poetry on the wall

So, just as I’ve finally got round to pasting all the pictures and photographs that have inspired me over the years onto the walls of my work- room, guess what? The wallpaper’s beginning to fall.

But that aside, to look at the walls is to look at a history of my writing. So there’s Goya and Bacon, Kahlo, Monet, Reichter, Wyeth etc. There’s photographs of war victims next to O’Keeffe’s flowers, a baby being thrown from a burning house beside a holy well and the galician maskers that were the subject of a chapbook that was published some years ago in Galicia. The title of that small book is Felos aínda serra which was published by AMASTRA-N-GALLAR. It contains some wonderful mask illustrations by Charles Cullen and the translations into the galician were done by Sonia Vila Aragunde. There is a photograph elsewhere in this blog of the masks. I’ve yet to see the Felos in real life; it is an ambition.

Google the word peliqueiros in the images search to see what I’m talking about. If you can look at them in black and white they make a radically different impression than they do in colour; this is the way I saw them. And so the poems are dark, much in keeping with the most likely origins of the masks.


My head is an egg shell:
intact, hollow;

abandoned on the ground,
weather leaves its stains.

On the outside I smile that smile
which passers-by notice less and less;

and all I can do
is keep widening it;

wider and wilder,
eventually grotesque.

They flee;
I am left alone.

Cloverhill Church

We had spent the day touring around Mayo and Galway and were now nearly back in Roscommon town when the driver slammed on the breaks and reversed. He took out his camera for the first time that day and took a photo of Cloverhill church at the end of a yew-lined road. I had passed it a hundred times over the years and missed the beauty. It was a useful lesson for a poet, it doesn’t have to be grand-scale to be stunning; Georgia O’Keeffe would have told me that.

I remembered that just as I was about to write about Skellig Michael. Nothing small-scale there, one of the most spectacular places on the planet and a world heritage site. Worth mentioning that this is a good month to go as the puffins will have left Skellig by August.

I was going to post a video from Youtube with this post but it can't be done so I recommend strongly that you check out the video, Georgia O'Keeffe's Flowers; it's worth it. Instead, for a badly needed bit of colour, I'm putting in the Laburnum filling my bedroom window in May; I think Georgia would approve.

Roscommon Anthology

Well, today marked the first day of real work on a Roscommon Literary Anthology. A number of meetings, some useful contacts made, and names to follow up on. A member of Roscommon Library for the first time in ** ( not tellen) years and the map ahead is becoming clear. Clearer too for having verbalised the whole plan to a number of people and got their initial and very positive reaction. The list of possible authors takes firmer shape in my head, and lists are materialising in my hands. It’s exciting.

A bit of good luck too: met by good chance an avid collector of Roscommon books, documents, ephemera etc. A lot of this material can be seen at http://www.roscommonhistory.ie/ It’s a very interesting website which I’m looking forward to exploring and at first glance can recommend strongly to anyone with a fondness for the county.

Window with a view

With June comes the most spectacular skyscapes. The sun vies with angry graphite clouds for show-time. For a moment a mushroom with a white heart like a nuclear explosion dominates the sky. The sun breaks through, as quickly disappears again. South Donegal, Donegal Bay, Sligo, even Mayo, (Nephin in the far distance), opens and closes. Wispy grey showers sweep along Ben Bulben’s shoulders.

There is a broad window on the west side of the house which is full of this ever-changing panorama from dawn till dusk. It is breath-taking.

Dublin's Poets Corner

There used to be free outdoor poetry readings outside the Scottish Poetry Library just off the Royal Mile in Edinburgh each afternoon during the Summer season. I think they were open readings, at least that’s how I remember them; its a few years ago now. Anyway they were, to my mind, a very attractive addition to the joys of Edinburgh summer afternoons.

I remember thinking, when Poetry Ireland was based in Dublin Castle, that similar readings could have been quite successful there or, since then, on the Grafton St corner of Stephen's Green.I know free summertime readings in themselves are nothing new, it’s the location that’s important. I also think that over the Summer season a number of poets might give their time to man/woman a stall of publications for sale while the readings were in progress. It could rotate between the different publishing presses or different bookshops.

Sponsorship from Dublin City Council(since Dublin's tourism is all about its writers), a colourful canopy over the books, a built up reputation as Poets Corner, etc etc.(Maybe it has been suggested and shot down already). It needs an organisation like Poetry Ireland to set up, then I would volunteer.

Johnson's Cabinet Still Full

“I believe that this War, upon which I entered as a war of defence and liberation, has now become a war of aggression and conquest…………………………………………………

I have seen and endured the sufferings of the troops, and I can no longer be a party to prolonging those sufferings for ends which I believe to be evil and unjust.

