No Rest for the Wicked Mummy

A very busy week this week, talk about hitting the ground running! I went up to Belfast on Tuesday employing my usual method of two-birds-one-stone.

I saw American Music Club in the Empire and got to talk poetry the next morning for almost two hours. AMC were astonishing. I've heard Mark Eitzel sing on his abums; especially Love Songs for Patriots, which I brought home from San Francisco in 2005, but nothing had prepared me for the delivery he gives live. Woah - I was near blown off me seat by the emotion he packs into his gorgeous Guinness velvet voice (I may be a little smitten).

I started reading about AMC's stormy history when I got back to my friend's house; it is she who is obsessed with them, having god knows how many of the albums, books and there's more coming, she told me yesterday. Safe to say, I think she is a fan. And now I am one too!

Wednesday, after said poetry chat, off to Dublin for the second leg of the all-singing all-dancing Babsie tour of Ireland. I was going to Poetry Ireland's launch for three Salmon books just out this year: Kevin Higgin's 'Time Gentlemen, Please,' Lorna Shaughnessy's 'Torching the Brown River,' and Susan Millar DuMars's 'Big Pink Umbrella.'

A very enjoyable evening and came home with all three books, which I've loved reading for their difference to each other. I hear Salmon have brought out Todd Swift's new 'Seaways,' and Kevin and Susan will be reading with Todd, amongst many others at a gala evening in November, in London. But I jump ahead too far there!

Last night, Thursday, I visited Virginia. That's Virginia, Co. Cavan. This seemingly sleepy town has a festival of new theatre writing happening all this week. New plays have been selected for 'reading,' on stage before an audience. I believe the plays were solicited by open competition, by the Livin Dred Theatre Company, which is based in the Ramor Theatre in Virginia. This new theatre company are already beginning to get a good name for themselves and judging by the cast reading the play, 'Leopoldville,' last night, are attracting the talent too.

The play was written by Jaki McCarrick, one of the Summer School tutors. It was interesting to hear the play read, having to insert the action in our own minds. I think this play will be one to watch in the future: it's set in a border town and is a fictionlised dramatization of an appalling murder that took place about fifteen or more years ago. Five youths attacked a run-down publican in his own pub... but that's about as much info as you really need to know. The play investigates the calibre of mind of people who would do something so evil and there are lots of connections between the play and 'Heart of Darkness.' Good old Joseph Conrad.

Anyhow, enough gallivanting about in the arts world - I have a house to clean and brats to feed.

The Sound of Silence!

Today is the first day of the new school year! I am practically dancing on my keyboard here, because the peace is simply heavenly after all the running around this weekend. There was a lot of last minute stuff to be bought: pencil cases, things to stuff in pencil cases, things to stuff into the things in pencil cases and another pair of trousers for one of the little ones, because I'd optimistically bought him a pair for his right age, forgetting that he's on the small side, because he's a twin.

Anyway, I come back after my morning walk to post. Two fine books from Salt: Me and the Dead by Katy Evans Bush, and Balancing on the Edge of the World by Elizabeth Baines. Both look extremely yummy from the quick dip I've had. But I'm restraining myself, as I've got more writing to do than can be good for you.

The dissertation is almost due: a little over three weeks, or less... :/ and I really must get my finger out and get the bleeder done. It looks like fifty poems at the moment, the order is wrecking my head and I'm veering from thinking it's a total load of rubbish, to thinking it's okay. Pffft! Revisions, revisions, revisions... if you say it enough times it begins to take on a completely new meaning.

And did I mention how happy I was to be rid of my lil' darlings..?

Caption Competition

Come on, nobody can resist these! Give us a caption for this picture, please! Do have a closer look, if you need to.

Finishing Kubla Khan in 5 days

Well, that's what the latest Guardian Poetry Workshop is advocating as an exercise. I always like to read these challenges put forward each month by a different poet.

This month's poet is Fred D'Aguiar who proposes finishing off Coleridge's unfinished exercise in writing under the influence. Most of us do know the first line: 'In Xanadu did Kubla Khan / a stately pleasure dome decree.'

Two things: does that mean that for a real authentic piece one should resort to Laudanum, as Coleridge is alleged to have used; and should one arrange for a parson to call at some unknown time across the day of composure to add that extra authenticity?

So, that's my weekend's activities all sorted out now, how about yours? Closing date for this one is next Weds, 27th August. Wouldn't want to be an all-weekender party then ;(

The Sound of the End of the Summer

Up and down this fair green land of ours, you can hear the faint sound of glee, tinged with grumpiness, as mothers hand over their last few cents to shopkeepers in exchange for goods that will help the children of this land on their annual 'Back-to-schooling.'

Every year in all sorts of newspapers, big and small, there are researched articles, bemoaning the price of books, uniforms, bags, stationary, shoes (I'm sure I've missed something), totting up the average spend of the 2.2 kid family and making us all have mini-strokes into our Saturday cereals and posh coffees. Other support articles appear on what sort of packed lunches we mothers should try out for our offspring's bored tastebuds (God help the poor wee chap who survived seven years of 'hang sangwiches.')

I laugh in the face of these articles. No-one has the art of Back-to-School as well researched or executed as me. I could wipe the floor with most of the statistics that you'll see in print. Getting six feicers ready for the new school year is one challenge that I relish. My only complaint is that Back-to-School happens during the holidays, making it the most expensive part of the year, matched only by the ferocious spendfest that is Christmas.

You see, I take a certain satisfaction every time I spend money on this ugly-but-necessary-school-badged-fleece, that rare-and-hard-to-buy-school-book: I am buying my way back to a certain (albeit limited) freedom. One that I know the weather will probably support me in too - I call the radiant sunny days that we get in Ireland during September 'Mother's Treats.' Just don't mention the phrase 'Free Education.' That really sets me off!

Lovely Books

Back to reality from Dublin on Thursday, an excellent reading, listening to all gathered in Chapters of Parnell Street. I love the themed readings, this one being Sun, Sand and Ice Cream, because it pushes you out of your normal reading choices and can sometimes urge you into writing about things you'd not considered before.

Most poets managed to link in the sun and the sand, in their readings, without too much stretching the framework. Good to hear the Galway contingent, Aoife & Celeste, who unfortunately had to turn around and head back to Galway. I bought their chapbook, Smoke & Skin, available from Lapwing, Belfast. I snuck in the ice-cream, reading the one posted below about Our Family. I cheated a wee bit on the sun, getting in a long poem that I wrote in June about boobs. It was its first outing ever at a reading and went down surprisingly well. Inspired, in part, as a riposte to Alan Gillis's 'The Lad,' I would post it, but it's under consideration at present. Fingers crossed, eh?

I went on a mini book-buying spree in Hidges Foggis, buying Mick Imlah's 'The Lost Leader,' one I couldn't get back in June, for love or money; a selected of John Hewitt, a selected of Michael Longley and the recent short story collection by Claire Keegan, 'Walk the Blue Fields.' I read the first story set in Achill in the Heinrich Boll cottage (and laughed), whilst sitting on the grass in Stephen's Green - a little hard to imagine the sunshine of Thursday against the storm-lashed day that's outside now! I've since read the opening poems of Imlah's - bloomin 'eck. Great stuff.

