A Yank Refugee in the PRC*

Peppers & Cathedrals

2011-12-01T21:08:00.001Z

Finally had a chance to visit the excellent Twisted Pepper & Loft Bookshop in Dublin--thank you to Oran Ryan and 7 Towers for hosting a reading by myself and Anamaría Crowe Serrano. We've been exchanging poems for a few years in a 'call-and-response' format, which is gathering into a modest collection we've christened 'JAM Sandwich'. (We even had a load of posh jammie-dodgers at the reading, thanks to one of Anamaría's kind friends running off to M&S for a few treats.)

The Loft Bookshop is one of those places you're delighted exists, and hope that people spend enough there to keep it afloat (as opposed to the soulless, selectionless likes of Easons for example...) Here's hoping the holiday season is good for them. I bought the first issue of Can-can there, and relaxed with a very strong & yummy Americano downstairs in the cafe. I love the mix of poems in Can-can, which ranges from rich-lyrical to pleasingly puzzle-boxy (that's a real phrase--I'm insisting on it). A discovery for me was Jennifer Mooney's 'The cure'--I'm a sucker for how a poem sounds. 'Things mould and sour in the bellies/ of this town. We ask for it like Louise/ us lassies...' Her images are potent as well: 'words/ jarring at the bottom of a pint glass.'

At the beginning of November I was in Coventry, happily drinking local ales in the shells of ex-churches with Colm Scully & Afric McGlinchey (in between poetry readings). Thanks to Tony Owen, Mal Dewhirst & Paul Casey for their generosity and kindness in making that happen. Our reviews of the Cork - Coventry exchange are here.

A quick final thank you to the Cork Literary Review for publishing a couple of my poems & my interview with Conál Creedon. The launch was a very classy affair altogether-- wine & music in the Cork Vision Centre. Check out their video of contributing authors discussing the importance of the printed page in modern publishing.

These moments keep a girl going! I'm grateful!

Anatomy of a Hatchet-Job

2011-09-26T12:43:00.003+01:00

Reviewing a book and didn't enjoy it? Have a professional jealousy you want to hash out in public? Want to assert your professional authority over newbies? Need to grab the attention of the literati and leave a lasting impression? Consider trying ... a hatchet job!

Guidelines to Honing your Hatchet-Craft

1. Forget that the author is a human being. This may interfere with your ability to rip their work to shreds. (The military works in a similar way--you can't kill an enemy if you think of them as some mother's child.) Any weakness is fair game for public attack--particularly with poets & short story writers whose extravagant lifestyles can easily be compared to footballers & movie stars.

2. Make sweeping generalisations such as 'all the stories had too many characters'. Resist the desire to point out too many specific examples of your criticism, as this will just confuse the reader. They'll trust your opinion, particularly if you hold a respected position like 'journalist' or 'university professor'. Be sure to reinforce your superiority by frequently quoting your credentials. Statements such as 'I have read thousands of short stories' are valid.

3. When all else fails, implicate a conspiracy. Surely if the writing isn't to your taste, there must be some nefarious reason it's gained the success it has. (You know--nepotism, bribery, voodoo.)

4. WRITE IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS. IT IS A SUREFIRE WAY OF LETTING PEOPLE KNOW YOU ARE PASSIONATE ABOUT YOUR BELIEFS. (TECHNIQUE ALSO GOOD FOR COMMENTING ON YOUTUBE VIDEOS OR WRITING ANGRY SIGNS FOR SHOP-FRONTS.)

5. Study other hatchet-artists. After all, you can't succeed in progressing as a writer unless you learn from the examples of others! Try this vitriolic review of one of the shortlisted titles on this year's Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award.

_________________

Next post: my weakling's guide to writing a balanced review. Meanwhile, extra credit reading for those who still insist on balanced reviews in The Short Review.

NaPoMo: Week Four

2011-04-29T22:04:00.000+01:00

Lazy-reader syndrome settled in, in week 3, and the need to focus became a clear objective. Variety has been one key for me--surfing around to different mags & websites for my daily poem, and allowing myself to jump between print collections as well. Another problem was that I was finding myself reading a string of poems, only to have to go back to read them again as I'd taken nothing in. There's so much out there that it's easy to fall into useless habit of quantity consumption, rather than quality reading.

