I Give You

I wrote "I Give You" a number of years ago.It is part a series of love poems I had plans to dramatize under the title "Under an Apple Blue Sky".

When things don't go for me at first they tend to get buried under subsequent initiatives. Later I find them and warm to the idea again. I have a number of long-time items sitting in the 'out tray' but this one does deserve a bit of consideration.

I Give You

This tree's dripping fruit
to place in your mouth
to ripen your tongue.

The water guttering down
these green leaves to be a trellis
of fingers about you.

This soft drizzle of sunlight
to fall gentle as the petals
of meadowsweet on your cheeks.

This bindweed and all tendrils
to hook and bind
our desires together.

Rathmines Writers Book Launch

The Rathmines Writers group celebrate the launching a new book in Rathmines Town Hall (Rathmines College)on 27th Nov approx 7.30pm.

Sydney Bernard Smith

I was sorry to hear that Sydney Bernard Smith died a fortnight ago, he did me a great service.

He published some very early poems of mine in a broadsheet published in association with Sligo Arts Festival and later took some time to criticise my poetry. I think he was disappointed with what he saw.

We met up in the International Bar where he took a red biro to my efforts. By the time he finished there were red lines through most of it. Initially discouraging, (he said that my only saving grace was that I was so new to writing), it turned out to be the most valuable few hours tuition I ever got.

His criticisms were crisp, accurate and flawlessly observed; he left me with a clear understanding of the need to be concise and efficient, to avoid waffle and pointless adornment. He left me with an insight into the value of ruthless editing. He did this with authority but without superiority.

You can download 2 of his books from the Irish Literary Revival website http://www.irishliteraryrevival.com/

How We Fell

Glen Colquhoun’s most recent collection, How we fell: A Love Story (Steele Roberts, 2006),is the beautiful and evocative telling of how the relationship with his former wife was and went.

The poems go beyond what words can describe like garlic on the breath. Understanding might depend on recognizing the territory; it’s like feeling for solidity in cloud, but you will feel; and there is a universe to feel. Their relationship, as he describes it, was passionate and spiritual; consumate. The title is interesting: there’s clearly the fall, and there’s the fall in love; but the second (phrase) is unfinished.

Is it possible that after love has crashed through like a meteorite, we remain, carried forever (our atoms just) suspended in its brilliant tail.

Wonderful.

Panda Sneeze

Not poetry in the usual sense but I got a great laugh when I was shown this today. So thanks to jimvwmoss for posting this on YouTube

Rain and Phone Scams

Today is WET. The world is full of running water and stiffling greyness; as Leo Sayer says it’s raining in my heart. It started with a nightmare last night. Sleeping past the alarm this morning. And now a cloud stuck over the city like an elastoplast. It reminded me of one of the first poems I had published, but without the slightly romantic note:

Damp and Drizzle.

Damp wet, wet, wet.
Grim drizzle
Leaning against the wall
All day.


If I could hum the mood
In your ear
You'd know what I mean;
You'd remember.

The mood may be connected to my annoyance yesterday at discovering I been done out of maybe €4 a week (or more) for over a year. Having registered for a quiz last year I kept receiving questions by text on my mobile. I never replied to them, but still was charged €2 for receiving each of them.

No doubt I missed some very fine print at the outset and I wasn’t keeping an eye on my costs, but surely this type of scam, though legal, is obviously an unfair lure to take your money. Is it not time the legal loop-holes that allow these sort of practices were closed.

Favourite Poems and Poets Online

What a wonderful thing the internet is. My favourite poem is Fern Hill; I search and find


Thanks to CSteierNKU for posting this on YouTube.

Among my favourite Irish poems are Patrick Kavanagh’s; hear his voice at Poetry Archive: http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoet.do?poetId=7871
And find a generous selection of his works at poemhunter.com: http://www.poemhunter.com/patrick-kavanagh

And Walt Whitman’s voice, ( believed to be), at The Walt Whitman Archive:
http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/index.html

I love the upbeat mood and rhythm in Whitman’s ‘songs’ and other poetry; it would be difficult to avoid being infected with the celebration that starts with ( shout it if you can)

I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Lucky Thirteen

One of the best pieces of news for Irish poetry this year is the return of Force 10; Issue 13 is out now.

