This week sees a lot of books flying in my letterbox. I've been reading Mainstream Love Hotel, Todd Swift's latest offering, and bought copies of Elizabeth Bishop's Collected, Robert Lowell's Life Studies, Wallace Steven's Collected - and The New York Poets anthology from Carcanet, while I was at it, because I wanted Frank O'Hara's work all in the one place - in fact that was why I bought the others, so that I can more easily refer to them as I want, instead of rooting about at the various Nortons stashed away (besides, I had a book clear-out, enabling me to buy some... oh, you know how it is with a book-sickness!).
Anyhow, back to MLH from tall-lighthouse - all week I've been reading this, as well as catching up on new episodes of Mad Men (we're a few weeks ahead of the UK - bless RTE). One seems to compliment the other in a weird connected way: smart, sophisticated, sexy, psyco-analytical, egotistical, and old-school with a new-twist this book plays with you, toys with you, right from the opener, 'Mirror', with its cryptic ending, 'The sister of knowing is making.'
In fact, there's a wonderful playfulness about the whole book, a lightness that carries each poem's deeper layered sense, as in 'The talking cure,' which is also one of my favourite poems in the collection: yes, 'Bold. / Bad Baby' indeed. There's also a wonderful facility with language, again playful and fizzing, as in 'French poem,' where the sonics gleefully bounce down the lines from 'Elle' to 'Eiffel' and on to 'Zola' and then 'novel.' Stylish, sexy and smart? Yes. But there's great grist in there too, and a wonderful joie-de-vivre, no doubt because of Swift's Canadian background, and varied European living experiences.
And there's a waryness too in his work: 'These days,' again another well-wrought sonic and rhythmically cadenced poem balances each of its phrases carefully carrying the poem's motion softly down the page:
These are the days
not other days
these are the days I was
working towards
as other further weeks,
working for days
that now I see have come in,
fish from the street
sold fresh, the man
in his whites, ringing to bring
fish just off the boats,
days that were in the sea
...
I'd thought to have my work
done by now, to have reached
the goals set out long ago,
I won't get there now
But you must read the book to reach the poem's shimmering conclusion!
Known as a tireless promoter of poetry wherever he has travelled in the past, Swift now lives in London where he continues finding and pushing new (and established) poetic talent in his Oxfam Marylebone reading series. I think Mainstream Love Hotel sees a sure move forward from the previous Seaway: New & Selected from Salmon Poetry, which spanned a twenty year writing career. It's great to see his work becoming available to a broader audience and it will be interesting to watch the trajectory of his next twenty poetic years.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
A Meme about Books
I haven't indulged in these for a while, but this one intrigued me. I nicked it from Sheenagh Pugh's blog which is well worth reading in any case.
1. Which book has been on your shelves the longest?
Lord of the Rings – sorry!
2. What is your current read, your last read and the book you'll read next?
Currently reading Mainstream Love Hotel. Just finished The Lost Symbol, because I like reading pulp and giving out about it just as much as anyone else!
3. What book did everyone like and you hated?
Brooklyn by Colm Toibin. I really wanted to like it, but I got a bit annoyed with the heroine in the end. Probably just me being curmudgeonly, because I know the book went on to win great honours for its author, so it must be good.
4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you'll read, but you probably won't?
Ulysses by you-know-who. I know the plot, the characters and the story: I just need to read the damn thing.
5. Which book are you saving for "retirement?"
Isn’t that a bit ahead – who knows what I’ll be doing then!
6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?
If I get annoyed with the book I will do this, but I’ll still read the rest of it. Mainly I wouldn’t do this on myself, as I enjoy holding back too much.
7. Acknowledgments: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?
I can see both sides to that argument. A publisher I know said it was better to try and be concise, rather than thanking everyone, including the cat. Funnily enough, established writers don’t have long Ack. lists, if at all.
8. Which book character would you switch places with?
Watson, from Sherlock Holmes. I’d love to see Holmes in action, see the way his mind worked. I reckon I might have a bit of trouble in the trouser department, though.
9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?
I have a book that I bought second-hand: Richard Scarry’s Big Book of Words. I bought it because it was the first book my parents bought me after a trip they had away and I loved it the way some kids love a teddy bear, or doll. I did let the kids read it – I’m not that precious – but I have reclaimed it, to ‘pass on.’
10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.
The Crowning Privilege, a book of Oxford lectures by Robert Graves. It was the first, and probably the last, book I bought on eBay. It was brilliant – Graves had a strange mind when it came to poetry and how it worked – if you’re in any doubt about that, try reading The White Goddess.
11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?
