Biscuit, Debi Alper, Hedgie, Julie Carter, Dick Jones, Eloise, Shameless, and probably so many more other bloggers that I haven't thought of, that have all demonstrated the ease and talent of their writing.
I wish everyone a Happy New Year, and to be one step closer to their writing heart's desire.
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