Sure Sight

The following, a love poem from "Turn Your Head"

Sure Sight


I see
pearl-like
dawn
in
your face

a desolate
blue
yonder
in
your irises

the wash
of slivered
moonlight
in
your smile

I know of
nowhere
less trodden
more
perfect

I contract
to be
forever
an explorer
in that universe.

"Mullingar Scribblers "

In passing, I visited the Scribblers' regular Monday night session in the Annebrook Hotel recently and was greatly impressed by the work they do. They have just launched a new collection of their writings "Mullingar Scribblers, Poems and Stories Volume 4".

If you are interested in writing in the Mullingar area, they are definitely worth seeking out.

Poetree

Poetree. No, not poor spelling but a sculpture of a bronze tree with letters for leaves graces the cover of SHOp 31, a poetry magazine that exemplifies the best in poetry publication standards in this country. Don’t just take it from me:

'First class goods, beautifully presented. Congratulations from this confirmed SHOp-lifter.'
Seamus Heaney

'Unquestionably the most beautiful poetry magazine now in existence.'
Bemard O'Donoghue

But it’s hard times for such publications. Grants have been cut back, “and we are warned that the situation is likely to be worse in 2010” says the editor of the SHOp.

So here’s my blog, resuscitated to suggest that if you love poetry and if you want something with a bit style and imagination to put in a Christmas stocking, SHOp 31 is just out,(and it's just one of many hard-pressed poetry magazines). It’s beautiful, it's worthy and it’s good value.

(Poetree was sculpted by David McGlynn)

Brian Henderson

This short film on Brian Henderson directed by Shane Dignam was posted on YouTube. Brian Henderson is an Irish artist who made a name for himself very early in his career. A member of Aosdana, he spent a number of years in New York and became very familiar with the art and music scenes there. These have influenced him.
His work reflects his open-mindedness: abstract, he works free-form, very much following his own lights.

Though now back in his home town Dublin, I suspect his escape from Ireland helped to free him from the limitations of the smaller scene that existed here in the seventies and eighties. His current exhibition continues in the Taylor Galleries on Kildare Street till Sept 19th.

17 syllables

and that's where the similarity with haiku ends, written on a bad day:


Heart, empty hangar
but for a step-ladder
and a bucket of oil.

Haiku

Tranlations from 3 Japanese masters. Love the delicacy.

No sky
no earth - but still
snowflakes fall (Hashin)


Come out to view
the truth of flowers blooming
in poverty (Basho)


Walking on dishes
the rat’s feet makes the music
of shivering cold (Buson)


More at http://www.geocities.com/alanchng1978/basho.html
http://www.toyomasu.com/haiku/

Heights of Passion

It’s a long time since I read Wuthering Heights. The recent ITV mini-series was excellent, it portrayed the passion between Heathcliff and Cathy about as well as I think it could be done.

The obsession and violence, violence to gentleness, love. I think passion comes straight from our spiritual selves, that slew of forces we normally skate above, unleashed. And so I think the psychic connection between the two is a phenomenon that does exist. I also think the violence that one would expect should be abhorrent is an essential part of the experience. Having freed the beast that is passion, both see it as part of what is their shared and very naked entwinement of a life, and very much part of how they can feel what they share. Intense shows of affection and loving become very close to violence. To be less is not to be experiencing life at all. (Well that’s my stand on the matter.)

What’s interesting is that Emily Bronte had such a handle on it. But she had a short life, 1818–1848, which never got old enough to be a tired life or a cynical one. She had the isolation to free up her imagination, the environment to be acquainted with people and nature that were far from tamed, the experience of her older brother’s lack of discipline and his dying, a father who encouraged their imaginations and left them to their own devices. And if they were away from the hurly-burly of city life maybe it was a case of still waters run deep.

All-Ireland Poetry Day 2009

1st October. Poetry events all over the country. For a county by county guide go to http://www.poetryireland.ie/poetryday/

I would like to think that this day would be used to tap into a new audience for poetry, hopefully it will. Certainly many fine poets are on the road, Ciaran Carson, Peter Fallon, Vona Groarke, Francis Harvey, Theo Dorgan, Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill; too many to name. And there are readings at times that may attract a different clientele. It would be nice to see evening readings in those areas where the current listings are for working hours. I myself would have liked to get to something in the Dublin/Kildare area but the times don’t suit.

And it would be nice to see more readings by established poets alternating with open mike sessions; to give all enthusiasts (and their families and friends)a day out. In this regard I like Leitrim’s offering which takes place in The Dock, Carrick-on-Shannon: Dermot Healy earlier on, later in the day there's local poets and music, and that's a attractive mix.Kildare's Q&A for 2nd level schools is a nice touch, (I've always believed the greatest potential for growing a poetry audience is in 2nd level schools), and Galway’s poetry competition with theme 'EYRE SQUARE' for the residents of the county hits the point of the day squarely.

That bit extra – you can’t beat the West !

Wearing Masks

Masks are so often associated with fun; a carnival performer wears a mask, but so does the burglar, the salesman, teacher, etc....... Recognizing and understanding masks is essential for survival. This from Felos ainda serra

Everyone imagines him friendly
because his mask has that huge smile;
that wide, bright, unflinching smile.