I find it extremely hard to part with books, but I have given them away - I gave a signed copy of a Billy Collins poetry collection to a dear friend of mine. I regretted it instantly, but she adored it.
12. Which book has been with you to the most places?
Probably that copy of The Lord of the Rings. It has moved house with me countless times.
13. Any "required reading" you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?
Thomas Hardy’s Far From the Madding Crowd. I hated it in secondary school, but loved it later as one of twelve 19th c novels I had to read for a literature course.
14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?
Dried flowers. And a shopping list. Not in the same book, obviously. Although who knows..?
15. Used or brand new?
I like both. I love the smell that second-hand books have, slightly musty and, well, bookish, but I love the feel of a book that hasn’t been opened yet, cracking the spine of it – that sort of thing.
16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?
I’ve read him, but I don’t like categorising. Pass.
17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?
I had reservations about Peter Jackson tackling LOTR. But I thought he did very well in the end. Can’t think of any movies that are better than the book, because I do like both mediums and also I like the world I create in my own head when I read a book.
18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?
Uh, can't think.
19. Have you ever read a book that's made you hungry, cookbooks being excluded from this question?
Paradise by Abdul Razzak Gurnah. It was aching. It made me hungry to experience eastern Africa. But that part of Africa probably doesn’t exist any more. All the more reason why the book worked for me.
20. Who is the person whose book advice you'll always take?
I used to have a great friend who was always dropping in really interesting books and CDs. Alas we don’t live in the same town anymore, but I always read those books – many of which I still have.
Now, if you feel like having a go at this yourself - nominate yourself. Go on, you know you want to!
Friday, January 15, 2010
Spring Sap - Already?
So, only a few days since this area shook off its white winter coat and assumed its green one and what a relief to see green again. I think that you can feel a little ill if you don't get to see the colours you're used to seeing out in the garden. It's so warm today I've even turned off the heating, which is a bit mad. I even saw a few buds on my clematis outside, which is great because I was worried it had been killed by the cold.
I think they used to call these days Halcyon days; country people that is. I remember that great Weather Eye columnist Brendan McWilliams writing about them in the back pages of the Irish Times. He talked about those rare days you get in winter when the sun actually shines and people and the country take a wee breather.
It's nice, I can tell you, not to be feeling my feet going numb or my fingers going stiff over the keyboard. I know, you think I'm probably some old crock, the way I'm going on. Thing is, as I get older I'm getting a lot stiffer, a lot earlier than I'd like. So days like today are a blessing, halcyon or not. It makes me think forward to the summer.
And someone outside is running a machine that sounds like a lawn-mower. Incroyable! Brid's Day isn't even here yet...
I think they used to call these days Halcyon days; country people that is. I remember that great Weather Eye columnist Brendan McWilliams writing about them in the back pages of the Irish Times. He talked about those rare days you get in winter when the sun actually shines and people and the country take a wee breather.
It's nice, I can tell you, not to be feeling my feet going numb or my fingers going stiff over the keyboard. I know, you think I'm probably some old crock, the way I'm going on. Thing is, as I get older I'm getting a lot stiffer, a lot earlier than I'd like. So days like today are a blessing, halcyon or not. It makes me think forward to the summer.
And someone outside is running a machine that sounds like a lawn-mower. Incroyable! Brid's Day isn't even here yet...
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Changing the Numbers
Isn't it great to be able to say twenty-ten, instead of the mouthful of two-thousand-and-nine, and all the previous year incarnations up 'til the end of the decade?
I remember when I was a little girl watching some programme on the TV, in the seventies, about what life might be like post-millenia, and seeing a picture of the then-BBC-newsreader Richard Baker put through special ageing makeup in order to see what he'd look like thirty or forty something years from then. Basically it was just a grey wig they used, plus some crow's feet around the eyes. I remember thinking that it was a long time away to me, a little girl - but look how the years have just plinkity-plinked past. Jeepers, I didn't even feel that last decade at all, at all.
All this is by way of remarking on how quickly forty-two years have snuck past when I wasn't looking; somehow I don't think I'll feel the next forty-odd either. This time thing: you can waste it and spend it, some say you can even save it (but I've never seen a time bank, have you?) - but you can't keep it from flowing through your fingers - each day, each hour, each second - all those labels to help us move along our seven days, our months, our years... and time only ever moves one way. Time's slow arrow moves into a future that we cannot see - a little like shooting over your shoulder without taking aim. Hmm.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Asking a Shadow to Dance
I rather wish that I had had this sooner so I could recommend it as something to be added to a Christmas wish-list, but still - this DVD from Oxfam Marylebone is a real treasure trove.
