The Persistence of Time

New Year Sunset, December 2019

Happy New Year to all reading. I hope that 2020 will bring you health and happiness. I've written a poem today to mark the end of an often difficult decade. When I went for a walk earlier I saw a lady in a red coat in the distance and that was the seed of the poem. A quick thank you to Dodging the Rain, The Pickled Body and Atrium Poetry who recently published my work.

The Persistence of Time

I wonder if she is more a future figure than a past,

this lady of the year, in a red coat festive stepping

around the corner that stretches to a decade-long length of road?

It is only when she is out of view that I wonder.

I do remember when the 80s became the 90s,

all that revolution, and when the 90s turned millennium.

2009 was an ice-cube in the Harvey Wallbanger of the 2010s.

It is only when she is out of view that I wonder.

This late afternoon could be an abstract of time,

its dreary sky combined with misting rain makes tree-clocks.

Dull, surreal faces spin about bare branch tops.

It is only when she is out of view that I wonder.

The big hand spire of the church takes me back

to Christmas morning, the sleepy mass, hymns

dreamlike, the intoxication of cloying incense.

It is only when she is out of view that I wonder.

Now I have the present and a different communion,

those walking whose spirits flicker like candle flames

in the oppressiveness of the day with chants of greeting

“A Happy New Year to you!”

The religiosity of life lays itself down for my attention,

a path both worn and unworn unknown.

Salvador Dali, musing, strokes his giant moustache before me.

When she is out of sight it is troubling to consider

that the past is the future in a rear-view mirror.

Orla Fay

A Poem for November

My poem November Roots appeared in Quarryman Five published April past. The literary journal of UCC is currently looking for submissions to issue Six.

November Roots had its origin in that Edna O'Brien quote "In a way winter is the real spring, the time when the inner things happen, the resurge of nature." When November arrives I also always think of Frost's My November Guest, "My sorrow, when she's here with me/ Thinks these dark days of autumn rain/Are beautiful as days can be..."

This is also a poem for anyone out stargazing.

November Roots

Leaving the town, the church bell grown 

to a dull clang wrings out eleven o’clock.

Into mid-November I am walking,

a countryside grown sparse,

though in fact it is dying

and I wonder at what point

is the scales tipped

from one to the other?

How almost vernal the day

becomes in the height of the afternoon

sun stretching its greatest yawn

before setting, the night a shadow

gracing the day time land,

the white and pale blue sky,

marking the bare branches, so smooth

stripped outrageously for the buds of new year.

A silence has fallen on the woods,

the hunter’s gunshot resounds,

the pheasant is startled, the dog unsure.

The moon appears, a fat thumb print

and the stars a trail of breadcrumbs

to the deepest night, an all covering

canopy of midnight pricked with silver.

What if the whole of space

is a river of time and the stars

the sunlight bouncing off its ripples

and currents, dark water, deep space?

I feel closest then to my ancestors,

minutiae of the universe,

hypnotised, rooted to the spot, eyes gazing

upwards, entranced by the heavens

but a thing of gravity. My mantra:

I am of the earth, I am of the earth,

I am of the earth, I am of the earth…

Orla Fay

21st Francis Ledwidge Poetry Award

Delighted to have a poem Highly Commended here. Well done to all on the list.

The Burial of Alice de Fir

The Burial of Alice de Fir published again in Meath Writers' Circle 5th Annual Magazine, an old poem that's a fave for some.

Meath Writers' Circle 5th Annual Magazine Launch

It was a very enjoyable evening in Trim Castle Hotel for this launch yesterday. I captured some video footage and took a couple of photos. Congratulations to Frank Murphy, editor, and to Willie Hodgins who acted as compere for the event.

Frank Murphy One Man, Senator Edward M. Kennedy

 Michael Farry reads Stained Glass St. Patrick's Trim

James Linnane reads The Thinking

Willie Hodgins and Frank Murphy in pensive mood

Launch of Meath Writers' Circle 5th Annual Magazine

 

Frank Murphy

The 5th Annual Magazine of Meath Writers' Circle will be launched on Thursday next, 7th November at 7.30 pm in Trim Castle Hotel. The launch will be performed by Frances Tallon of The Meath County Library Service. The magazine is edited by Frank Murphy. I have a small piece included. It is sure to be an entertaining night.