Chapters Reading, Thursday 14th August

Chapters and Verse Themed Reading

SUN SAND AND ICE-CREAM

6.30pm Thursday 14^th August 2008

Chapters of Parnell St, Dublin 1

Celeste Augé is the author of two chapbooks of poetry: Tornadoes for the Weathergirl (with the support of Galway County Council) in 2006, and Smoke and Skin (joint collection with Aoife Casby), which was published by Lapwing in Belfast, 2008. Her first full-length collection of poetry will be published by Salmon Poetry in early 2009.

Aoife Casby is originally from Mayo and now lives in Carraroe, Co. Galway where she works as a writer and visual artist. She has published in Poetry Ireland, Cyphers, Orbis, West47, Ropes, The Cork Literary Review, The Cúirt Annual, DIVAS 2 Anthology and others. A selection of her poetry was published (with writer Celeste Augé) by Lapwing in a chapbook Smoke & Skin in 2008.

Catherine Ann Cullen was born in Drogheda, Co Louth. She is a regular contributor to RTE Radio 1’s Sunday Miscellany and A Living Word as well as producing current affairs, arts and features. She lives with her partner Harry and daughter Stella in Kimmage, Dublin. Her first collection, A Bone in My Throat, is published by Doghouse.

Ross Hattaway was born in Wellington New Zealand, but has lived in Ireland since 1990. He has had many varied jobs and currently works as a civil servant. His first collection of poetry, The Gentle Art of Rotting was published by Seven Towers in 2006.

Noel Ó Briain was born in Tralee in Kerry, grew up in Dublin and now resides in Camolin, Co Wexford. He has worked as an actor, director, producer and designer and was head of drama in RTE for a period up to 1988. His first collection of poetry Scattering Day, 21 Sonnets and Other Poems was published by Seven Towers in 2007.

Barbara Smith holds a BA Hons. Literature just completed, 2007; and will continue with Queen's University Belfast, with a MA in Creative Writing. Her debut collection of poetry, Kairos, is just published by Doghouse Books. She has poetry and essays published widely and lives in Dundalk, with her partner and six children. Other publications include Poetic Stage (1998).Barbara blogs at Barbara's Bleeugh.

The Scottish Poetry Library

Rob and Colin have put me on to this excellent resource site, The Scottish Poetry Library. In its own words it is "the place for poetry in Scotland, for the regular reader, the serious student or the casual browser.Since its foundation in 1984 it has amassed a remarkable collection of written works, as well as tapes and videos. The emphasis is on contemporary poetry written in Scotland, in Scots, Gaelic and English, but historic Scottish poetry and contemporary works from almost every part of the world feature too."

In amongst the exciting goodies that it offers, there's a Reading Room, where they ask different poets to name their 'classic' poems along with reasons why.
Rob talks about Milton's "Paradise Lost", where "Satan gets the best lines;" Claire Askew recalls her childhood amazement at Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky," with its "weird, wonderful, onomatopoeic words;" and Colin Will reveals the "underlying subtleties" of Robbie Burn's "A Red, Red Rose. These are just three of many poets that have taken up the challenge of the 'classic' poem: Vicki Feaver, Billy Liar and many other well-known poets are there.

There's also a feature called the Favourite Poems, where you will find poets like Simon Armitage, Jackie Kay, Michael Hofmann and Michael Longley talking about selections of poetry that they admire. Happy days for anyone wanting to while away a few hours reading and learning about poetry.

An Impression of Our Family on Holidays...

Mam, I’ve got a sore toe.
Mam, I’ve got sunburn.
Mam, there's no milk.
Mam, I can’t find my swimsuit.
Mam, there’s jellyfish in the sea.
Mam, where’s Dad?
Mam, there's no bread.
Mam, what’s for dinner?
Mam, why is it still raining?
Mam, I’m hungry.
Mam, can we have ice-cream?
Mam, can I have a biscuit.
Mam, he broke the 'nocliers.
Mam, she broke my DS.
Mam, he won’t leave me alone.
Mam, she won’t leave me alone.
Mam, they won’t leave me alone and my foot is sore again.

Mam: LEAVE ME ALONE - MY HEAD IS MELTED!

Taking Stock and Leaving a Barrel

I am making the annual pilgrimage to Kerry, with seven kids, two cars, lots of clothes, assorted amusements and another adult for a week.

What chance do you think of me getting some writing done there, with all the distractions?

Sun, sand, barbeques and some sea air. Then there's the view from our sitting room window. Ever changing, it's better than TV! There's a lot to be said about being half way up a mountain looking down over Dingle bay.

I get to read in Tralee on Monday 4th August, with many poets, new, old and young... and chat about the future of books...

See you all when I get back, and feel free to party in the comments box, a wee tradition that started over at Minx/Debi/Pundy's house. I think.

Secret? Not any more!

Julie Carter is right. The quickest way to out a secret is to call it a secret. And then tell everyone!

The Vatican has this lovely shiny internet presence, The Vatican Secret Archive. Oh boy, lemme at 'em!

Billy Collins & Seamus Heaney

Can you believe this: both poets on the same bill, in the same place only 45 min from my front door. Last night I went to see them; one a former US Poet Laureate, the other a Nobel Literature Prize winner, and both at the Marketplace Theatre in Armagh city. They're appearing there as part of the John Hewitt Summer School, which is now in its twenty-first year.

This year's theme is 'Let There be no Wall,' and this theme was amply demonstrated in bringing together two poets, from such variant backgrounds and placing them on a stage in a beautiful new theatre, on a hot muggy night in Northern Ireland.

Billy Collins was given a rousing introduction first and read from all through his work. His poems sparkle with wit and warmth, always getting a wry laugh from the audience. I couldn't believe that I was sitting there in such a comfortable seat, laughing and following the poems, in just the way that poet Stephen Dunne describes: "We seem to always know where we are in a Billy Collins poem, but not necessarily where he is going. I love to arrive with him at his arrivals. He doesn't hide things from us, as I think lesser poets do. He allows us to overhear, clearly, what he himself has discovered."

My favourite poem read by him last night is hard to pick, for there are oh so many to choose from. I loved his pairing of 'Dharma', about his dog Janine who can head out the front door without any possessions, and 'The Revenant,' written to counter anyone who thought he was being overly sentimental; using a dog's ghost to reprimand us human 'owners.'

Collins spoke about 'poems that don't have much purpose... that have escaped the burden of subject matter,' just before reading 'Hippos on Holiday.' And his explanation of how 'The Lanyard' came to be, with its juxtaposition of what the child makes, in some weird recompense for its mother's care and devotion was darkly comical. Especially the last phrase: 'wove out of boredom.' It made me think of all the things that have been made for me by my brood at summer camps and school art sessions.

Collins is also noted for his short, sharp shockers and to show this he read 'Divorce:' how couples start off as spoons in bed, and later when things go sour, turn into tines of forks, with 'the knives hired.' Ooh. He finished with his title poem from 'Questions about Angels,' about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.

Collins is able to mix up all the valuable elements of poetry and keep it very accessible. Be careful, you may be wooed as I was, if you ever hear him read live.