What is it? A DVD featuring 35 (yes, that many!) young British poets: some filmed on the occasion of the The Manhattan Review launch (remember, I madly flew off to be at that?) back in March 5th; others were filmed in interesting locations such as the Poetry Library, Southbank and Norwich. The poets were selected by Todd Swift, he of Eyewear (and lately of Mainstream Love Hotel fame too!).
It's good value, it's a worthy cause and if you want to pop an oul thermometer under the tongue of British poetry and wallop its knees for a reflex check, this is where you should start. I don't profess to like everything on this - but nor should I. It is as diverse and wide-ranging as the sheer breadth of voices (and faces) that feature.
My own favourites? Emily Berry (yes, that rather brilliant corset poem), Ben Wilkinson, Joe Dunthorne, Colette Sensier, Agnes Lehoczky, Kavita Joshi... actually, on reflection I am wondering what's not to like...?
It's available online, for the meagre sum of £12.99, and could be looked at as a good glimpse of what's happened in British poetry since the millenium - go on, you know its worth it :)
What is it? A DVD featuring 35 (yes, that many!) young British poets: some filmed on the occasion of the The Manhattan Review launch (remember, I madly flew off to be at that?) back in March 5th; others were filmed in interesting locations such as the Poetry Library, Southbank and Norwich. The poets were selected by Todd Swift, he of Eyewear (and lately of Mainstream Love Hotel fame too!).
It's good value, it's a worthy cause and if you want to pop an oul thermometer under the tongue of British poetry and wallop its knees for a reflex check, this is where you should start. I don't profess to like everything on this - but nor should I. It is as diverse and wide-ranging as the sheer breadth of voices (and faces) that feature.
My own favourites? Emily Berry (yes, that rather brilliant corset poem), Ben Wilkinson, Joe Dunthorne, Colette Sensier, Agnes Lehoczky, Kavita Joshi... actually, on reflection I am wondering what's not to like...?
It's available online, for the meagre sum of £12.99, and could be looked at as a good glimpse of what's happened in British poetry since the millenium - go on, you know its worth it :)
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Ooh - another nearly made it
I just found out today (thanks Michael Farry!) that I got shortlisted for the Basil Bunting Award, the new poetry competition that was launched this year.
I was delighted for a number of reasons: well, validation being one of them, but Achieving the Lotus Gait, is part of a longer sequence of poems I've been writing on and off during the year on the grisly subject of torture.
I think it may be some sort of sublimated desire to deal with yucky things from the past. Anyway, I'm delighted to see my name on that short list, along with names I recognise, like Dawn Wood from Scotland. I think I'm the only Irish name in there... that's twice that's happened now :))))
Congratulations to the worthy winners, of course. I think the judges' report shows just how tough their criteria were.
I was delighted for a number of reasons: well, validation being one of them, but Achieving the Lotus Gait, is part of a longer sequence of poems I've been writing on and off during the year on the grisly subject of torture.
I think it may be some sort of sublimated desire to deal with yucky things from the past. Anyway, I'm delighted to see my name on that short list, along with names I recognise, like Dawn Wood from Scotland. I think I'm the only Irish name in there... that's twice that's happened now :))))
Congratulations to the worthy winners, of course. I think the judges' report shows just how tough their criteria were.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Meeting Roddy Doyle
It's always nice when you can get work and your own interests together in the same room, and it didn't come any better than this afternoon, when the long-awaited 'One Author, One Community' initiative finally came to fruition in Navan, and Roddy Doyle sailed into our midst for a totally spellbound two-hour visit.
We had chosen to read and work on one of his lesser known novels, 'Mad Weekend,' written in 2006, the year after Liverpool had won the European silverware (after a dramatic match: first half - no score, second half, score 3 - 0... remember...?). Anyhoo, the plot of this novella, saw three 20 something Dub male mates organise to go to a match in Liverpool on the night they are watching the European final. When they eventually get to Liverpool, they spend a great deal of time in The Beehive pub chatting up girls and losing one of their number - as well as seeing a Chelsea v Liverpool match... and the rest - well, you'd have to read it :)
Featuring Roddy's trademark snappy Dub (and Liverpudlian) dialogue, all the groups of learners involved really got into appreciating Roddy's work in the lead-up to today: some wrote him letters, some wrote him reviews, and some thought up some fiendishly difficult questions, which Roddy answered with generosity and aplomb - heck, even panache.