Recently I was highly commended for poetry in The Jonathan Swift Creative Writing Awards, Saggart, Co. Dublin. I was also pleased to have my Bailieborough Poetry Prize shortlisted poem included in the October issue of the Honest Ulsterman.

Jean O'Brien to Launch Boyne Berries 26

Jean O'Brien

Poet Jean O'Brien will launch Boyne Berries 26 on Thursday, 24th October at 8 pm in The Castle Arch Hotel, Trim. Contributors to the magazine will read on the night. Tea and coffee will be served. All welcome. 

Jean O’Brien’s fifth collection, Fish on a Bicycle: New and Selected Poems, was reprinted by Salmon Poetry in October 2018. Her poem ‘Merman’ won the Arvon International in 2010. In 2017 she was awarded the Patrick and Katherine Kavanagh Fellowship and was recently shortlisted in the Voices of War Competition run by UCD.

Jean's poem ‘Once I Woke’ can be read here.

HeadStuff Poem of the Week - Hunger

Acacia Tree at Dusk, Pixabay

My poem Hunger is on Headstuff as the poem of the week. HeadStuff.org is a collaborative hub for the creative and the curious. 

I wrote this poem last year during the heatwave when I was working in Dublin city centre. It has been edited a couple of times and I'm glad it has a home now. The themes speak for themselves, homelessness and hunger, fundamental needs that just aren't being quite met in society and I wonder sometimes about the spiritual poverty of it. 

The Blue Girl

Picasso, Blue Nude

My poem The Blue Girl can be read on i am not a silent poet. I wrote it a couple of weeks ago after reading about the #bluegirl, Sahar Kohdayari.

Bailieborough Poetry Prize 2019

At Dun a Rí Forest Park - Jim McPartlin

I was recently happy to make the shortlist for this year's Bailieborough Poetry Prize and attended the prize giving in the town library yesterday. Congratulations to the eventual winner Christopher M. James with his poem Janus. I very nearly wrote about this god myself over the summer and had researched him a little one day.

In ancient Roman religion and myth, Janus is the god of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, and endings. He is usually depicted as having two faces, since he looks to the future and to the past. - Wikipedia 

The shortlist

Christopher M. James – Janus
Giles Newington – Dynamic Me
John D Kelly – The Missing Piece
Orla Fay – The Member of the Wedding
Ruth Quinlan – Eczema Herpeticum in The Limerick Regional
Eugene Platt – Thank You Note to my New Wife’s Late Husband
Anne Tannam – I’ll admit to
Kate Ennals – Drafting a Poem in my Mother’s Old Diary

My own poem took its title from Carson McCuller's novel and the poem is a remembering of early teenage years. For some it's a weekend of celebrating Junior Cert results so the poem is apt in its timing. I wrote it this summer and you can enjoy it below. Thanks to all at the Bailieborough Festival and to judge Anthony J. Quinn current Writer-in-Residence for County Cavan. I hadn't realised that the opening stanza had 5 lines and the rest 4 until now but I'm not going to change this.


The Member of the Wedding

When I think of dog days, I remember Frankie Addams,
F. Jasmine Addams lost and struggling in the novel,
adolescent, truculent, a tomboy. I see her roaming
the streets of the South on an August day, her hair slicked back
and clothes clinging to her in sweat. She longs to go to Alaska.

We studied Carson McCuller’s novel along with The Hobbit
and To Kill a Mockingbird for our Junior Cert.
I related to Frankie’s awkwardness, the way she longed to fit in.
I think our teacher was showing us that it was ok to be different,

that feeling was something we could do.
She told us to underline Atticus Finch’s words
to Scout about walking around in someone else’s skin,
to consider things from another’s point of view.

I had nothing to do on the summer holidays, so I read,
bought The Lord of the Rings trilogy in one huge volume,
the bible, my brother and I christened it. The cover was green,
a majestic Gandalf portrayed holding his staff in the woods.

