December 30, 2018 at 10:56 pm (Artists and Writers, Links, Places)
Tags: poetry, websites
Self loved this tracking of a moment — the musing, melancholy tone.
Rantings Of A Third Kind
Posted in Haiku
“Sundays, yes, those fun days” Gun Roswell
Sundays
Take a walk long outside
Seaside, a long stride, up
The hill and down to the beach
Scenery to be seen, with
Just one scene, nature and
Man made structures, side by side
Hard to divide, growing together
Over the years, soon there
Is nothing to separate them, under cover
From prying eyes, but alas
I am here now and
I spy, before it all disappears in
To the background of nature
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November 27, 2018 at 5:47 am (Artists and Writers, Books, Recommended, Traveling)
Tags: England, London, poetry
Guy’s and St Thomas’ (an excerpt from the poem published in The New Statesman, 23-29 November 2018 issue)
When I’m here in a particular
character of mind
any woman of a certain height —
hair plaited neat
to meet the working day —
becomes my mother
in that year of early mornings
she worked at GDRU
close to this stretch of the river
close to Hay’s Galleria;
the aquarium that is still here
though she is not
to walk with me as we scrutinise
tropical fish
laughing in the uncomplicated
manner that comes
of understanding. And after,
a bankside stroll
Kayo Chingonyi’s latest book, Kumukanda (Chatto & Windus, 2017), won the Dylan Thomas Prize and a Somerset Maugham Award.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.
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October 28, 2018 at 5:48 pm (Artists and Writers, Books, Recommended, Sayings, Sundays, Women Writers, Writing)
Tags: Annaghmakerrig, discoveries, Northern Ireland, poetry, Tyrone Guthrie Centre
Self really likes that the cottage is full of poetry books. Every time she comes, she discovers someone new.
She found a book called Landscape of Self (Belfast: Lapwing Publications, 2015) by Aine MacAodha.
Here’s the first half of a poem called
To My Children When I’m Gone
Some mountains are higher than others
Winter can cause frost bite.
Without a bit of darkness
We may not appreciate the light afterwards.
Remember the good in the world
The take your breath smiles
The smile from a stranger in a strange place
The beauty in a daisy chain
The elegance in a buttercup
The wonder of a webbing spider
The warmth of a heart
When another’s fiery arrow hits it
Love and goodness costs nothing
Hatred causes illness
Treat the nature around you with respect
Treat your spirit with kindness others too
Manners are easily carried.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.
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October 25, 2018 at 9:46 am (Artists and Writers, Traveling)
Tags: poetry, transitions, wisdom
What I thought was an end
turned out to be a middle.
May you ever. And ever.
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October 24, 2018 at 12:25 pm (Artists and Writers, Books, Personal Bookshelf, Recommended, Traveling)
Tags: Ireland, Irish writers, poetry
He Considers His Great Luck, 1812
(for Catherine)
The moment that is lost is hardly ever found again,
As this minute, as the century.
Your love when I found it there was a brief day
For the asking, but you and your Sisters
and the Ursulines home from Havre
Might easily have snatched you away again —
Most utterly loved woman, most Callanan-like.
Out of this harbor the unlicensed ships sail.
The wind catches them, the fingers of heaven.
Even the most skilled Master can only protect
But not bring home cinnamon, not profit.
One moment in my life I did sail beyond Roche’s Point
So that you might catch my sail, my merchant eye.
I have traded off your love all my life —
The way a Bishop, the way a good Prince ventures forth.
Thomas McCarthy was born in Co. Waterford and educated at University College, Cork. He has published six collections of poetry, two novels and a memoir.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.
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October 19, 2018 at 3:14 pm (Artists and Writers, Books, Recommended, Weather, Women Writers)
Tags: discoveries, Fridays, Ireland, Irish writers, poetry
by Aine MacAodha, from her collection Landscape of Self (Belfast: Lapwing, 2015)
It was early November
I remember because of
How cold it was
A mini ice age it was said.
15 below zero; small towns
In the north stood still
Phone lines came down
From the weight of frost and snow
Burst pipes in the hundreds
And the drains unable to cope
Backed up.
I slid on the ice; tore ligaments
In my arm when I was helped up.
I feel the aches again as winter
Loiters like a threat.
Bones shudder under skin
A warning of another ice age to come.
It was the talk of the town all winter season
From the post office in market street
To the butchers in campsite
It was something different to talk about I suppose.
Aine MacAodha is from Omagh in County Tyrone.
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October 17, 2018 at 3:30 pm (Artists and Writers, Books, Recommended)
Tags: Annaghmakerrig, artists residency, discoveries, inspiration, Ireland, Irish writers, poetry, Tyrone Guthrie Centre
from the poem Return Visit (in the collection I Bailed Out at Ardee, which I discovered in a bookshelf in my unit at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in Annaghmakerrig)
There’s a sign,
you that’s one for signs,
you’ve climbed the mountain,
gone into the wood
to touch the stones —
the stones can’t be found.
Scan the view.
Weigh the lean
mid-winter air.
That sapper’s mark
has its eye on me.
I stand there years,
then know-nothing,
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October 16, 2018 at 4:09 pm (Artists and Writers, Books, Family)
Tags: Annaghmakerrig, artists residency, Ireland, Irish writers, poetry, Tyrone Guthrie Centre
After hours and hours of straight writing, self takes a break by perusing her cottage’s bookshelves for poetry collections.
She finds a collection called I Bailed Out at Ardee (Dedalus), by Tom MacIntyre.
Excerpt from Father
My shoulder knows his coffin
best of all, I was
the one who wasn’t there.
Tom MacIntyre was born in Cavan.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.
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October 15, 2018 at 8:05 pm (anthologies, Artists and Writers, Books, Personal Bookshelf, Places, Publishers, Recommended, Women Writers)
Tags: causes, environment, Mondays, Northern Ireland, poetry
First Tree: Great Beech, Fagus Sylvatica, Non native, Seeded around 1860
Writer: Olive Broderick
- There is no going back. She is so deeply rooted here it’s hard to tell her from Oak and Ash in this delayed-spring grove.
The Trees of Kilbroney Park is a publication of Light 2000. A copy was mailed to self in the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig by her friend, poet Csilla Toldy, who edited the book.
Stay tuned.
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October 6, 2018 at 3:42 pm (Artists and Writers)
Tags: England, Events, literary festivals, poetry, Saturday, translation
- Self heard the word kennings for the first time ever. She learned that a kenning is a stylistic device used in old Norse sagas. It’s a way of referring to something by describing something else.
For example: A ship is also known as “the horse of the sea.”
Examples of modern kennings: clotheshorse, skyscraper
- There is a repetitiveness in Nordic epic poetry: The sentence “I killed _______” is used over and over and over again.
- Old Norse has many different words for “blood.” (Fascinating. Ancient Filipinos had many different words for “rice.”)
- The Gisla Saga was written in the 13th century, but refers to events in the 10th. The featured presenters, Debbie Potts and Carolyne Larrington, presented their own translations of the same verses from the Gisla Saga (and the translations couldn’t have been more distinctive)
For example, a passage where “Gisli compares his sister to a legendary figure and finds his sibling wanting”:
Debbie Potts’ translation:
Fixated on fashion, my sister
lacks the gumption of Gudrun.
Carolyne Larrington’s translation of the same passage:
My sister, obsessed with her
superb wedding head-dress,
hasn’t Gudrun Gjukadottir’s
unrelenting temperament;
The duel was moderated by John McGavin, Joan McGavin’s husband.
Fascinating. Simply fascinating.
Stay tuned.
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