Well, he won a definite fan in me - not that that was ever in doubt. I still fondly remember going to see The Committments in Camden Town in London, back in 1991 with my mates and feeling very proud of being Irish afterwards, even we were all eejits. I was so proud today to see how well everyone acquitted themselves - and I think I won a few fans over to the cause of reading and writing - not bad for a few weeks work :)
Word up: Roddy's own favourite book is actually The Snapper; he told us a great story about how he was in the Rotunda, waiting for his own wife to give birth, and while there the camera crew turned up to film the pregnant girl arriving to the hospital - talk about life imitating art.
Excellent day - deadly buzz man!
We had chosen to read and work on one of his lesser known novels, 'Mad Weekend,' written in 2006, the year after Liverpool had won the European silverware (after a dramatic match: first half - no score, second half, score 3 - 0... remember...?). Anyhoo, the plot of this novella, saw three 20 something Dub male mates organise to go to a match in Liverpool on the night they are watching the European final. When they eventually get to Liverpool, they spend a great deal of time in The Beehive pub chatting up girls and losing one of their number - as well as seeing a Chelsea v Liverpool match... and the rest - well, you'd have to read it :)
Featuring Roddy's trademark snappy Dub (and Liverpudlian) dialogue, all the groups of learners involved really got into appreciating Roddy's work in the lead-up to today: some wrote him letters, some wrote him reviews, and some thought up some fiendishly difficult questions, which Roddy answered with generosity and aplomb - heck, even panache.
Well, he won a definite fan in me - not that that was ever in doubt. I still fondly remember going to see The Committments in Camden Town in London, back in 1991 with my mates and feeling very proud of being Irish afterwards, even we were all eejits. I was so proud today to see how well everyone acquitted themselves - and I think I won a few fans over to the cause of reading and writing - not bad for a few weeks work :)
Word up: Roddy's own favourite book is actually The Snapper; he told us a great story about how he was in the Rotunda, waiting for his own wife to give birth, and while there the camera crew turned up to film the pregnant girl arriving to the hospital - talk about life imitating art.
Excellent day - deadly buzz man!
Sunday, December 06, 2009
More Lovely Poetry Books...
... being launched in Dublin on Tuesday 8th December @ 6.30pm at the Unitarian Church, St. Stephens Green, by Director of Poetry Ireland, Joseph Woods. This is a lovely venue for a launch, as you get to read your work from a pulpit and the acoustics are very good in poetry terms. Plus, there are interesting stain-glass windows to gaze at as you hear the words.
The books in question? Well, Arlen Houseare are launching five books; Red Riding Hood's Dilemma, by Orfhlaith Foyle, Shedding Skin, by James Martyn, imram/odyssey by Celia De Freine, An Urgency of Stars, by Geraldine Mills and The Truth in Mustard, by Terry McDonagh.
All interesting titles, I think you'd agree. I can't go myself, because I must teach... but I shall be looking forward to ogling the books and getting inside the covers before too long :)
Good luck to them all on the night - maybe you might fit this line-up in :)
The books in question? Well, Arlen Houseare are launching five books; Red Riding Hood's Dilemma, by Orfhlaith Foyle, Shedding Skin, by James Martyn, imram/odyssey by Celia De Freine, An Urgency of Stars, by Geraldine Mills and The Truth in Mustard, by Terry McDonagh.
All interesting titles, I think you'd agree. I can't go myself, because I must teach... but I shall be looking forward to ogling the books and getting inside the covers before too long :)
Good luck to them all on the night - maybe you might fit this line-up in :)
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Michelle's Peony Favourite Poetry Books 2009
Michelle of Peony Moon has a great series running just now: writers with their favourite books of 2009.
Part 5 includes my choices, but not my whys... more on this rumination later. As you can guess, I was hard pushed to actually nail three, never mind six - there are so many great poetry books out there.
If you were stuck for a Christmas present for someone who likes poetry, and wanted to get them something out of the usual for Christmas, you could do a lot worse than browse these lists and google the results. It just shows you there's some mighty fine poetry out there...
Part 5 includes my choices, but not my whys... more on this rumination later. As you can guess, I was hard pushed to actually nail three, never mind six - there are so many great poetry books out there.
If you were stuck for a Christmas present for someone who likes poetry, and wanted to get them something out of the usual for Christmas, you could do a lot worse than browse these lists and google the results. It just shows you there's some mighty fine poetry out there...
Friday, November 27, 2009
Nude Launch Afters
Sorry I wasn't back here sooner, I was a little, um, busy this last two days.
Anyhow, Nuala's launch for Nude went very well indeed: quite a crowd turned out in the delightful No Grants Gallery for the night and many copies were sold - good job too. What great timing to have a nude exhibition, as a backdrop for the launch.