It seems simple, but just limiting the number of poems I read in a sitting has made a huge difference, along with a nice pause in between poems to rest the mind. (Putting the book down for a sip of coffee & a bit of people-watching was a great 'palette-cleanser'.)

My original goal of revising a poem a week didn't happen. I plain forgot about it. Mindfulness is key to not only reading, but writing... Happily, I've been writing a few new things. Mostly studies/exercises, but the pen is moving. Really enjoying Matthew Sweeney's workshop at the Munster Literature Centre, which includes class time writing prompts as well as weekly homework.

What I've taken away from National Poetry Month is the understanding that focus & mindfulness is crucial. And with a bit of discipline, the love of reading and writing will absolutely follow.

NaPoMo: Week 3

2011-04-22T23:04:00.001+01:00

I've stuck with my goals in Week 3, reading poems in Horizon daily, and reading from collections by Maurice Riordan. Really enjoying Riordan and the scientific eye he trains on the moments of everyday life. Take, for example, this incredible poem from his Faber collection, Floods, re-printed in the Guardian. I love the visceral line, "The wineglass slips your fingers' hold/ And signals to the planet's core." I won't say much more than this as I have an article on Riordan forthcoming on the Poetry International Web site in May/June, but he should be required reading for anyone who wants to write about their own lives well. Particularly A Word from the Loki. I'll leave the rest of my commentary for the official article. (Do pop over and have a look at the site though--last issue includes articles on the excellent Ailbhe Darcy & Bernard O'Donoghue.)

Despite really enjoying this week's reading, I'm finding my NaPoMo resolve & endurance waning a bit. The brain is tiring out from self-imposed reading oversaturation. I reckon poetry fans need palette cleansers. To read a poem well requires quite a lot of simultaneous attention & receptiveness, which takes energy. Maybe I should limit how many poems I read in a row--put the book down and go for a walk or do a bit of cleaning before reading more? Maybe the ideal would be to read one at a time at random intervals in the day--one with breakfast, one on the bus home, one while waiting for the kettle to boil at night? I think that'll be my challenge for the last week: waking up the brain, taking my time, reading poems in bites before taking a break to digest them.

NaPoMo Week 2

2011-04-16T20:25:00.003+01:00

Have I gushed about this before? My favourite night of the open mic year at O'Bheal is the ‘Only Other Poets’ night which happens annually on our anniversary. People don’t read enough poetry--and the real crime is that POETS don’t read enough poetry. This is why the night on which Open Mic-ers are required to read someone else’s work is so magic--and the list of readers was absolutely packed. (Kudos to the Long Valley, Winthrop Street for being so patient with us!) Some read poems by friends, Tina Pisco read an excellent piece by one of her daughters, some chose randomly from the bookstall in a sort of ‘lucky dip’ fashion, and of course there were the classics.

Another part of the evening involved the O’Bheal regulars reading poems by other O’Bheal regulars which I found really moving. It’s fabulous to get a chance to pay a tribute to someone you’ve gotten to know through the venue, and showing them that you’ve been moved by their writing. I read a piece by Afric McGlinchey, who took the Hennessy prize for new poetry the very next day! (Congrats to her--well deserved!) We read from O’Bheal’s annual ‘5 Words Anthology’ which is made of pieces written during a weekly poetry game. The brilliant thing about someone other than the author reading it is that it shakes up your expectations. It removes the familiarity you have with the author, and presents the poem as a free-standing creation. And when you hear someone else read your work, it has a ‘legitimizing’ power to it. It’s nice to know someone else connected to your words. (Thanks for reading mine, Grant Burgess!)

As for the rest of NaPoMo Week 2, I’ve really enjoyed reading Salt’s Horizon Review daily. In my limited recent experience, it seems to have a nicer, more challenging mix than Poetry Daily. Have also been reading from Geraldine Mills & Lisa C. Taylor’s joint publication, The Other Side of Longing. The two women have been exchanging poems for years after meeting at a conference, and actually met up for a stint in a cottage to write even more--the product being this enjoyable collection. The poems feed off each other in a call-and-response fashion, spinning work into deep and interwoven themes. Collaborations between female poets seem to be popping up everywhere: Poetry Chicks, Poetry Divas, Catch the Moon. In a stroke of good fortune this week, I’ve been asked to read with Catch the Moon in Cork on 5 May at the Sextant Pub, lunchtime. I’m completely nervous, but glad for a chance to push myself, get work together and polished up. Many thanks to Catch the Moon for the opportunity, and to Moray Bresnihan of Mutant Space for arranging/publicizing the reading.