Seamus Heaney's introduction was just as rousing, and in Heaney's customary humble manner, he began by reading one of John Hewitt's poems, 'The King's Horses' as a tribute to the poet for whom the summer school is named. He continued with 'Making Strange,' the poem that juxtaposed a visiting poet, Louis Simpson with his father in Heaney's own country around Mossbawn and Anahorish and used language as the means of marrying two strands of existence.

Refering to Robert Frost's poem, 'Mending Walls,' Heaney tracked the theme of the Hewitt summer school, and read 'The Other Side,' which segued nicely into 'A Sofa in the 40s,' a poem about the Heaney children using the family sofa as a train. There is slight darkness to this image as the poem nods towards Europe's ignorance of the atrocities at Auschwitz.

My favourite part of Heaney's reading came when he read two of the Glanmore Sonnets, a sequence dedicated to his mother's memory, from 1984. He told us that he has read them so many times that he knows them by heart, which he amply demonstrated with 'Peeling Potatoes,' a poem with particular resonance for me, in my own poem, 'Roosters.' He recited the first sonnet, whilst looking for 'Folding Sheets.'

Heaney went neatly to his own history in 'Tates Avenue,' with its collection of rugs and blankets, and then read a tanka, 'Midnight Anvil,' in which a blacksmith, Barney Devlin, rings in the new millenium with twelve strikes of the anvil, heard by the blacksmith's nephew in Edmonton, Alberta on a cellphone!

And of course the ending of his session. Here he read Hewitt's 'Gloss on the Difficulties of Translation,' which led into Heaney's own sequence of blackbird poems based on the old Irish, 'Scribe in the Woods' and finished off with 'The Blackbird of Glanmore.'

Both poets were called on to encore for us: Collins did so with 'Building with it's Face Blown Off,' a risky poem, given the setting, but one which we enjoyed; and Heaney read 'St. Kevin and the Blackbird.' So spellbound were we that I heard a lot of people comment on how swift the evening moved past us all. It really was a magical evening, one I shall treasure for years, and I am privileged to say that I have sat in the same room as Seamus Heaney and Billy Collins and heard them read their poetry.

Before July leaves us

Whipped for editing...

Playing with Words

This is the taste that my next collection should leave in your mouth. I've been putting my dissertation together, and took the lot to Wordle for a bit of a play. 'Back' is the most prominent word. Interesting.

Feel free to 'embiggen' the picture, as Maht would say :)

I went to Rome

...and brought back a poem.

Only thing is, the poem didn't come for about four months.

I was sitting on the beach about two weeks ago (on one of the few sunny days we've had), cloud-watching and got On Not Seeing Inside the Sistine Chapel from the combination of the clouds and remembering our visit to Roma in late February, and how we hadn't come at the right time of day on the Saturday to gain access to see the famous chapel.

You can hear me read the poem at the Qarrtsiluni site, apparently their first Irish accent (cringe). It's my second poem there - anyone interested in the other one, The Angel's Missing Wings, can check this link.

A Resounding Success

The Dundalk Summer School finished today. After two days of hectic workshops, the participants and contributors all thought that the workshops were very stimulating.

All participants filled in an anonymous questionnaire afterwards, and I was almost moved to tears by the positivity shown by them. They all loved the variety: the radio writing workshop, the drama workshop, the writing for children workshop - heck they even loved the poetry workshop!

It's agreed that it should become an annual fixture (so fingers crossed on that one), and the writers involved: Catherine Ann Cullen, Enda Coyle-Greene, Jaki McCarrick and me, all got huge pleasure out of being able to offer this variety to them - all credit to us.

One of the things that came up was that the participants would have liked longer workshops, and someone to come talk to them about prose - so that's an addition I would gladly like to make in the future!

Dundalk Summer Writing School

Tomorrow marks the first day ever of the Dundalk Summer Writing School. I mooted the idea with the Dundalk Arts Office back in late March, and they thought it would be a good idea, building on the support that the Creative Writing classes have built up since September last.

Featured writers include:

Catherine Ann Cullen’s award-winning children’s books, The Magical, Mystical, Marvellous Coat, and Thirsty Baby were published in the US by Little, Brown. Her debut poetry collection, A Bone in my Throat was published last year. Her workshop, ‘Writing for Children,’ will cover the elements of successful children’s fiction and young adult fiction.

Jaki McCarrick is a published writer whose plays include, The Mushroom Pickers, The Moth-Hour and The Stag of Doohamlet. Jaki’s ‘Drama Workshop’ will guide participants through setting, dialogue and narrative arc, and will encourage them to think dramatically about how a story can be developed as a piece for theatre.

Enda-Coyle Greene’s first collection, Snow Negatives, was the winner of the prestigious Patrick Kavanagh Poetry Prize for an unpublished manuscript in 2006. Enda’s prose and poetry can often be heard on RTE Radio 1’s, Sunday Miscellany, and Lyric FM’s, Quiet Quarter. Her workshop, ‘Writing for Radio,’ will consider subjects, guidelines and lengths of pieces for radio.

Barbara Smith’s debut poetry collection, Kairos, was published in 2007. She won an award at Feile Filíochta / Poetry Now 2008, and has completed an MA in Creative Writing at Queen’s University Belfast. Barbara’s ‘Lyrical Workshop’ will cover the lyric poem, from Kavanagh to Heaney inspiring participants to create their lyric vision of Dundalk.

There will also be two lunchtime readings on both days in Dundalk Library, Enda and Jaki on Wednesday, and Catherine Ann and I will read on the Thursday. The readings are free, the workshops are very reasonable at €60 all in. Next year, we'd love to add a third day of workshops, looking at prose.

Days of Rain, Peace & Reviews

The weather so far this summer has been even more crap than last year. So, how come I'm still standing with a smile on my face? Because I've been reduced to three kids this week, not the usual six. The elder ones are away on holidays with their respective dads and it's given me a real breather, not to mention reduced the food bills by a huge factor. As good as a holiday in fact.

In turn, this has allowed me to read and write up a couple of book reviews. I've taken on with writing for Verbal Arts Magazine in NI, a monthly mag that gets distributed free with the Belfast Telegraph, the Newsletter and the Derry Journal. The books they've sent me have been really entertaining, in differing ways,unexpected choices, but I can't say more until the reviews come out. One has led to an interview!

I've leaned into reviewing as it was the only module that I got a first in, up at QUB and is one of the few things I can do from home. I really enjoy putting into words exactly why I've enjoyed reading a book, as it encourages close reading of the text and forces me to really consider all angles: why the language is the way it is; why, if it's a poet, are they using that kind of form; why did the author choose this subject. Engaging stuff. I get far more inside a book when I do that, because it's an active form of reading, as opposed to a passive one, where you read, but don't engage as deeply. I'm not denigrating that sort of a read - it's actually one of my favorite things to retire to bed with something that I can skate through before sleep. But it's always enjoyable to come across really good writing.

Time for a Poem: Painting History

whipped for editing

reCOLLECTing 5

This is Sarah Gale, whose piece was titled, 'Thin Skin.' Her response was to the Histology She took photographs of body parts and got them printed onto canvas.