I collected my bag of copies for my creative writers and they can't wait to receive them tomorrow - they've been made wait a little longer than I first anticipated, so I'm glad to be delivering them.
Afraid I had to swing away early, I had an appointment with a large dose of preparatory lower-tummy medicine, and a toilet (and the least said about that the better - yuk!).
But I did manage to quickly swing by the Irish Writer's Centre to pick up a copy of the Davy Byrnes Six Stories shortlists and winners - and you gotta take your hat off to Claire Keegan - 'Foster', her winning story, is a pure blow-away. Feic me.
If you want to see pics, pop on over to Nuala's blog. My favourite is the one with all the chaps under the nude pictures ... :)
Anyhow, Nuala's launch for Nude went very well indeed: quite a crowd turned out in the delightful No Grants Gallery for the night and many copies were sold - good job too. What great timing to have a nude exhibition, as a backdrop for the launch.
I collected my bag of copies for my creative writers and they can't wait to receive them tomorrow - they've been made wait a little longer than I first anticipated, so I'm glad to be delivering them.
Afraid I had to swing away early, I had an appointment with a large dose of preparatory lower-tummy medicine, and a toilet (and the least said about that the better - yuk!).
But I did manage to quickly swing by the Irish Writer's Centre to pick up a copy of the Davy Byrnes Six Stories shortlists and winners - and you gotta take your hat off to Claire Keegan - 'Foster', her winning story, is a pure blow-away. Feic me.
If you want to see pics, pop on over to Nuala's blog. My favourite is the one with all the chaps under the nude pictures ... :)
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Dublin Nude Launch
I hope I have your attention now. I'm in Dublin tomorrow night for the launch of Nude, from Salt Publishing, by Nuala Ni Chonchuir (sorry about your fadas, N, this new version of Windows Internet Explorer won't let me copy and paste your name into Blogger, grrr! - give me Mozilla Firefox anytime!).
Where: No Grants Gallery, Temple Bar, Dublin 2
When: 6pm
Who: Nuala Ni Chonchuir
What: Nude
How: by any means possible!
So, you've been warned :)
PS. Did I mention I'm launching it..? Better go and write me speech now, hadn't I?
Friday, November 20, 2009
List Making
We are making lists here in Barbara-land. Ones that decide whether certain people have been naughty or nice, as well as ones that make fine promises about culinary standards that need to be addressed for the Yule season (whether to use Jamie's turkey treatment, or the stuffing as per the recipe on the back of the stuffing bag last year) - as well as outer rings of lists that orbit around the inner lists in a sort of black-hole-singularity kind of way (see, I've been reading the blogs tonight and paying attenshun).
So, I wondered: what goes on your lists for Christmas? Do you make lists of things that have to be done, or is it more a mental checklist (because you now know exactly what those lists should contain (besides socks and jocks))?
Do you worry about your lists; do you make a master-list of lists; and, more to the point, what happens when you start to list under the lists that you've made...?
Here's one thing that's going on my list: wasabi!
So, I wondered: what goes on your lists for Christmas? Do you make lists of things that have to be done, or is it more a mental checklist (because you now know exactly what those lists should contain (besides socks and jocks))?
Do you worry about your lists; do you make a master-list of lists; and, more to the point, what happens when you start to list under the lists that you've made...?
Here's one thing that's going on my list: wasabi!
Friday, November 13, 2009
StAnza virtual poetry fest
Have a look at the post on Colin Will's blog about tomorrow, Saturday 14th's web festival of poetry, brought to you by the folks at StAnza.
They're beaming in live poetry from all over the world, from Mumbai, India to Sacramento, USA and everywhere in between, by satellite to St Andrews and then it's simultaneouly being webcast - so you can enjoy the action from the comfort of your own laptop.
StAnza website is here The festival kicks off at 1pm and finishes at around 10pm with live music etc to close. Remember this is a live stream; there won't be any catching up if you've missed anything, but you can tune in at any stage during the day.
Colin has the full line up in his post, mentioned above, along with poems, pics and translations. Do check out this exciting virtual poetry festival if you can, Saturday!
They're beaming in live poetry from all over the world, from Mumbai, India to Sacramento, USA and everywhere in between, by satellite to St Andrews and then it's simultaneouly being webcast - so you can enjoy the action from the comfort of your own laptop.
StAnza website is here The festival kicks off at 1pm and finishes at around 10pm with live music etc to close. Remember this is a live stream; there won't be any catching up if you've missed anything, but you can tune in at any stage during the day.
Colin has the full line up in his post, mentioned above, along with poems, pics and translations. Do check out this exciting virtual poetry festival if you can, Saturday!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Ouroboros Review
Another fine issue is just out, with poems by Susan Millar DuMars, John Walsh, Michelle McGrane, Arlene Ang and so many, many more.