Onwards & upwards to NaPoMo Week 3! I’ll be reading some collections of Maurice Riordan, and more from Horizon every day. And, ok, I’ll commit--at least two evenings spending some time getting poems together for the CTM reading.

NaPoMo: Week One

2011-04-09T19:47:00.005+01:00

Being a poetry reader is like being perpetually single. You go through a lot to try to make that fairy-tale connection, to feel that surge of excitement at contact with someone who really gets you. When a poem doesn’t turn you on, there’s a kind of disappointment. You wonder when you’ll fall in love again.

I think this is why there are less readers of modern poetry than people who keep up with the latest novels. Novels are stories, and stories are sociable & familiar. We routinely listen to stories from anyone and everyone--taxi drivers, bank tellers, mothers, people at the bus stop & gossipy neighbours. It only requires a basic, passive attention. You take stories in, let them come to you.

Poems, good poems, ask for a lot more. They require active attention, a reading spot with minimal interruptions, curiosity, an engaged brain, suspension of disbelief, a full stomach, keen focus & sometimes the willingness to submit to hypnosis or altered consciousness. If we’re honest, we don’t do all that for just anyone. If there’s no spark, we lose interest quickly. We check our texts or look at our watches. We make the good-enough excuse & take off.

Reading poems daily has been an exercise in letting go. I’m realising that being a good reader is also knowing I’m not going to fall in love with everything. I still believe in reading widely--you have to live in hope, don’t you? But if a relationship just ain’t working, it’s best to move on to the next one. To be honest, the Poetry Daily website has been a favourite of mine in the past but at the moment I haven’t been blown away. I think next week I’ll move on to reading a couple of poems from Salt Publishing’s Horizon online every day.

As far as my goal of reading a collection fortnightly, I’ve changed that too (for the moment). This week I finished two books that I’d only half read: Brian Turner’s Here, Bullet (Alice James Books, 2005) & most of Kay Ryan’s The Niagara River (Grove Press, 2005). Comparing the two confirms how much of an emotional reader I am. I totally engaged in Turner's intense moments, and was a bit intimidated by Ryan’s intellectual puzzles. Ryan was always interesting & incredibly challenging, but sometimes I found myself frustrated by her short, short lines and extremely simple word choices. I’m a sucker for a line that sounds well, and have been told by past tutors that I have a penchant for ‘over-egging the pudding’. Ryan is fat free, egg-free, lean & mean. Her pieces are taught & sinewy. I admire them, but from afar. Turner’s work engages your heart, but without sappy confessionalism. He balances restraint and emotiveness, using some really stunning images. Nearly every piece feels important to have read. His 'Two Stories Down', for example, was powerful enough to make me put the book away and try to gather myself--I think it’s one of the finest in this collection:

‘When he jumped from the balcony, Hasan swam
in the air over the Ashur Street Market,
arms and legs suspended in a blur
above palm hearts and crates of lemons,
not realizing just how hard life fights …’

As for my final resolution of revising a poem weekly, I managed that too (albeit in the eleventh hour). I’ve placed it in an envelope marked ‘May’, realising I need to let them sit for a while before I can get the right perspective. Trying to force a poem to be ok is like fighting for so long you forgot what made you mad in the first place…

Looking forward to week two, to daily dips into Horizon, & beginning to read a collaboration by Geraldine Mills & Lisa C Taylor, The Other Side of Longing (Arlen House, 2011).

NaPoMo: Resolved.