Sarah then made slits in the canvas and inserted images of cells underneath, mimicking 'the way a doctor might examine a gash on the body' (Sarah, 2008).


The next picture shows our tutor Sylvia commenting on Sarah's piece. On either side of Sarah's art, there are anatomical teaching objects gathered to juxtapose with and complement the art. Sorry about my big head being in the way again!

reCOLLECTING 4

Behind my great big head you can see two pictures on the wall. These were Paul Maddern's responses to the Queen's Special Collections, specifically the sound archive that Paul is creating for QUB, of poets reading their own work.

The piece is titled 'Squaring the Octet,' and brings together rhyme schemes and oscillograms into one space. Paul used software to record the sound of letters, created an oscillogram, or picture of that sound, and then digitally manipulated the images into one composite image: versions rendered in primary colours, on the right, as well as pastels, on the left. Who says you can't make art from sound?

reCOLLECTing 3

Today it's a wee video - this is still being worked on!

reCOLLECTing 2

Here is Emily DeDakis offering her words on her words. Let me explain; Emily's piece responded to the visual appeal of text, literally, as she decided to use her own prescription, minus thirteen, minus eight as the point to which she turned text into a visual comment.

On spare used glasses, Emily placed text that came from varying sources: such as engineer Charles MacDougall, composer Hamilton Harty, and poet Helen Waddell; all from various archives and sources from around QUB.

Emily also placed text on the shade of the accompanying lamp - a lovely nod to the bedside reading habits that most of us have.

Again - photo courtesy of David Timlin.

reCOLLECTing - the Picture-Text exhibition

Here are a few snaps taken by David Timlin of the exhibition of pieces that we worked on this semester. It was a very exciting project, led by Sylvia Grace Borda, Sinead Morrissey and guest artist, J. Keith Duffy.

We had the opening on Thursday night and according to sources, the gallery reckon that there were between 350 and 450 people visiting the exhibition. Wow. That means a lot of drinks consumed; a lot of discussion with the artists in question; a lot of attention on an idea that was simple in premise but had so many different and interesting interpretations.

Yesterday we had a gallery/artist led talk, where artists were able to guide the public through the exhibits, explaining the rationale for their work and methodology.



This is Twy Miller, discussing her work. She did big prints that combined two images (old library and new library in process of construction) and a smaller set of pictures using a stereoscopic camera that could be used to take stereo pictures which she then mounted onto card that can be viewed with a special viewer (see below).

I'll do pictures in a separate post over the next few days :)

You hate that book - but why?

There's a veritable feast of critic's names featuring in this article in yesterday's Sunday Times. They were asked what their most hated book was and why. The answers are interesting in that they highlight the usual considerations: good or bad writing, style and length, and genuine entertainment; as well as more personal ones.

For example, Bryan Appleyard isn't that keen on Henry James' 'The Awkward Age,' saying that although the behemoth of critics, F.R. Leavis might have loved it, it didn't mean that he had to and besides, 'Leavis was mad.' Good on ya, Brian, I often thought that meself.

I remember reading 'The Portrait of a Lady,' or rather wading through all the accumulated clauses, sub-clauses and gluts of psychological description and wondering if I was ever going to get to the end of it. Mind you, there was a good reason for me having to wade through it: it was part of my 19thc literature course.

Funny thing was, by the end of the course and the book, I had learned to love it - the slowness, the deliberation and the really rounded characters (plus I sped-read past the boring bits). The 19thc is a foreign land to us here in the 21stc - they did things differently then and probably didn't have a remote control to flip between things when they got bored. They even did bored differently. They called it 'ennui.'

So, I'm sure there must be books that you detest - why don't you tell me what they are, and why!

A Good Book or Stating the Bleeding Obvious?

I was visiting my friend in Belfast yesterday and she's got a pretty battered copy of Art & Fear. It's one of those books that you pick up and read, quickly immersing yourself, where you find yourself nodding your head vehemently, agreeing with most of the points that it makes.

If you're at the point, either as an artist or writer, where you're wondering what the point of it all is: why you've taken all the right steps to learn your craft; why you've spent years practicing that craft; why some stuff is accepted by others and why some stuff is detested, then this could prove a book beneficial to you as a companion to read on those nights when you feel that your work is worthless, stupid and what is the point anyway.

Or, you could equally read this book on one of those rare days when you've had a good idea, and it has worked its way onto the page/clay/canvas/photographic paper and it's nearly, nearly there, but you feel that something is blocking its completion.

It is a book about ideas, and of ideas. Yet it is explained in such a down to earth manner that you forget that it is a book of abstract concepts, which confirms and argues past all those long-held suspicions about art, the making of art, critical evaluation and reputations, and art academia. Put a copy on your wish-list or treat yourself and get past the fears that hold you back in your art.

Wife in the North

Judith's 'Wife in the North' gets its own promo!

Even more Mairead

Sheesh. I'd just got going last week and then life and the furious writing of some poems got in the way. I'm now waiting for results from the MA... and I'd better get on with this hadn't I?

'Life is Too Easy,' is a poem that grabbed me, because of its theme of the repetition of life. It begins: 'Saturday comes round & you clean your house. What could be easier.' Right now, I'd disagree with the easiness of cleaning anything, but that's just me. Grrr.

Anyhow, back to Mairead: 'Everything you put out of place during the week you put back in place.' Yes, but if you have six kids, you not only have to put everything that you moved back, you have to find everything that has not only been moved but probably used to fuel some weird game that they were playing (in their head!). I digress!

Later, the repetitive tasks even get on Byrne's nerves; 'You haul stuff in & you haul stuff out. You go to work. You come home.' But this is where the turn comes,moving outwards from the situation: 'There is no earthquake in your city & your parents or your children don't disappear. You are not 14 & about to be married off to a cousin who will beat you.' How safe our lives are in comparison to others. We shouldn't forget that sometimes :/

I do like the resolution for 'Rose-Colored Spectacles.' It begins with the premise of checking in one's 'rose-colored spectacles to test the rougher selvedges of life.' Sometimes we have to deal with these aspects and we forget about the armour that we use to fend it off. In this case that leaving off of armour can leave us open: 'Reality can be the closest imaginable thing to delirium tremens.' Especially when that reality is a 'mean-faced white pimp' who pulls 'his car across the sidewalk in front' of people. Indeed, 'another name for rose-colored spectacles is car.' How much we forget sometimes how modernity and our beloved consumer goods do shelter us from what we don't want to deal with. Except Mairead says it much better than that!

More Mairead: Chiasmus and Circus

I know what you're thinking - this is a slow read. But I'm as usual juggling all the responsibilities that family, young and old, entail!

"Chiasmus," from Talk Poetry, is a unique take on the aftermath of a split. The word itself is very interesting. Wikipedia tells us that it is 'a figure of speech in which two clauses are related to each other through a reversal of structures in order to make a bigger point.'

In this poem's case, the point is partly how intertwined the lives of a couple can become, as 'When you marry & divorce your dreams get mixed up.' Seems a simple premise, taking the mick out of the female dream of cosying up the home, 'You wanted an overstuffed leather living room set,' and then conflating this with the male dream of going out and conquering the world: 'and next thing you know you're heading an expedition to the South Pole and making a pretty good fist of it.'