He moves close into my face;
alone with this cardboard fiction
I feel him watching through his spy-holes.

I do not like masks, the smiling ones least;
he smells my unease;
I see that it is not a smile.

Angry Ex-capitalist

A friend and I used to argue the merits of capitalism/socialism, he being very much in favour of the former. He shot upwards quickly, but at a point in this rise (well into management) found himself not quite at home with the mindset and his career went into reverse. I never said I told you so and, of course, I could never tell him the following poem was about him.

Mind you, people have a very bad memory when it comes to hiccups in their political thinking.A communist I know completely dis-remembered that he had justified Stalin's violent methods after the Soviet system collapsed; and those that trumpeted the victory of capitalism at that time, have been very silent about the current breakdown in their runaway capitalism system.C'est la vie!

This poem was in my second collection "Turn Your Head"

Angry


Among the blocks of the establishment;
a flawless rise bolted your trust;

success was cement,
all loose notions were pebble-dashed.

Now you revise:
the establishment, its self-righteous system:

how many bodies like you
have fallen from the sides to point the pyramid ?

And how many times did you skate over principles,
that I remember, you once held dearly?

Yes, 1971

Still one of my favourite albums, The Yes Album, from 1971. Still sounds fresh, from the soaring exciting opening of "Your's is no Disgrace" through "The Clap" (I love the way they go into it) and then onto this, "Starship Trooper".



Magnificent musicians.I prefer this album to their others. If you don't know them, have a listen on YouTube with volume up high; I think it's among the best from that time.(t'was my grandparents put me onto to them, by the way ;)

Cycling in Alsace

In nicer to be in the view rather than looking it. It surprised a number of people here that we didn't rent a car, but that's what happens; you drive from beautiful town to beautiful town, passing all the time more beautiful countryside. So when we heard there were mountain bikes, Catherine and I decided: no car. In the event we have been brought to some of the more alluring 'car' destinations by our very kind and friendly neighbours here in Rosheim, not far from Strasbourg.

The countryside is charming; my abiding impression will be of red-roofed villages scattered across a quilt-work of green and yellow fields beneath the dark-wooded Vosges mountains. But I am so impressed by the freedom to roam among the corn and vine fields along the thousands of miles of chemins that are a lacework on this part of France.

How nice this would be in Ireland where many people have given up cycling, driven off the roads by speeding cars. Frankly it's time, now that so much of the population is urbanised, that country rights of way were identified and put into service for this purpose.

Anyway, that said, Alsace has impressed me; I'm trying out the white wines with enthusiasm, enjoying the Tart Flambees and warmth, sweet sunshine.

Ownership of Your Work

I have been wondering what degree of control poets (writers) will have on the use of their work on the internet under the Google Book Settlement; it's something I still have to look into. In the meantime I found a site of translations of poets' works, particularly Spanish poets, and there in the middle was a translation of one of my own.Chuffed and all as I was to be included, surely it's only reasonable to consult authors; surely that level of understanding can exist at least between lovers of poetry.

Anyway this is the poem under copyright to myself and the Dedalus Press; it was in "Sunfire"


The baby in the tree


The baby in the tree
is screaming.

High above the pathway
near the black tips
of the sycamore branches
he is gaping,
white membraned luminous.

How did he get there?

He blew there in the wind;
it took him
like a flag from his cot
till he was stretched
across the boughs
like the wings of a bat.

And who sees him?

I do;
all his hopeless writhing,
too high for the passerby.
And his screams:
too high,
too high for the passerby.

Book Launching - Full Details

Keep the afternoon of Sunday 23rd August free for a visit to the Botanic Gardens. After a few hours exploring, dawdling and drinking in sunshine come to the Lecture Theatre in the Visitors’ Centre for music by well known flautist and harpist, Ellen Cranitch and Geraldine O’Doherty respectively,(apart from her work as musician, Ellen will be familiar to many as presenter of “Grace Notes” on Lyric FM); introduction by myself and poetry reading from her new collection by Mary Melvin Geoghegan. The collection is called “When They Come Home” and is published by Summer Palace Press.

The event begins at 3.30pm, is free and is a perfect way to cap a perfect Sunday afternoon.

Treasures

There are a small number of songs that I get a longing to hear now and then. The reasons: to sharpen a memory, or feel again what it was like in a particular place or to be with a particular person, or to remember a love. Sometimes they stir feelings that help in writing, evoke a sadness or a particular time, maybe they are just beautiful.

I would include among these, “The First Time Ever I saw Your Face” (Roberta Flack), “America” (Simon and Garfunkel); I think I’ll stop, I’m beginning to notice that there’s a time element here I didn’t want to get into.

Anyway tonight, travelling back to Dublin through counties Fermanagh and Cavan, all silhouettes and quiet, and lit by a full moon at midnight; I felt like listening to Caetano Veloso’s “Cucurrucucu Paloma”. It is a treasure you unwrap very very seldom, something precious, you savor it, then put it safely away.

If you don't know it already, do yourself a favour and watch this YouTube video:



And for good measure you can see Roberta Flack at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Knh9pV4EB3k Lovely.