2011-04-01T19:10:00.002+01:00

National Poetry Month brings resolution anxiety--that January 7th dread that you made such a big deal about what you were gonna do differently (i.e. not eat multiple pizzas in a single week), but clearly so early in are going to give up on (while on the phone to Four Star). Other failed resolutions in my past: to stop grumbling at people who force me off the pavement & on to the road, having a day every week without tv, not eating chocolate bars during the week, not drinking Paddy’s at home in front of Jersey Shore …

Clearly giving up something fun is gonna be hard. However, doing more of something fun--what’s the problem? It’s kinda counter-intuitive to be so intimidated about something you enjoy. I love poetry, ergo, I should be delighted in a month that encourages poetry gluttony. I think setting superhuman goals is where things start to fall apart--and for me, writing a poem a day is superhuman. Ain’t gonna happen. Writing is a glacially slow process for me (particularly after all the pizza/choc/whiskey & tv I’ve failed to give up forces me to sleep late the next day).

This April, I’m trying NaPoMo again. Committing in public. Experts on resolutions advise setting realistic & precise goals, so no more self-flagellation for failing to convert 30 of my closest friends to poetry reading while composing a haiku each morning at 6am.

Here are the (reasonable?) National Poetry Month resolutions:

For the month of April I will…

1. Revise a poem a week that’s been sitting neglected & unfinished.

2. Read two poetry collections and blog about them.

3. (Try to) visit the Poetry Daily site…daily.

Wish me luck!

Linked in Translation

2011-03-04T19:53:00.008Z

One of the most moving moments (for moi) in this year's Cork Spring Lit Fest was meeting Xu Qin, the translator of Zhao Lihong. Zhao Lihong is one of China's most important contemporary poets, and has never before been translated in English. His collection, 'A Boat to Heaven' by Southword Publications was launched at our festival. Xu Qin explained this resistance to translation was a commonality among many Chinese poets who fear their work being diluted or misrepresented. The trust between herself and Zhao Lihong, I would imagine, is deep.

And deservedly so. She'd been reading Zhao since she was in primary school, and had become devoted to his poetry from the beginning. She explained to me her approach to translations during one of the festival lunches at the Farmgate in the English Market. She described trips she took to the setting of each poem (museums, remote landscapes), physically placing herself in every space he himself had been in when writing the poem, trying to immerse herself in the experience of it. When I asked her which poem had been her favourite, she turned immediately to the moving, emotive 'Remembering the Big Feet' with a beautiful refrain 'A poet/ lost his voice crying out in the big valley'. When I finished reading the poem, Zhao Lihong was smiling, asking me a question in Chinese. Xu Qin translated, asking for him 'Do you get the sense of how vast this place is?' Indeed I did, and loved knowing that first there was Zhao, writing this poem at the feet of a giant rock carving of the Buddha, later revisted by Xu, put into books for readers to experience themselves. Poetry as an act of giving.

When Xu Qin was asked by several festival goers if she wrote her own poetry, she was exceedingly modest. I suspect she does beautiful work herself, knowing that good translations aren't mathematical equations of x = y but works of art in themselves. I do hope she finds a space to promote her own work. In any case, it was a real gift to be able to discuss poetry with both Zhao Lihong and Xu Qin last month. Inspiring stuff!

'A Boat to Heaven' is now available for purchase from the Munster Literature Centre: Bookstore Here

A Found Poem

2011-01-07T15:12:00.002Z

New Study

From human testosterone

levels in this specific moment

edge sweat or saliva.

A drop in arousal, colleagues

say, dribbled down cheeks.

A team of scientists starts crying.

Crying serves a purpose.

What is the state

of sexual chemical communications

causing this effect?

Whatever substance

women’s tears may reduce—

tear donors watch, seeing cleary

questions.

Researchers had their female

smelling authors of compassion

(a recognizeable smell).

Colleagues sniffed, not convinced.

But scientists could be found

in a lot of places, willing

to donate tears.

The urge to signal: your human

tears may have an effect on you.

That was responsible

for quiet after men. Even if

you can’t look at pictures

of women’s faces,

a few drops of a woman was

to see a reality.

This morning's creative effort--snipped phrases from this NPR article: http://www.npr.org/2011/01/07/132716595/smell-that-sadness-female-tears-turn-off-men?sc=fb&cc=fp (Titled 'Smell that Sadness? Female Tears Turn Off Men'). Repositioned some of the phrases into a found poem. You can tell how annoyed I was by the article, I think....lol.. (P.S. For my non-poetry friends/family, this kind of poem isn't supposed to make logical sense but works (tries to work) on a more subconscious flow.)