But the other point of the poem is that things go on after a break-up: life after a break-up pretty much like an expedition anyway? So, I like this poem for the feeling it leaves behind: its hopeful without being maudlin, upbeat rather than whinging; we try, we fail, we fail better, as Beckett once sort of said. Nothing is perfect.

"Circus," looks into the dualism or binary qualities of the body, again with that quirky humour that Byrne just can't suppress. It begins: 'There is so much emphasis on the individual we forget how much a person is actually a double.' We are doubled, though aren't we: we are a product of a process that took one set of genes from a female, and another from a male and combined them in the gene washing machine to make another person. Byrne goes on to show how complex our bodies are: '2 shoulders, 2 arms, 2 lungs, 2 kidneys, 2 testicles, 2 ovaries, 2 bums, each one divided in two... We are actually 2 people in one.'

The poem then extrapolates showing how our single/dual units seek a further pairing in couples: 'And what do we do? We pair up. We get married, shackled, whatever... We are already getting quite enough action being 2 people in one...' Oh the complexity of human beans!

Byrne then throws in a concrete example of procreation: 'Ben Franklin... the 15th child out of a total of 17 born to his mother... Mrs Franklin... a woman or, practically two women, who had 17 children proceed through her, i.e., 34 or 38, (keep up!) in addition to providing accommodation for the regular visits of Mr Franklin.' It's that slipping in there of Ben's father, Mr Franklin, and his 'visits' that make this poem so wryly humorous.

The poem ends by going to the cellular level: 'Is it any wonder we thought of mitosis and meiosis and all that. It's written all over us...' Indeed it is - our genetic code is a mighty wonder sometimes and putting it in such a straightforward (!) way makes it seem much more alive than a dusty textbook.

Mairead Byrne and Can You Die of Eating Pancakes

Great title, isn't it? Who'd have thought that the making of one's favourite pancake could turn into such an effusive poem. This one is really representative of Byrne's voice: it's got such verve and life infused into it; such a sense of fun that you can't help but go along with the premise.

The poem moves from musing to pancake and back again, but the switchback approach works here, and this poem really fills out its prose block. A wee taster:

I was frying this pancake with butter so you can imagine the effect on the apple & how delicious it all smelled. I had to go out of the house (it was cold) & come back in just to truly appreciate the aroma. Ever notice that the only time you really get to smell your house's smell is when you come in from outside?

Now doesn't that make you want to go make your own pancake - with a smile on your face as well. This is one of the points of Talk Poetry: some of it is just about grabbing the fun from our lives and nailing it on the page. Yum.

NaPoReMo and Talk Poetry

You can blame Rob MacKenzie for this one. Back in May he suggested buying and reading a book of contemporary poetry closely across the month and then posting thoughts and comments blogwise to get across a sense of the book.

There may be more than one book here, but I'll make a start on Talk Poetry by Mairead Byrne, available through Amazon and many other stockists. I was going to work on this for my MA, but found myself questioning my own poetics so much that I had to set it aside!?!

Byrne is an exiled Irish poet living in Providence, Rhode Island, US, since 1994, where she presently teaches at the Rhode Island School of Design. Her poetry has evolved over that period of time and looks towards the poetry of the US. I'm thinking Alan Ginsberg, Frank O'Hara, Walt Whitman (but that only scratches at the surface) as I read the book, which comprises prose poems that sizzle and dazzle off the pages at you. Talk Poetry is alphabetically organised, which takes chronology out of the frame. According to Byrne, italso makes it easier to find poems in readings: saving you pfaffing about with page markers.

The opening poem, "America" bounces along with the energy of a golden labrador. The voice sounds like someone talking - an American and conflating things that are in the US and things that aren't: pointing to a sense of ignorance, enthusiasm as well as that sense of imperial ownership (please excuse blogger's messing up the prose blocks):

We got all this space & democracy & everything & just the greatest music. Like Chuck Berry & Buddy Holly & Elvis & Bob Dylan & Bob Marley & Van Morrison & The Beatles & Vivaldi & everything.

The reason why I think of Frank O'Hara particularly is the WE LOVE YOU WALTER, that comes after the conflated namechecking of various poets and writers, again from both inside and outside the US. O'Hara's Lunch Poems include "Poem" about Lana Turner's collapse, and ends with the humorous line, 'oh Lana Turner we love you get up".

Byrne's "America" goes on to play with the understanding of imperialism too:

You're not going to catch me saying civilization began with the Mayflower! None of that shit -- I mean how did those people BUILD those things. THE PYRAMIDS. I mean people still don't understand the physics of it. They had to had rollers or something. No, King Tut is as American as as anyone in my book.

By the end of the poem, we understand this speaker as someone eavesdropped on. We're still not sure about the inclusivity of the speaker's viewpoint. Talk Poetry is a good descriptor for the tone of this poem, giving a skewed view like this at the start of the collection.

****
Poor eldest ant-hill-mob inmate begins his career in state examinations today with the Junior Cert. Now we see whether the weeks of study will stand to him.

Something out of the Ordinary

On Friday, as part of my celebration of getting over the MA, I went along to the Golden Thread Gallery in Belfast to the launch of the joint exhibition of Willie Doherty and Gerard Byrne's pieces that represented NI and Ireland jointly at the Venice Biennale 2007.

Doherty's 'Ghost Story,' was an eerie video-sound fusion(voiced by Stephen Rea), very contemplative and thought-provoking. I loved it, despite the competing voices of people shmoozing outside the installation. The images used country and urban scenes and made you feel slightly dizzy.

Byrne's '‘*ZAN-*T185', also a video/sound piece, was filmed in New York and was harder to appreciate with the noises outside: a second viewing would be needed for me to appreciate it properly.

If you happened to be in Belfast you could do a lot worse - I enjoyed them very much!

Almost Done

Well the words are writ, the printer has prunt, and the binder has bound together all the work I'm submitting for the end of term, and indeed the end of this MA year.

It felt at one stage that I was never going to be finished writing, editing, re-writing, editing, re-re-writing ... and those were just the poems, never mind the other assignments.

At the end of this year, I've produced 70 + poems, and done a lot of thinking about what direction I'm going to go, metaphorically, across the summer.

That's because I've still another 30 poems to find for the final dissertation. I have ideas, but I think I'm going to enforce a 'dry spell' on myself for at least the start of June. I couldn't write another thing if you offered me the most divine inspiration.

And the other thing I need to start thinking about is whether this is the end of the study road. PhD or get a real job... oh life!

Gowning Up

Here's what I was up to yesterday. Now that I look at it, I probably should have got himself to take a picture from the back... the top one is me plus 5/6 of the ant-hill mob.

I had the mother and father of a headache when I got back. But the canapes were nice...

The Gardner's Spring Assault

gone, gone, gone!

I'll meet myself coming back...

Well, Edinburgh was only fantastic, even if it was the quickest in and out of a city I've done; excepting the trips to London, I guess.

In any case, I arrived on Sunday lunchtime, and did a quick swizz around the park in Prince's Gardens, which are just at the foot (or should I say root) of Edinburgh Castle. I thought while looking up at it, well, you'd not invade that place easy! Rob and his wean made the perfect tourist guides - and I can say categorically that having a scooter is probably the coolest way to get around downtown Edinburgh!