Why not spread it around - it looks and reads really well, even on screen and you can embiggen it too - it's practically a magazine on your desktop. All you're missing is the licking of your finger to flick the pages - and lets face it, in these swiney-fluey days, that's probably not a bad thing ;)
Why not spread it around - it looks and reads really well, even on screen and you can embiggen it too - it's practically a magazine on your desktop. All you're missing is the licking of your finger to flick the pages - and lets face it, in these swiney-fluey days, that's probably not a bad thing ;)
Sunday, November 08, 2009
On the Subject of Forty-Two
There is a machine in Douglas Adam's trilogy, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (okay, I know it outgrew being a trilogy), that is set up to calculate the exact meaning of life, the universe and everything. Deep Thought is its name and the answer it comes up with is the number of 42.
42 is quickly becoming an important number for me. It has some resonance in my husband's family: his mother and father both lived in houses that held that number. For me, it is the number of years I will have on my next birthday - a number of years that is beginning to sound far older than I thought it would.
A few days ago, at the doctors I was asked if I smoked and for how long. I horrified myself by answering that I had been smoking for about twenty years. Where in the name of holy jeans did those years sneak off to? And that got me thinking again about how quickly a year seems to pass these days.
Years, when you are small, seem to pass very, very slowly indeed. I spent a great deal of time wishing them away: wishing I was wiser, cooler, popular and a lot of other various attributes that I associated with being older. Now I wonder how much of my life I've spent wishing, wishing.
As the years have gone by, I have found that each year doesn't last as long as the previous. I wonder is that because certain things have an inevitability about them, once you have learned how to get the hang of them: like Christmas, or Easter, or poxy Valentine's Day, or the start of school holidays, or the new school year. All these events stack up to make a year, and they just flash past - like swallows flitting in for spring and away again for autumn.
I suppose I'm supposed to feel contented with where I am now. After all, if the meaning of Life, the Universe and Everything is 42, then it stands to reason that perhaps I know it all now, doesn't it? If only that were true. Someone once told me that by the time you reach 40, you have crystallised; you have somehow hardened into the person you will be for much of the rest of your life.
Trouble is, it's very hard to appreciate whether this is true or not, when the view you have is always a close up, and only a frontal one at that (the back of you being very difficult to see in the mirror). I used to think I had done well to reach the age that Christ was allegedly crucified at. Now, looking back, I think that I was really only getting the hang of life at that stage, and it was only a very tenuous hang, I might add.
I wonder what I'll think in ten years time? I wonder what I'll feel about having been 42 in retrospect? I wonder if I'll even make it to 52. Time was (especially in my twenties) when you didn't worry about things like that. Old was something that happened to your aged grandparents - or their contemporaries. It was never going to happen to you.
Ah, how youth is wasted on the young- isn't that what they say?
42 is quickly becoming an important number for me. It has some resonance in my husband's family: his mother and father both lived in houses that held that number. For me, it is the number of years I will have on my next birthday - a number of years that is beginning to sound far older than I thought it would.
A few days ago, at the doctors I was asked if I smoked and for how long. I horrified myself by answering that I had been smoking for about twenty years. Where in the name of holy jeans did those years sneak off to? And that got me thinking again about how quickly a year seems to pass these days.
Years, when you are small, seem to pass very, very slowly indeed. I spent a great deal of time wishing them away: wishing I was wiser, cooler, popular and a lot of other various attributes that I associated with being older. Now I wonder how much of my life I've spent wishing, wishing.
As the years have gone by, I have found that each year doesn't last as long as the previous. I wonder is that because certain things have an inevitability about them, once you have learned how to get the hang of them: like Christmas, or Easter, or poxy Valentine's Day, or the start of school holidays, or the new school year. All these events stack up to make a year, and they just flash past - like swallows flitting in for spring and away again for autumn.
I suppose I'm supposed to feel contented with where I am now. After all, if the meaning of Life, the Universe and Everything is 42, then it stands to reason that perhaps I know it all now, doesn't it? If only that were true. Someone once told me that by the time you reach 40, you have crystallised; you have somehow hardened into the person you will be for much of the rest of your life.
Trouble is, it's very hard to appreciate whether this is true or not, when the view you have is always a close up, and only a frontal one at that (the back of you being very difficult to see in the mirror). I used to think I had done well to reach the age that Christ was allegedly crucified at. Now, looking back, I think that I was really only getting the hang of life at that stage, and it was only a very tenuous hang, I might add.