We named the kittens that appeared from the haybarn Frodo and Sam.
At night we lit a campfire and trailed across the fields with a torch
and makeshift wooden weapons. We stayed out for as long as we could,
until startled by distant barking or a frightening rustle,

or until the stars were too bright, too close, too silver.
I was allowed to take the bus to O’Connell St.,
arranged to meet friends under the clock at Easons.
I wore combat trousers, smoked a Marlboro, felt dizzy afterwards.

Orla Fay

Still Dancing the Seven Veils

It was truly great to see Sinéad O'Connor return to The Late Late Show last night and sing to our heart's content A Rainy Night in Soho and Nothing Compares 2 U. It's a testament to Sinéad's talent that songwriters like Shane MacGowan and Prince trusted her with their beautiful songs.

She wore a strikingly red hijab and I was reminded of past appearances on the show when she had worn a priest's collar. Mostly though today I can hear Ms. O'Connor sing Mandinka and I recall the imagery of the lyrics of that video. She is

...dancing the seven veils
want you to pick up my scarf
see how the black moon fades
soon I can give you my heart

as a wispy crimson scarf fades into the 1980s. It was a world where MTV was new. I first heard her sing this song on Dave Fanning's show on 2fm and I recall his enthusiasm for her album, The Lion and the Cobra.

Afterwards I loved You Made Me The Thief of Your Heart from In the Name of the Father. The passion of it, the questions it asked and dared not ask at the same time. Where are we now in this Brexit era, where is our island, our lovely brothers and sister in the North? I'm still in awe of Haunted from the '90s. 

I adore that Sinéad can talk about mourning her youth (she's 52) and that she can sit herself next to Sufism. I am long a fan of the mystic poet Rumi. 

Keep the fire lit Sinéad, rebel, philosopher, whirling dervish, thinker-outside-the-box, sister of Brigid, Joan of Arc, Sagittarian child, phoenix from the ashes!

Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.
 - Rumi

Her Kind by Niamh Boyce: The Spirit of Petronelle Soars

Her Kind is the second novel by writer Niamh Boyce. Her debut, The Herbalist, was published in 2013. I finished Her Kind this morning after two days reading. I knew nothing about the Kilkenny witch trial on which the book is based and I tumbled into a medieval Ireland, unsure what to expect as I stumbled through the first few chapters blindly. The year is 1324. The pace of the novel is fast and I became comfortable in the story mid way through. From then onward the novel soars to its conclusion. I was gripped.

I loved the bravery and conviction of Boyce in telling this story. She is a gifted storyteller. It is clearly a very well researched book. Boyce also excels in passages of poetic description. I won't give much of the plot away except to say that it is the tale of a wealthy moneylender, Alice Kytler and her maid Petronelle de Midia. Though the events took place so long ago they remain pertinent and the drama played out is exploratory and relevant to our times. This is an Irish book and a world I felt at home in.

Her Kind can be purchased nationwide, (I got my copy in Easons) and here.

Poem of the Week, The Irish Times

On Saturday I had a poem, The Natural Order, published in The Irish Times as poem of the week. Thanks to poetry editor, Gerard Smyth.

The poem can be read here.

The Natural Order was written earlier this year and was almost two pieces as it was sparked by separate, but related in the end, incidents. It had a life as a first draft but I went back to the poem a week later and reworked it a little. I had been thinking of writing something about ecology for a couple of years and I may explore that theme more. I always take great comfort from nature and its cyclicity.

Oliver Goldsmith Poetry Award 2019

Oliver Goldsmith

I was recently delighted to have been placed 3rd in The Oliver Goldsmith Poetry Award 2019. I also had 2 poems highly commended. Congratulations to the winners of this Longford based prize:

1st Prize Bona Fide by Margaret Nohilly

2nd Prize Connemara Waltz Time by Maria Sheridan

3rd Prize  The Woman Washing Jesus Feet by Orla Fay

Thanks very much to Anne Tully, event organiser, and to judge and poet, Noel Monahan. 

Goldsmith lived from 1728 to 1774 and wrote The Deserted Village.

More information about the festival can be found on the Facebook page.