After getting my bearings and a bite to eat, it was off to the Great Grog to get stuck in. Firstly it's a lovely space, very relaxed with comfy chairs to lounge in, always conducive to reading and hearing readers. I kicked off and then Claire Askew read from her work: saving her best poem till last, and then Sally read sections from her long poem just published in a fine edition: The Bees. It's a great idea and the book has a lovely look to it, on creamy paper with gorgeous black and white prints inside. My ones love it already!

Alan Gillis read then, sumptuous sounds go into his work and you can see why Hawks and Doves got shortlisted for the Eliot prize this year. A pleasure to hear him, and indeed everyone, give voice to their work.

I was so tired yesterday I came straight home, made dinner and retired to bed - so, so tired - but it was worth it. And I seem to have come home with way more books than I left with... oh boy!

Lethargic Diseases

I am gripped by a massive dose of prevaricaritis. It's where you know you have loads of stuff to do, but can't quite get started.

I've even gone as far as making a list of the assignments that I need to have done, the order in which they should be done, and any bits of them that are begun (for encouragement).

But I can't seem to get started. I've decided to go climb a mountain tomorrow instead. A literal one, not metaphorical...

Oh boy. Roll on June 1st...

Another Escape Plot

I'm off to Edinburgh in Scotland on Sunday week to read poetry with, get this: Sally Evans, Alan Gillis and Claire Askew. All very fine poets in differing ways.

Rob MacKenzie, who organises and promotes the Great Grog readings, has a fine poem of Claire's already on display, she's a promising young poet. Alan Gillis's Hawks and Doves was nominated for the T.S. Eliot prize this year; and Sally Evans is the long-serving editor of Poetry Scotland as well as having several poetry collections extant.

Now, as we say here in Ireland, try and folly all that!

Hey - there's my buddies and me

Here's the collaborative project, Picture-Text that I've been beavering away at on Thursdays in college. The project links QUB's varied and amazing collections of materials in different departments and will fuse pictures and texts to create new artwork for a centenary exhibition.

It's all a bit up in the air at present, but we'll get there (no choice really, deadlines are lifelines...).

Lovely to see everyone's work emerging there. I'm looking forward to seeing the exhibition when it comes and the images that Sylvia uploads of us looking worried/frantic/inspired over the coming weeks ;)

How not to do NaPo

Oh dear: I've stalled on NaPo around about 17 poems in. Not because I've nothing to write about, but because I suddenly realised that I had a lot of work to do on the pieces that I need to submit for the end of this semester. No-one said it was going to be easy!

NaPo hasn't been a waste of time though: I've written 17 poems, which is 17 more than I had, and I can use about six or so for the major submission. They tie in nicely with the (hopefully)emerging theme of time and memory, so nothing wasted - ever.

I've three assigments on the go: one a set of ten poems about 19thc Victorian attitudes towards sex; a set of twenty as yet unrelated poems (but I'm working on that you can hear the thumping and banging from where you are, I bet) as well as 2000 words of commentary about process, development, themes etc. and finally a review/critique of a poetry collection or collection. That last one sounds simple enough, but I'm having difficulty in sourcing previous collections of the writer whose book I'd like to review for this assignment. I'd like to be able to give a very rounded review and that means researching the previous three... odds bodkins!

Nigel McLoughlin's Dissonances

I did a book swap with Nigel McLoughlin recently. It arrived (a week after mine made it to the UK) and I was really thrilled to open the pristine copy and read it through inside. His language has a really lovely taste on the tongue: it's definitely savoury, not sweet and there are some excellent poems contained within the covers.

Nigel's done an interview slot on National Pubic Radio, it's a quick five minute slot. In this interview he briefly discusses with the presenter Lynn Neary growing up during the troubles in Northern Ireland and then reads (in fact, I think possibly recites from memory) a great poem Seanduine about his son Euan.

Interestingly during the interview, Nigel talks about how he composes his poems - they are orally composed, which means he tries out his language aloud long before he commits it as a poem to the page. This explains why they read so fully in the voice in my mind as I read them. There's a lot to be said for the word out loud.

Reading Randall Jarrell

It never ceases to amaze me how little I know of and about poetry, but I love discovering new poems by poets that have been and gone, but left their mark.

It began a few weeks ago when I was reading Muldoon's latest book of essays, The End of the Poem. I came across Robert Lowell, who I'd heard mentioned in the same breath as Elizabeth Bishop in college but hadn't come across his work all that much before (yep, sheltered, dumb life). I read the extracts and got out my trusty Big Book of Poems, the Norton Anthology of Poems (4th ed), which I won't say makes comfortable bedtime reading, because it's a behemoth of a book to have open on your lap.

Anyhow, I've been sticking to 20thc poets, particularly looking at US poets, like Lowell, Bishop and came across Randall Jarell last night (as well as Charles Olsen but that's for another time). Again, I've heard his name mentioned before and wanted to look at his work. Born in 1914, he was old enough to serve during WWII, in the air corps and wrote some poems about this subject. I found the selection interesting because I've never read WWII poems before: it's usually Owens, Sasson, Graves and Brooks from WWI we reach for, when we think of war, or more correctly anti-war, poetry.

Anyhow, here's a link to 'The Death of the Ballturret Gunner' It's only five lines, give it a go.

And I think Jarrell has quite a mischievous twinkle in the photo on this page too. Some poets can be quite handsome, I think :)

A Picture tells a Thousand Words

I'm always promising pictures but not delivering, so here is one of me looking particularly pleased with myself.

The award I'm holding is the one I was given on Friday, for the third place in English, in the Feile Filiochta Poetry Competition: it's a lovely little bronze plaque. It was a fantastic evening sitting listening to poems being delivered in Irish, Scots Gaelic, Cymreg, Polish, German, Italian, French and English.

Apparently this is the last year of Feile Filiochta on its own: next year Poetry Ireland will have a role to play in this high-profile competition.

There's a lovely edition of all the winners' poems nestling on my shelf now.

Recent Readings

Last night I attended the first of the series being run by the Oscar Wilde Centre for Writing; the home of the MPhil course in Creative Writing at Trinity College, Dublin. They are hosting a whole series of events every Tuesday evening during April to celebrate ten years of their CW programme.

We were welcomed by Stephen Matterson and the writers were introduced by Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin: being three; Derek Mahon, Mary Morrissey and George Szirtes. The very sizeable crowd that turned up had to be relocated to a larger lecture theatre as the event was oversubscribed - a very happy thing to happen at a reading event like this.

I went along with two other writer friends and we sat rapt through the evening: Derek Mahon read mostly from new work, with an environmental flavour, so we were getting very recent work indeed.

Mary Morrissey is a Writer Fellow at Trinity College - a novelist with Mother of Pearl and The Pretender behind her, she read from WIP; she is writing a 'counter-novel' to Sean O' Casey's "autobiography" from the point of view of O'Casey's older sister, Bella.

George Szirtes read from Reel to Reel as well as more recent work and one or two of the poems I recalled from last year when he visited Trinity as part of the Poetry and Politics series in February. All three participants received very warm applause for their readings.