In the past I always enjoyed its mix of the written and the visual, local and national, its non-pretentiousness and liveliness, its generous size (the new issue has 160 pages).

So thanks to those that have made it possible and good luck to Dermot Healy and all involved, I hope the force remains with us for a long time.

All -Ireland Poetry Day

How do I know I need to mix more? When just about every poet I’ve ever heard of has a gig but myself.

And that’s close enough the case on the Poetry Ireland supported all-Ireland poetry day on Oct 2nd. They are supporting a reading in every county in Ireland. It’s very impressive. A huge number of poets are involved and that’s great to see.

I especially like the poetry of John F Deane (reading in Dublin), Ger Reidy (Mayo), Gabriel Rosenstock (Roscommon), but there are numerous poets worth hearing all around the country and looking at the list I see that I am out of touch with some of the newcomers to the scene. Co Donegal is hosting an Oíche fhílíochta as is Leabharlann na Ceathrún Ruaidh, agus beidh fílí Chiarraí ag léamh san Daingean. The big Galway event includes mayors of city and county reading personal favourites and a particularly strong musical component with Judith Mock and John Feeley performing.

All in all it’s a tremendous effort. Lets hope the events are well advertised and the suppport they deserve arrives.

Needing Something Different

I look along my poetry collection needing something I can’t quite define in the same way one sometimes has a desire for a taste: something different, something exotic; a drink? And then I find “The Stinking Rose”, a beautiful, exotic and highly original collection of poems by multi-award winning poet Sujata Bhatt. It was published in 1995, (can it be that long ago?), and is one of six collections published so far by Carcanet.

Now it’s on its way to my bedside table and will take up residence there for about three months. Here, for an example of that difference, are the opening few lines from the title poem:

The Stinking Rose

Everything I want to say is
in that name
for these cloves of garlic-they shine
like pearls still warm from a woman’s neck.

My fingernail nudges and nicks
the smell open, a round smell
that spirals up. Are you hungry?

Love

Recently I’ve been thinking of the love poems I won’t be writing. But I do find my ‘would be’ words in the writings of others. When it comes to love, it’s hard to beat Kahlil Gibran.

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation”

“If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were”

“Love and doubt have never been on speaking terms”

“And think not you can guide the course of love. For love, if it finds you worthy, shall guide your course.”

On the other hand there’s the love guru, Woody Allen, who came up with this,

“I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox”

For poignancy: “I miss you a little, I guess you could say, a little too much, a little to often, and a little more each day.”

I don’t know who said that, but I know.

Dublin to Dysert O'Dea

I was looking through the O’Dea Clan guestbook and came across an entry asking for tips on how to maximise the experience of a trip to Dublin and including Dysert O’Dea ( Clare) over four days in Nov. I like this sort of question. So here’s my list for those who are into culture, history, heritage etc.
1. Take in a trad session in a pub, e.g. The Cobblestone in Dublin.
2.E|njoy a play in the Abbey or the Gate,
3. A hurling match in Croke Park (weekends), you won’t see anything like it elsewhere.
4. Nicest walks in Dublin area are Bray to Greystones or path around Howth Head
5 Kilmainham Gaol for 1916 era history museum. An absolutely top notch museum.
6. Going to Dysert, get the Burren Map ( Tim Robinson’s 2 inch map), and the "Book of the Burren" (O'Connell and... v readable) and see some best archaeological sites (eg Caherconnell Fort) in Ireland, walk the green road, take time to enjoy Black Head round to Doolin ( get out of the car for this), enjoy a good meal in Corofin.
7.Take boat from Doolin to Inis Oirr (if weather permits)
8. See the Cliffs of Moher and St Brighid’s well on road to Liscannor.
9.Have a pint in Liscannor.
10. Or if you are a Yeat's fan, skip 6-10, go to Yeats Tower, Coole Park and Kilmacduagh monastic ruins outside Gort and onto Galway for an evening around town.
11. Returning to Dublin detour to Strokestown for Famine Museum. If time permits detour later to take in Fore Monastery ruins near Castlepollard in Co Longford.