An Experience on the Tongue, A Review

An Experience on the Tongue

by Glen Wilson (Doire Press 2019)

Reviewed by Orla Fay

The first section of An Experience on the Tongue is titled "Wordless But All Verb" and this line is taken from the poem "Pipping", placed towards the end of this first section. The phrase refers to the latent strength it takes for a chick to break free at last from its shell, the act is "wordless but all verb". Such eye for exact and precise detail is a feature of Glen Wilson's poetry. He examines with a microscope the sometimes brute realities of life. This attention to detail is again found in "Angelshare" where the poet describes working in a whiskey distillery and finding a sense of belonging and lineage in its production through the centuries. It is from this poem that the title of the collection is taken. On savouring the taste of the alcohol Wilson writes

...That is what I am/
what we all are, an experience on the tongue,/
casting off from the world, hoping the taste/
gilt-edged, worth gifting on./

Throughout his poetry Wilson does seek the noble and the moral, despite being sometimes disappointed. His poems are all very well crafted and mature, with  humility and conscience. They never resort to being preachy, however. Wilson is a connoisseur of language and context. In "Orchard County" the aftertaste of stolen apples leaves him battling guilt, "...An aftertaste/we don't recognise loiters on our tongues." In "Gavage" the force feeding of geese troubles the poet, who, on seeing wild geese in the sky, wishes that he too could fly away. "Mouths to Feed" similarly deals with the dilemma of unwanted kittens on a farm, the quandary it poses, especially to the eyes of a watching child.

Wilson is very good at adopting personas in his poems, vividly imagining other lives, he becomes a bereaved man, or a man suffering from dementia in "The Stable" and a wolf in "Canis Lupus", a gamekeeper in "The Gamekeeper". Concern for the natural world and its scarring by mankind arises in "Opening the Gates" where tundra swans have been disturbed by litter and violence. This was a poem that left me feeling outrage.

Section (II) of the collection, The Lotus Gait discovers the wider world outside Armagh and Tyrone. The titular poem "The Lotus Gait" explores the foot binding practiced by women in China. Lots of poems in this section deal with women in history. History is explored through poems about the Holocaust and the plight of refugees from the Middle East. Wilson wants to see the world clearly, to shine a light on injustice through his poems.  In "The Spectacles" he says

I take a cloth, wipe, make the glass clear,/, 
hope that others will do likewise./

while "Shofar" chillingly reminds us that "winter beckons again tomorrow", echoing the quote "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." (George Santayana-1905).

Section (III) Tipping Point opens weightily on the subject of the ruination of nature by man. The poet wonders if an egret can know regret? Still in sombre mood in "High Tide" and "The Groynes" Wilson sees the passage of time before him, realising that time and tide wait for no one. One wonders are we indeed

caught by the rotting wooden arms/
Man has thrust out into the ocean./?

In this section the poet is trying to grasp his identity and where he belongs in the world. In "Mouth of the Ford", Belfast is described as an "Oceanic, Britannic, Celtic..." city, balancing on "ever-moving currents".  In the excellent "Surface Water" the death of a homeless man is attributed to his lack of roots, flowers left by mourners are "quenching thirst with sheared roots". The very human need to belong, to be joined is found in the gorgeous "Election Night" and in "On Oresund Bridge" where the poet writes

There is a need to be joined: this body of water/
should not lie between us when we can see/
each other's coasts,/

Wilson is a voyeur on a balcony in Pamplona in "China Shop" wondering what a girl, a stranger in the streets, would think in a moment of epiphany about the running of bulls through the town.

The final part of the collection, (IV) The Founds opens with poems about a grandfather, "The Founds", and perhaps, a grandmother or elderly aunt in "Seskinore". They are followed by "View from Gullfoss" and "Traybakes" which both deal with grief. In "Brood" a beautiful pearl is described which is reclaimed, of course, by the sea. There is a lesson in this that everything we are, or have, will be washed away in death. Wilson writes

When young, I briefly held a baroque pearl,/
...before the sea made me say: Goodbye./

"The Illuminated Manuscript" portrays an enlightening encounter with a page of The Book of Kells at Trinity College. The poet feels "burdened with light" from seeing the page and believes it confirms a faith, some connection with eternity. I suppose that knowledge passed on is a thread to eternity.