***

I've forgotten to record that the joint launch in Belfast with poetry colleague and friend, Enda Coyle Greene on the 7th of March went terrifically well. A large contingent of friends, colleagues and peers came along to No Alibis book shop in Belfast to hear us read from Kairos and Snow Negatives; we were honoured to have Sinead Morrissey say a few words on our behalf about poetry in general and our work in particular. The reponse was such afterwards that all the books we had brought to Belfast were cleared off the shelves. Dave of No Alibis was absolutely thrilled with the success of the evening, as were both Enda and I.

A week later, on the 14th of March, I had the pleasure of attending one of the Candle and Mirror series organised by Richard Irvine, in the Harty room at the QUB School of Music (a wonderfully resonant room for the spoken word). This time the line-up was American (Over Here): with Chris Agee who lives in Belfast and Alicia E. Stallings, who lives in Greece. Both poets read very well, but I was very taken with Stallings' work, which is snappy, clever and reveals great depth and shows how you can use form imaginatively. All the audience received a souvenir pamphlet of the poets' work to take away, which I really enjoyed reading later on. We were lucky to have had a workshop with Stallings the day before the reading; adding a new twist to the workshop series.

UK National Poetry Competition

And the winners have been announced and there's our tutor from last semester, Sinead Morrissey taking first prize - go Sinead!

NaPoWriMo

In the US it's National Poetry Month. Wikipedia explains the history quite well and Poets.org have lots of tips on how to get more poetry into your life, whether reading it yourself from the library or buying more poetry books or just generally getting out to readings etc and immersing yourself in poetry, in whatever way you feel inclined.

NaPoWriMo is part of this celebration too - where like the novel writing month of November, you can commit to writing a poem a day for the month of April. I have sworn blind I would do this every year for about four years now but always miss the first few days of it due to study.

Well, not this year: I'm having a go! Care to join me..?

A tale of Two Reviews

I forgot to post the link last week to a review I wrote for Eyewear about Meryl Pugh's pamphlet Relinquish and Patrick Williamson's Prussia Cove.

This week I find the poetry pundits have got their own back on me - only joking! There's a very considered review of Kairos as well as Fred Johnstone's latest poetry collection, The Oracle Room.

Did you know that Doghouse have very little stock left of Kairos... ?

The Clue is in the Date

Today, if all goes well, our household will have an honoured guest sitting at the dinner table, partaking of a vegetarian dish that I have cobbled together from good oul Delia's cookbook.

The honoured guest will be: none other than Shameless! What a great way to celebrate the wearing of the green ;)

Pictures to follow!

Some Good Poetry News

I got a really nice letter about three weeks ago from the organisers of the Féile Filíochta Poetry Competition in Dun Laoghaire, telling me that I had won third prize in the Adult English section for a wee scrap of a poem.

This competition is run every year: you can enter online, and it's free to do so - perhaps I might never have tried my wee poem only for that. I've been eagerly waiting ever since the letter came for the website to be updated before saying anything - not wanting to offend anyone.

Anyway, you can now look at the First, Second and Third prize winning poems and see what you think.

The prize awards ceremony is organised to coincide with the Poetry Now 08 festival, already becoming a big fixture along the lines of StAnza in Scotland.We are all going to Dun Laoghaire on the 4th of April to collect the cheque, read the poem and hear the other poems read. This is one occasion where the 'woman with six kids' brings them along for an airing, along with the hub!

Round and around Rome in 2 days

First, let me explain that map-reading is not one of the hub's special skills. It's normally allotted to me to undertake the task of navigation, which is usually conducted from the safety of a passenger seat with him driving. This usually prevents us from getting lost, but it does provoke some rather surreal scenes as I don't know my left from my right (yes, it was quite hard work passing my driving test), and indicate directions something like this: 'You need to turn that way. No, that way, not this way.' Accompanied by various 'pointed' hand signals.

With him not driving, he had to have something to do with his hands, like hold the map. He's a self-confessed ex-scout, so you'd think he'd have picked up something about map-reading, like how to hold it the right way round, but alas I think his badges were for fire-lighting and sewing, not map-reading.

Thus it was that we found ourselves being conducted the long way round, the wrong way round to the hotel on the first night, with him reading the map. Oh, he said after about an hour, this city is quite small. That came after our first foray from the hotel into the darkness on Friday night to find a) somewhere to eat, and b) the Trevi fountain. Ah yes, toss a coin in the Trevi and you'll always come back, but in our case we skipped waiting for another trip to Rome and came back to the Trevi a grand total of four times - always just tripping across it the way you do a stubborn doorstep

Similarily with the roman ruins at the Palatine and the Colosseo, as it has become ingrained in my mind. I'm not being ungrateful - it was fabulous to see it in Saturday morning's soft rain, Saturday evening's luminescence and again in Sunday morning's sunlit glow. Thank goodness the Vatican is closed on Sundays doing the other sort of business - Lord alone knows how many times we might have strayed that way too, only for it being a bit further away from us than every where else.

On the Sunday, we went to the Villa Borghese, which is this really massive park containing a fair few museums and galleries where Romans like to hang out when it's sunny. Not satisfied with trying to lose me a good few times, hub decided to hire one of these side-by-side bicycles, of which only one side is the controller, and kill me by refusing to break until the last minute; driving it off very high kerbs and making it go fast down hills... and finally getting it out on a main road and trying to get us run over. My nerves couldn't take any more and I refused to get back on after about an hour. He said it was the best fun he's ever had, the highlight of the weekend and worth every euro he paid - evil sod.

There will be pictures, just as soon as I get the camera to talk nicely to me.

In other news...

Did I mention that I was going to Rome?

My dearly beloved hub lost the thread of himself early last winter and booked a weekend away to the Eternal City, as a present for me on the occasion of me getting older than I already was.

It's taken no mean feat of organisation to arrange the finer details, which is what I had to do in order to be able to go anywhere. There will be children stashed in other people's under-stair cupboards; there will be children stashed in other people's dog kennels; there will be children hanging out of other people's lightbulbs - but not out of me!

Yes - a child-free two and a half days, in the company of the hub. Just you watch me move across Rome!

I've always wanted to visit Rome, since I read Middlemarch and then Portrait of a Lady. The female protagonists of both novels go to Rome and visit all the sights: one with her newly married dry, dusty old fart, the other is single but ends up seduced by another American exile (entirely the wrong man for her, but there you go).

In both cases the authors used their knowledge of the 'Grand Tour,' as visiting all the important European cities used to be called, to extend the emotional backdrop - using settings intertwined with the emotional state of the heroines.

Now, I'm not as dramatic as that, but I do like a good ruin - I shall be taking pictures but will be looking for the quirky ones, like the one in my guide book: he's headless, handless and ahem-less, with a set of testicles any bull would be proud of! Hmm. Wonder who he was meant to be, then...

Post Match Analysis

Well! What a magnificently relaxed afternoon Pipe and Slippers turned out to be: some rare talent and a good mix of music and spoken word as well.