I am not protesting against the military conduct of the War, but against the political errors and insincerities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed………………...………”

Words written by Siegfried Sassoon in his “A Soldier’s Declaration”, a statement he penned as “an act of willful defiance of military authority”. How tired would he be by now of the “political errors and insincerities” that continuously stream through the media and which have cost the lives of millions since his death in 1967.

Mention of this reminds me of Robert Bly’s “Johnson’s Cabinet Watched by Ants”; it can be read at http://encarta.msn.com/sidebar_1741502525/johnson%E2%80%99s_cabinet_watched_by_ants_by_robert_bly.html

Summer-time

Looking forward to having a few pints in
















Biddy’s in Barnesmore, and walking in

















the Bluestacks, getting started on a Roscommon anthology and lots and lots of eeeeeeease.

Poetry Readership in Ireland

Apparently the Irish are the biggest poetry readers per capita in Europe. I am not surprised but I am a bit sceptical as to what the numbers reflect. A few years ago I read at Strokestown Poetry Festival (a very enjoyable weekend by the way). Anyway Seamus Heaney attracted a colossal audience, way beyond the numbers for any of the other events. This is to be expected, but I suspect this is reflected in book sales as well.

Secondly poetry publishers rely on Arts Council funding, this results in an unusually high number of poets being published in Ireland (per capita). A lot of readings then, and there is pressure to fill the rooms and sell the books. Thirdly, and back to festivals like Strokestown, there are a lot of poetry writers and often these are the ones attending the events and buying the books. Sydney Bernard Smith used to call it Ireland’s standing army of poets. But is there a great non-poet readership?

I think there is a real interest in poetry among those in their teens, I have found it myself in my own work. Here is where it can be encouraged and where a cohort of wide-ranging poetry readers can be nurtured. It would be nice to see a strong and innovative campaign instigated to develop the interest. Unfortunately, except for those being taught by the scattered enthusiasts, I don’t see it happening.

And while Seamus Heaney is in my mind, I wonder is there many out there that would agree that Brian Friel among all Irish writers deserves the Nobel Prize.

Sunlight on water

I’m convinced the play of sunlight on water triggers happiness. The scintillations seem to tickle the brain.

So for the complete package I’m suggesting you have a look at the following clip from Youtube while opening up another window and listening to The Dance 1, 2 and 3 from Ambient 3: Day of Radiance by Brian Eno and Laraaji at
http://www.deezer.com/#music/result/laraaji.

See if you agree: I think this music is the aural equivalent of sunlight on water, and somehow it produces a similar response. And many thanks to the people (marcsilverdirector for the video on YouTube) who made both available.

Poetry/Literary Publications

PIR, Cyphers, The Salmon, Krino, Force 10, The Stinging Fly, The SHOp, Incognito………..poets in particular seem to want to publish as well as be published. I myself instigated a short-lived magazine called Slants back in the early nineties. An enjoyable experience, but it takes stamina so stick with it year after year. Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin, current editor of PIR, is also one of the co-editors of one of Ireland’s longest running poetry magazines, Cyphers. Great credit is due to her for her service to Irish poetry. It would be interesting to read the list of established poets whose first poems appeared in publications she edited.

The variation in design, content and editorial approach makes each publication worth a look. I liked the rotation of editors that used to be the policy of PIR publishing, I also like the inclusion of poetry-related quotations and its well-written reviews. Whereas I would probably be happier to see PIR as an organ solely for championing Irish poets, both in publishing, and reviewing everything that is worthwhile coming out of this country, I always liked the inclusion of translations of foreign poets in Cyphers. The style and content of the SHOp is admirable as is The Stinging Fly. There are too many to talk about, but referring to those that are gone I must mention Force 10. I enjoyed the mix. There was no pretentiousness, it had the ingredient poetry needs more than any other: accessibility.

The first poem I had published in Cyphers s tays in my mind. I had not been into writing that long. I forgot all about this particular poem and when I saw it in print didn’t recognize it as one of mine. Only later did it come back to me. It is called Beyond the Twelfth Lock and is a scene that would be known to those who walk the Grand Canal on the stretch beyond Newcastle.

Beyond The Twelfth Lock.


All the world was in a pool by the canal;

All the Autumn,

All the Summer turned peacock

Gazing at itself

Quietly, still, face to the water.

Where I had seen the swans

Flaming in Spring,

Today I came on Summer, gold and beautiful,

About to die.