Fish Stone Water

Holy wells have an atmosphere about them that is unique. They are portals into another place: ancient, otherworldly, magical, serene. They and the practices associated with them are at odds with a world becoming increasingly homogenised and functional.

I’m just after finding the website of Sláine, Guardians of the Wells. This may turn out to be a great find as I’ve been thinking of taking a tour of holy wells around Ireland for years. You can find it at http://slaine.ie/about.php

If you’re not into the well thing, take a look at Fish Stone Water: The Holy Wells of Ireland by Anna Rackard. Publisher: Attic Pres. A beautiful book published some years back. After that, visit St Brighids Well, Liscannor, Co Clare. And that’s my ‘starter pack’ for potential wellies.

“Rachel Giese The Donegal Pictures”

Rachel Brown (formerly Rachel Giese) published “Rachel Giese The Donegal Pictures” in 1987. I got the ideas for some for some of my poems browsing through this beautiful book.
Since then she has had a number of solo exhibitions in Ireland. She has also published Solstice, a collection of photographs from the Connemara-Mayo area, as well as Sweeney’s Flight, a book which features her photographs with Heaney’s poetry. It is no surprise to find her sharing a book with Heaney: her work is poetic, evocative and very beautiful.
To view a selection of her images, follow the books link at her website: http://www.rachelbrownphoto.com/index.html I guarantee you’ll want to buy the books.

The following is a poem from “Sunfire”,it is based based on one of those images, a boy in a farmyard in Donegal.

The Country Child.

The country child
runs in and out of rain showers
like rooms;

sees the snake-patterns in trains,
the sun's sword-play in the hedges
and the confetti in falling elder blossoms;

knows the humming in the telegraph poles
as the hedgerow's voice
when tar bubbles are ripe for bursting;

watches bees emerge
from the caverns at the centres of buttercups,
feels no end to a daisy chain,
feels no end to an afternoon;
walks on ice though it creaks;
sees fish among ripples and names them;

is conversant with berries
and hides behind thorns,
slips down leaves, behind stones;

fills his hands with the stream
and his hair with the smell of hay;
recognizes the chalkiness

of the weathered bones of sheep,
the humour in a rusted fence,
the feel of the white beards that hang there.

The country child
sees a mountain range where blue clouds
are heaped above the horizon,

sees a garden of diamonds
through a hole scraped
in the frost patterns of his bedroom window

and sees yet another world
when tints of cerise and ochre
streak the evening sky.

He knows no end, at night
he sneaks glimpses of Heaven
through the moth-eaten carpet of the sky.

Yeats Exhibition

If you’ve not been to the Yeats Exhibition in the National Library, put it into the diary; it’s excellent.

But isn’t it time the capital offered a large scale exhibition that honoured all the literary figures of Ireland from the bards of old up to Roddy Doyle today. I mean a major, permanent exhibition bringing us on a tour through the literary history of the country.

What a pantheon: Dean Swift, Synge, Sean O’Casey, Beckett, Goldsmith, Brian Friel, Yeats, Joyce, McGahern, George Bernard Shaw, Mangan, Heaney, O’Cadhain, Bram Stoker, Kavanagh, Seán Ó Ríordáin, Maeve Binchy, Wilde, Flann O’Brien, Ó Direáin, Brendan Behan etc. If you also include writers who had significant links with Ireland, or, for example, those whose ancestors were Irish the list becomes nothing short of incredible.

With a cast like that it could change from month to month, changing emphasis, theme whatever. It could incorporate films, filmed dramas in various languages, weird and wonderful adaptions of plays etc. The possibilities are myriad; it could hardly fail to be a success.