"In Places with Two Names" Wilson addresses both communities that dwell in Northern Ireland, that live side by side in difference "holding a truth in each hand". The collection finishes on a poem that is a song, "The Song", to his young family where he does find belonging and connection.

An Experience on the Tongue is beautifully written. It is an impressive debut. It can be purchased from Doire Press

Glen Wilson was the winner of the inaugural Trim Poetry Competition 2019.

A Poem for May

No. 5, 1948 Jackson Pollock

I'm back writing after a short hiatus. I'm hoping more poetry will follow. This, just written, is a gift to my blog.

May through the Broken Window

The long-deserted house remained

somehow intact, panes only recently smashed.    

Emancipated darkness now howls out

past jagged glass. He blunted his mind

on what went before,

the sealed emptiness of the godforsaken place,

the rooms where no one entered,

the ghosts and ghouls who pressed faces

against the world, beating their fists

to be let out, to get out.

The pre-emptive panic much worse than

the release, the actuality, the reality

of standing there, reddened in the face

with a brickful of guilt and shame.

Shame threw the first stone.

Sunlight flooded to every corner.

The dirt and grime of history spread

like soot from a summer forlorn chimney,

aged and caked, mixed with twigs

from birds who nested on high,

about the floors, the mildewed furniture.

The tabletop is a stage for crows, finches

and blackbirds who flit in and about.

Chattering birdsong has re-entered

the vacuum of the kitchen.

They paint the gloom with white dung,

berry-laden sometimes, blotches of red and purple

enhance mundanity like Pollocks,

their artistry a universe of stars

and trailing comets.

Buttons of pilgrim mayflower

and laces of hawthorn tinged by pink

stretch through the void, sketching

charcoal figures in moonlight,

limbs of trees bearing witness.

Orla Fay

Game of Thrones Season 8 Episode 3 The Long Night or Why the World Needs Fierce Girls and Strong Men

“Woman?” She chuckled. “Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.” Dany met his stare.

― George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords

"You can do one of two things; just shut up, which is something I don't find easy, or learn an awful lot very fast, which is what I tried to do."
—Jane Fonda

"Don't compromise yourself. You are all you've got."
—Janis Joplin

I've been asked about this latest episode of Game of Thrones a lot since it aired, and I've avoided a response until watching it a third time.

The Night King is coming we've been told, that zombie king made of ice, who steals babies and lives beyond the wall. This fabled wall that 'crow' Jon Snow, a man of the Night's Watch protects. It is a long story of 'fire and ice' proclaimed by original author G.R.R. Martin (Tolkien anyone?)

Yet, you're into it. In the same way as you might have been into Harry Potter, or TLOTR, or Star Wars. I was concerned about Daenerys Targaryen (The Dragon Queen) and her 2 remaining dragons; Drogon, her charge, and Rhaegal, Jon's. Jon is, in fact, Aegon Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, in case you never knew that R + L = J. Jon is Dany's nephew.

I totally digress. This episode is all about the battle, the white walkers versus the Dothraki, the Unsullied versus the white walkers, the heroes against the villains. It is Arya Stark who explodes out of the thin, non whistling blue air in the end to kill the Night King with her dagger made of Valyrian steel. Arya has trained for months or years, to become who she is. She has endured trials and tribulations, many disappointments. She has never stopped believing in herself, nor her family. She has defied convention and become a warrior, rather than the lady her family believed she should be. Contrary to the  norm of what a 'lady' should be, Arya's sister, Sansa, has become  a lady/woman of leadership, diplomacy and foresight.

Daeneyrs Targaryen is standing strongly too at this dark battle. Of all women surviving surely she deservers her Iron Throne. She who has been abused, raped and tested, Daeneyrs, worthy of all her names:

Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lady of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.

Lyanna Mormont stays her ground in the face of the dead and the ogres of childhood fairytale. The recently knighted Ser Brianne of Tarth is anther heroine.

Let us not forget Cersei, the antihero. What of Cersei? I think she is the subject of a blog of further inspection and introspection. Can any woman ever forget her 'Walk of Shame'? having witnessed it?