Roscommon

A few years after deciding I was finished writing a collection of poems called A Midland Town A Country Town which I undertook after seeing John Minihan’s photographs of Athy, I find I’m back in the middle of it again changing and fining and searching for more in those faces and more in my past. And my Roscommon past is turning out to be a rich source of untrampled poetry, but how much do I want to use it, or to be more precise how much do I want to use the people of the town.
The two towns being midland country towns would have had a lot in common; mind you the river and canal bring an extra layer of colour to Athy. Then again Roscommon’s county GAA pitch became an arena for rafting in the winter when the stand’s seats ( railway sleepers) would be arranged two along, two across and the boys from Ciaran’s Park became gondoliers.
Growing up in a town like Roscommon in that time (60’s/70’s) had huge advantages, it was safe, it had the benefits of a county town while being knee-deep in countryside, it had its fair share of historic buildings, (an impressive castle and abbey) which we had the run of, and was close enough to river and lake for sweltering July afternoons. On top of that my family came from there, or half of, and so it was home.
I have no doubt that it was those roots that are the roots of my writing too. And that brings me back to the collection A Midland Town A Country Town and how much I want to use it.


The Boy Who Watched For Apparitions.


Goodnight to the twin moons
stretched along the railway tracks
outside Roscommon.
My night-time window halved
with those trains rushing across the glass,
strips of film filled with their own lives:
adventurers and bon-vivants,
whose strings of lights recreated as they passed
the grassy slope, the elder bushes,
the buffer with the hole in the side;
strangers oblivious to such little worlds
and to the boy who watched for apparitions
from his bedroom window.
And in a moment they were gone,
leaving the darkness darker and the boy listening,
trying to gauge where the sounds
finally disappeared into the wind.


What lay beyond that window-world ?

The station to the right,
the white gates to the left,
and then..........


Now I remember those film strips
sailing through that pitch emptiness;
sometimes they were only ruffed impressions
when the window was full of pouring rain.
I remember how my imagination filled like a can
when all that was left was the headlight's beam
over the trees of Bully's Acre.
And there is often disappointment in these poems;
the disappointment of that place beyond
where the rhythms of trains were reclaimed by the wind.

from Sunfire (Dedalus Press)

Warren O'Connell

The Dublin Writers Workshop was, for a number of years, a regular stop for me. I met a lot of good writers, a lot of interesting people, and made a number of friends there.Among those that impressed most me was Warren O’Connell. He was a fine writer and an excellent critic. His criticism was delivered in a gentle, considerate way but was always perceptive,to the point,and bang on accurate.

It was with great regret that I learned that he died last week. I got the message from a member of the Rathmines Writers Workshop of which Warren was a member.It is a sad time for them,particularly some of the longer established members who were close to him.

Rathmines will be an emptier place for not bumping into him occasionally. Pearse Hutchinson has a poem in which he says (I’m paraphrasing him) universal courtesy would be revolutionary; in that revolution Warren would have been the rebel leader. He was a wonderful person; he will be missed.

Ó Bhéal

Searching for Irish Poetry Festivals I found ó bhéal Poetry Blog. It contains a listing of the year’s poetry festivals and the upcoming Open-Mic nights in the Long Valley pub in Cork with the featured poets. It also contains an interesting selection of videos relating to poets and poetry. Well worth a visit to http://www.obheal.ie/blog/

Raglan Road

I felt like hearing Luke Kelly singing Raglan Road, then decided anyone reading the blog should hear it too. But I had trouble choosing between two YouTube videos. The first has some excellent portraits of Patrick Kavanagh, the second includes a snippet of him singing before switching to footage of Luke singing. So for the price of one………..here’s

Sohrab Sepehri

But there are some things, some high moments
( I saw a woman poet, for example
so absorbed in space
that the sky laid eggs in her eyes;………)
Sohrab Sepehri

How can you overlook words like these taken from a translation of the Iranian poet’s “The Primal Call”. His poetry, even in translation, is so beautiful that when you read it you realize that beauty itself is what’s missing from so much contemporary poetry.

I have never come across two pines in fight,
And I have never seen a willow
selling its shielding arms to the earth.
And the elm-tree is setting free of charge
the cool space within its leaves for the crows.


These lines from Sepehri’s wonderful poem, The Footsteps of Water, translated by Maryam Dilmaghani demonstrate again his poetic genius: this strong political point is couched so gently in nature that the crass capitalism it derides is made to appear completely alien to all that is good. This quotation is to be found at http://www.sohrabsepehri.net/ which I strongly recommend if you want to read more works by the same poet beautifully translated by Maryam Dilmaghani. The former can be read at http://poems.lesdoigtsbleus.free.fr/id95.htm and while you’re there check out the poetry library.(Avoid the homepage for the moment, a threat was detected there by my anti-virus program)