After stuffing myself with the best humous, salad and pitta breads (and chocklit cake - yum) that London has to offer (thanks Debi - as always the best hostess I know!), and meeting a brave load of bloggers, we set off on foot to the Ivy House.

First out of the blocks was John T. Ahearn reading from his brand new publication, Pomes. John's work uses form to hang his poems on and he gave an interesting reading of his work, giving us a nice taste for the poems. I read next and was then followed by Rebecca Jade a singer-songwriter whose songs and voice reminded me a lot of Kristin Hersh (in her acoustic phase).

A natter with all the bloggers who bravely came out in support of us showed a strong turn-out: Meloney Lemon, Minx, Debi, Pundy, Lee L. Lowe as well as Emma Darwin of BWBD (her novel is The Mathematics of Love).

We then heard Ben Holden rendering 'Mynatour,' a long poem with deft humour giving a new slant on the metamorphosis theme, followed by 'Starlings' by Wes White.

A rare treat was Jack Blackburn in the best tradition of performance poetry. One of his pieces, a re-working of Macbeth had me and the audience riveted; his nimble wordplay and rhyming worked very well together and he got a huge round of applause for his slot.

Without doubt the organisers saved the very best until last: Ricardo Garcia's beautiful flamenco/classical style of playing guitar had a lot of women stirring longingly ;) in their seats (and perhaps not a few men) and his three pieces earned him a strong call for an encore when he was done. I'm listening to his CD as I'm typing and I hope that he will tour in Ireland in the not too distant future. What a huge talent!

I don't have any pictures, but Debi has already, so check them out! Now I must get some clothes/kids/hair washed in preparation for the exodus to Rome on Friday (sans kids of course).

Pipe and Slippers

Off travelling again today to London to take part in Pipe and Slippers. I am of course very excited and can't wait to hear John Ahearn reading from his brand new publication, Pomes.

I shall be playing my favourite game of 'spot the blogger' while there - it'll take me mind off the reading.

Wish me luck: I shall read those suggested poems you mentioned and will be thinking of you tomorrow when I read!

Shameless Lion Writing Circle

The plot of the longest piece of literary knitting I have yet seen, has been stirred, thickened and made very interesting by the latest contributor, Meloney Lemon.

There is now talk of how the whole thing will be finished off - and what will Shameless do then...?

***

In other news, I have a very exciting poetry development to relate - but I can't say anything about it yet!

How do you top a day like today?

I spent most of today workshopping poems with Michael Longley.

Let me just repeat that: I spent most of today workshopping poems with Michael Longley.

I swear if I never did another thing in my life, I could die quite happily right now! :)

This is the poem by which I first knew his work: Ceasefire. Published just days after the ceasefire in Northern Ireland was declared.

So, you think you like to...

What Be Your Nerd Type? Your Result: Literature Nerd Does sitting by a nice cozy fire, with a cup of hot tea/chocolate, and a book you can read for hours even when your eyes grow red and dry and you look sort of scary sitting there with your insomniac appearance? Then you fit this category perfectly! You love the power of the written word and it's eloquence; and you may like to read/write poetry or novels. You contribute to the smart people of today's society, however you can probably be overly-critical of works. It's okay. I understand.
Artistic Nerd
Musician
Social Nerd
Drama Nerd
Gamer/Computer Nerd
Science/Math Nerd
Anime Nerd
What Be Your Nerd Type? Quizzes for MySpace

I blame Bonnie for this! Seriously, it's just for fun :)

Pipe and Slippers

It seems timely just a week and half before the gig in South London to find out that Chief Biscuit has written a very handsome review of Kairos in a review blog that she keeps.

Kay McKenzie Cooke , as CB is better known, is no mean poet herself: her first collection 'feeding the dogs' (2002) won the Montana New Zealand Book Award's 'Best First Book,' in 2003. Her second collection, made for weather, has just come out recently and is an even stronger collection of work.

Kay's reading of the poems in Kairos is helping me to think of the poems I must select for reading on Sunday 24th February at Pipe and Slippers. The organisers have placed John Ahearn and myself at the head of the bill, kicking off proceedings, and allowing us each a good fifteen minutes for getting a good flavour of our publications across to the listeners, which means that I need to think about more poems to read, rather than the small selection I had already been contemplating.

You should click on the link above to discover who else will be there: for example, Barcelona-based Flamenco guitarist Ricardo Garcia will be stopping by, fresh from a slot at the Royal Albert Hall... and that's just one highlight!

Maybe now is a good time to ask you for your favourite poems from Kairos. You might not be able to be there, but I'll read them all the same, thinking of you as I read. Who knows, something might just come of it.

Oh what a glorious feeling...!

...Everything's going my way...

Well, a bit. Ish. For a while. Yes, I am in a terrific mood, but it's just sun-induced. Imagine. A whole sunny day with mine brood. In the purple transportation machine. On the side of a small bohereen. Beside the sea which was full tide-in. Which sported a pebbly beach with large, jagged rocks, nice bit of yellow lichen too. But the sea made lovely soothing shushing noises... when I sent the children to run off down the road a bit. Okay, a good bit.

An award from Belle. Well, two actually. Let's see if I can insert one of them here somewhere...

Nice, isn't it?

Now, how about Apprentice, Inner Minx, Debi, Shameless and hey, how about you post it on your blog! It's the weather - call me sun-mad!

The Joys of...

..writing! O, but spring has sprung here, even if it is cold and I am enjoying my return to college: full as this year's semester is going to be.

On Wednesdays, I attend a class on Life Writing, facilitated by the bould Ian Sansom. I have come across his writing in The Dublin Review (great round-up of the great and good in Irish (and beyond) writing) and The Yellow Nib (journal of the Queen's Seamus Heaney Centre). I believe he also writes for the Guardian (of a Saturday) and he organised a poetry appreciation class last semester, which alas I was unable to attend. You might get a flavour for his writing here, on his well-organised, informative and amusing website.

Yes, I'm gushing, aren't I? It's hard not to gush when you've attended one of Ian's classes: the sheer energy of his delivery; his enthusiasm for books and book recommendations; the simplicity with which he sets sparks blazing in you and the good sound advice he gives on the subject of writing alone, have been worth the fees for the MA alone (not to mention Sinead Morrissey, Medbh McGuckian, Daragh Carville - but enough name-dropping already!).

So, the subject is Life Writing, and the various forms thereof: biographical; essays - whatever you want to explore - it's all there. And the reading list alone is throwing up some wonderful books that I'd never come across: Jack Barzun's Simple and Direct: A Rhetoric for Writers is a lucid example. This book will serve either the beginner writer, or the writer who's ready for a brush-up. It's full of great examples of how not to write and contains exercises for helping you re-appraise how you use your words.

Last week's opening salvo was a twenty point 'Things Writers ought to Know:' otherwise billed as an undergraduate's course in Creative Writing Techniques. Now, I know that some might say that that is terribly reductive - but there is a sense in having it all there; simple and direct, I guess. That's just fifteen minutes from the class!

Anyway. I must go and do my homework while I still have some finger-stumps left to work with: An Essay of 1000 words on a subject from a list I made earlier of 'Things That I Would Like to Write About Before I Die.' When you look at it like that you really don't want to mess about in what's left of your writing career, do you?