The loyal men in this episode are invaluable. Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard, the rightful heir of the Iron Throne, Aegon Targaryen, Jon who never gives up, Jon who is a man of honour. Greyworm and Jorah Mormont, and Theon Greyjoy, the faithful and redeemed men. The same could be said of Beric Dondarrion and Sandor Clegane.

What fate now awaits the Lannister men, Jamie and Tyrion?

Publications Jan-March 2019

Spring has sprung and 2019 has been off to a good start with recent publications in issue 7 of The Bangor Literary Journal, edited by Amy Wyatt Rafferty, issue #5 of  Impossible Archetype, edited by Mark Ward, Ink, Sweat and Tears, edited by Helen Ivory and the current issue of FOURXFOUR, edited by Colin Dardis and Geraldine O'Kane.

In April I will have two poems in volume five of Quarryman. I will also have a poem in ROPES literary journal, the theme of which is 'Unearthed' for 2019. The journal will be launched as part of the Cúirt Festival.

I was also delighted to learn that I had been shortlisted for The Cúirt New Writing Prize by judge Thomas McCarthy. Congrats to those who were also shortlisted: Evan Costigan, Holly Hughes, Andrew Pelham Burn, Breda Spaight, Vincent Steed, Lisa de Jong and Fiona Smith. The winner was Jeremy Luttrell Haworth. I record the judge's comments on my work for posterity:

"‘I never thanked the water for all that it taught me’ begins the very 
fine ‘Rivers,’ a poem that creates a marvellous pen picture of an entire 
childhood world, the kingdom of a child’s farm. The magic of roaming the 
fields of Cloncullen, out-running the river but never out-running time, 
is beautifully done. It is beautiful writing. Time also features in ‘My 
Dandelion Clock’ where ‘It was heaven on earth/ and I did not know I was 
Icarus,/ wings waxen in the sun.’ This is a terrific poem, a meditation 
on time and time’s changes. ‘How the west was Won’ is also a 
consideration of the predations of time: ‘What hope did my Sioux friend 
have,’ the poet asks, conscious of how the civilisation of The Lone 
Ranger and Wyatt Earp would finally usurp an entire set of nations. This 
selection of poems, therefore, is impressive in its wisdom, its 
humanity, and its great sweeping narrative".

Trim Poetry Festival Poster

Trim Poetry Competition Shortlist 2019

Well done to the ten shortlisted poets. The poems were judged completely anonymously by Michael Farry and I. I read all 220 poems entered. It was difficult in the end to reach a top 10. Thanks to Frances Browne, Boyne Writers Secretary, for all her work.

Trim Poetry Competition Shortlist 2019

The Ortolan Eater by Ruth Quinlan
Camera Lesson by Frank Farrelly
Lost Mornings by Eamon McGuinness
The Obstetrician's Waiting Room by Catriona Clutterbuck
Scattering the Fieldfares by Glen Wilson
Hefenfelth by Maria Isakova Bennett
Shadow Mirror by K.S. Moore
Riptide by Amanda Bell
Eastern Ghouta by Patrick Lodge
Hansheen's Gardens by Patrick Deeley

The shortlisted poets have been invited to attend on Saturday 16 March at 5 pm to read their shortlisted poem. The winner will then be announced. This event will take place in The Castle Arch Hotel. The competition result and readings will be followed by readings from The Bulls Arse Writing Group, Navan, and The Meath Writers' Circle. Poets Ron Carey and Enda Wyley will then read from 8 pm onwards. More information can be found here

Boyne Berries 25 Cover Design

I'm delighted to share a preview of the cover design for Boyne Berries 25, by Rory O'Sullivan, with you. This cover is an homage to the cover of issue 1, 2007, by Greg Hastings. The magazine will launch on 15th March at 7.30 pm in The Castle Arch Hotel.

Trim Poetry Festival & Poetry Competition 2019

Peter Fallon

Boyne Writers Group are organising a poetry festival on the 15th and 16th of March, and a competition, to coincide with the launch of issue 25 of Boyne Berries Magazine (which I am about to start editing). Peter Fallon, Ron Carey and Enda Wyley will read at the festival.

Details can be found here