I wonder what I'll think in ten years time? I wonder what I'll feel about having been 42 in retrospect? I wonder if I'll even make it to 52. Time was (especially in my twenties) when you didn't worry about things like that. Old was something that happened to your aged grandparents - or their contemporaries. It was never going to happen to you.
Ah, how youth is wasted on the young- isn't that what they say?
Monday, November 02, 2009
The Latest Stinging Fly has ...
... loads of poems, dark stories and some reviews too.
Liz Gallagher's The Wrong Miracle gets a good look-see by Grace Wells - her 'linguistic dexterity' and the 'sheer verve of her style' is mentioned; this comes alongside five other worthy first collections.
Highlights for me: 'Road Trip,' well-written non-fiction (although it had me completely absorbed in the way that fiction usually does) by Robert Hopkins; an interview with Deirdre Madden and two fine poems that sat well together - 'A Little Knowledge' by Val Nolan and 'Grapefruit' by Alan Garvey.
But hey, don't take my word for it: go get your own copy of the Stinging Fly, why don't you.
And the cover - so, so sumptuous - and red! I like.
Liz Gallagher's The Wrong Miracle gets a good look-see by Grace Wells - her 'linguistic dexterity' and the 'sheer verve of her style' is mentioned; this comes alongside five other worthy first collections.
Highlights for me: 'Road Trip,' well-written non-fiction (although it had me completely absorbed in the way that fiction usually does) by Robert Hopkins; an interview with Deirdre Madden and two fine poems that sat well together - 'A Little Knowledge' by Val Nolan and 'Grapefruit' by Alan Garvey.
But hey, don't take my word for it: go get your own copy of the Stinging Fly, why don't you.
And the cover - so, so sumptuous - and red! I like.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Falling Back
Autumn Herself
She leaves notes on the brambles:
glistening blackberry globes for stewed
desserts and jam, or damsons ready
for eager childrens' hands to scrump.
She flirts with a passer-by in the quickened
blaze she leaves on a ten year old beech,
fire licks going quickly over to bronzed yellow.
They cling until the first hard storm
spins their dry crunches into a limp mess
down the muddy street drains.
She's the crush of burnt sienna velvet
in a dress fondled in a department store.
She's low angled sunshine across a field
of beige barley-stubble. Her scent
is the must of late saucer mushrooms;
her jewellery scarlet berries hiding
in the dark, green prickles of paired Holly trees.
She leaves notes on the brambles:
glistening blackberry globes for stewed
desserts and jam, or damsons ready
for eager childrens' hands to scrump.
She flirts with a passer-by in the quickened
blaze she leaves on a ten year old beech,
fire licks going quickly over to bronzed yellow.
They cling until the first hard storm
spins their dry crunches into a limp mess
down the muddy street drains.
She's the crush of burnt sienna velvet
in a dress fondled in a department store.
She's low angled sunshine across a field
of beige barley-stubble. Her scent
is the must of late saucer mushrooms;
her jewellery scarlet berries hiding
in the dark, green prickles of paired Holly trees.
Friday, October 16, 2009
A Gallery of Poets
Last night, like I hadn't enough to be doing, I headed to Dublin's Waterstones to a Gallery launch of five poets' latest poetry collections. The poets didn't disppoint. I ended up going home with an armful of books, and really enjoyed hearing them sound their poems out. I met the lovely Hugh O'Donnell hob-nobbing with Denis O'Driscoll and chatted to quite a few poetry g-literati (hi Teresa!).
In order of appearance: Tom French, with The Fire Step (his first collection, Touching the Bones won the Forward Prize in 2001); Vona Groarke with the very accomplished Spindrift (I've seen quite a few of her poems from the collection in various journals and papers over the last while); Kerry Hardie, with Only This Room; Eilean Ni Chuilleanain, with The Sun-Fish (a PBS recommendation this quarter); and Peter Sirr, with The Thing Is.
I like all of them very much and am having a good read of them all, being suitably impressed by their writing, skill and techique. Peter Sirr's remarks about the complexities and wrestling with the minutiae of editing, and how it is always taxing raised a few chuckles in the room, as did editor, Peter Fallon's ripostulary remarks about how we all submit to the editor - hmm.
On a more serious note, Peter Fallon referred to the dangerous currents of uncertainty in the arts world and how none of us know how these will play out, especially now that the Celtic Tiger has well and truly scampered off over the horizon - eastwards. Tough times are coming. Small comfort I know, but in the end, it was still a good turn-out last night, all things considered.
In order of appearance: Tom French, with The Fire Step (his first collection, Touching the Bones won the Forward Prize in 2001); Vona Groarke with the very accomplished Spindrift (I've seen quite a few of her poems from the collection in various journals and papers over the last while); Kerry Hardie, with Only This Room; Eilean Ni Chuilleanain, with The Sun-Fish (a PBS recommendation this quarter); and Peter Sirr, with The Thing Is.
I like all of them very much and am having a good read of them all, being suitably impressed by their writing, skill and techique. Peter Sirr's remarks about the complexities and wrestling with the minutiae of editing, and how it is always taxing raised a few chuckles in the room, as did editor, Peter Fallon's ripostulary remarks about how we all submit to the editor - hmm.
On a more serious note, Peter Fallon referred to the dangerous currents of uncertainty in the arts world and how none of us know how these will play out, especially now that the Celtic Tiger has well and truly scampered off over the horizon - eastwards. Tough times are coming. Small comfort I know, but in the end, it was still a good turn-out last night, all things considered.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Work on Horizon and more...
I received word the other day that Horizon Review 3 has gone live this week. Yet another feast of poetry, short stories, reviews, criticism and so much more. I'm really lucky to have 3 poems on there, as well as a separate collaborative piece I wrote with poet Tony Williams during the summer. That's towards the bottom of the side-links. It's quite different to what I normally do, but I really enjoyed doing it with Tony (hmm, perhaps I should rephrase that... ;) ).
If you haven't done already, you should take a look at this fast-growing e-journal. Edited by Jane Holland, it also has Nuala Ni Chonchuir as fiction editor and George Ttouli as reviews editor. HR just grows on you!
In other news, I have work in the latest edition of Mimesis, which just arrived on Monday. There's me in the same journal as Paul Muldoon... and Rob MacKenzie, not to mention a lot of other names I recognise. Imagine!
And I've a brace of work forthcoming in the new edition of The Yellow Nib, the journal of the Seamus Heaney Centre for Writing at Queen's University Belfast. They're sonnets about Mallory. I won't say any more until it comes out, but I am very excited by it :)
If you haven't done already, you should take a look at this fast-growing e-journal. Edited by Jane Holland, it also has Nuala Ni Chonchuir as fiction editor and George Ttouli as reviews editor. HR just grows on you!
In other news, I have work in the latest edition of Mimesis, which just arrived on Monday. There's me in the same journal as Paul Muldoon... and Rob MacKenzie, not to mention a lot of other names I recognise. Imagine!
And I've a brace of work forthcoming in the new edition of The Yellow Nib, the journal of the Seamus Heaney Centre for Writing at Queen's University Belfast. They're sonnets about Mallory. I won't say any more until it comes out, but I am very excited by it :)
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Teaching and Writing - do they mix?
I've been super-duper busy since the beginning of September - the observant among you can't have failed to notice the dearth of posts here. Why? Well, I got hours teaching for Navan VEC, as well as getting my own Saturday Creative Writing classes back up and running again (in a lovely new venue, DKIT).
So something had to give; the writing. And there's the rub. If I don't write, I don't have material to work on or send out. If I don't write, I don't develop all the ideas I have percolating away. If I don't write, I start to feel a little bit nuts.
I have just been coming back to the idea of writing this last few days - that must mean that I'm getting used to the teaching - thank goodness. And I still have one unused week from my residential bursary coming up: on the mid-term break. I should feel a little guilty about going off to write for a week at Annaghmakerrig and abandoning my husband to the six mini-monsters (okay, kids), but the truth is, I don't have time to feel guilty about it.
In that magical place I'll have the space to think, walk, eat, write and fool around with words, but more importantly I'll have the space to get three mini-projects nailed that have been rocketing around my brain for the last three weeks. The best thing about having to drive to Navan from Dundalk is the head space it allows for me to think. No time wasted, eh?
I can't bloody wait!
So something had to give; the writing. And there's the rub. If I don't write, I don't have material to work on or send out. If I don't write, I don't develop all the ideas I have percolating away. If I don't write, I start to feel a little bit nuts.
I have just been coming back to the idea of writing this last few days - that must mean that I'm getting used to the teaching - thank goodness. And I still have one unused week from my residential bursary coming up: on the mid-term break. I should feel a little guilty about going off to write for a week at Annaghmakerrig and abandoning my husband to the six mini-monsters (okay, kids), but the truth is, I don't have time to feel guilty about it.
In that magical place I'll have the space to think, walk, eat, write and fool around with words, but more importantly I'll have the space to get three mini-projects nailed that have been rocketing around my brain for the last three weeks. The best thing about having to drive to Navan from Dundalk is the head space it allows for me to think. No time wasted, eh?
I can't bloody wait!
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