A few thoughts on Cork poet Liz O'Donoghue

2010-12-22T11:01:00.001Z

Train to Gorey
By Liz O’Donoghue
(Arlen Press, 2009)
978 1 903631 56 0

Liz O’Donoghue’s Train to Gorey is her debut collection, having been widely published in Southword, Poetry Ireland Review, The Shop, and Stony Thursday Book. Her work is no nonsense. She heightens simple words and images to induce ‘a-ha’ moments, in much the way a light touch can be the most intense. In ‘Plaza de Torres’, she urges:

seep the stones in our blood
salute those I have gored
and give a deep bow to death.

Her poems are visually stimulating, saturated in colour:

Blue bar
blue sky
over Tuscany
blue lamp burning
behind my eyes ....

The reader comes to love her unrelenting honesty. Particularly moving are her ‘letter’ poems, prosey and sensual. In ‘La Nuit Blanche,’ the narrator writes to ‘V’ about what happened after they parted, that ‘I could smell the fuschia and the soft white flesh of the fruit, remembered the same red purple of it, the same deep green of it, the white of your shoulders... I ate the avocado before it went black....” Like Bob Dylan, she writes love well and breakups better. Readers are allowed to secretly relish those bruised moments of aftermath. Her poems are moments of strength in pain, where clarity is the virtue (rather than something easier like remorse). This is a collection that sits very comfortably in the cannon of Cork poets who are her peers—writers of intelligence and humour. (And, quite conspiratorially, her readers look forward to a second collection—hoping to hear what happened on the train back from Gorey.)

Meth or Myth?

2010-09-21T15:44:00.005+01:00

Remember the quote about America & the UK being two nations divided by a common language? (Incidentally... Shaw or Wilde?) The Frank O'Connor International Short Story festival was packed full of my fellow Americans and there were a few funny moments around language. The New Yorker's Ben Greenman was an absolute highlight of the festival for me, and he relates his experience here . However, the man cracked me up with his ultra-sensitivity to language differences between American/European English. At separate times between his interview and readings he asked if the audience knew what 'blurbs', 'Bigfoot' and 'The Everglades' were. I laugh, but I'm sure I've had millions of moments like that. I'm the girl who thought Van Morrison was American and that Nottingham was 'somewhere in the South of England.'

Another funny moment was when I picked up Ron Rash from the airport, and we were discussing the myriad social problems in Appalachia & the south of the USA. I thought I heard him say 'Myth is causing a lot of problems nowadays' and off my mind went constructing complex philosophical reasons that mythology was hampering the health and development of an entire region. Just as I was rambling into a response I realised he'd said 'Meth'. I felt like such an eejit. Rash's accent was much commented on by Irish festival-goers, and was a popular reader because of it (well...that and his obvious talent as an author).

I was moved by Seán Ó Faoláin winner Nikita Nelin's story about learning the English language as a Russian-born child. Although he excelled at Russian and Hebrew, the beautiful mess that is the English lanugage was so difficult that it put him off reading for ten years, until his early twenties. In the meantime he culled meaning from body language, intonation and other physical cues, becoming a skilled observer of character and events. When he got the confidence to come back to reading, it was a natural progression to begin writing as well. Interesting to think of writing as the intersection of silent observation & the intake of words.

What a great week. I'm still recovering.

The 'Day Off' Anxiety

2010-09-06T10:48:00.003+01:00

So, I've got two days off of work and should be delighted with the epic amounts of writing time available to me. By 11am on the first day I'm gutted that I haven't written an entire chapbook of mind-bending poems and finished reading all six books on the Frank O'Connor Shortlist. This inevitably leads to procrastination, naps, cleaning things that don't need to be cleaned, wandering into town, re-watching The Office or The Mighty Boosh... and enjoying none of it.

Revised expectations--
1. Try to finish one poem.
2. Read two or three Karen Russell stories (everyone buy 'St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves'... just...wow).
3. Find a new submission deadline to work towards.

A Few Random Kudos

2010-08-22T21:48:00.006+01:00

Gratitude/Appreciation in little sparks follow:

1. Loving the podcasts from Dedalus press. This is the way forward. The structure: Pat Boran gives a brief intro to the poet, followed by a reading by the poet themselves. Great that a publisher is actually publicizing their artists. Great that the audio/podcast format will bring in a new generation of poetry lovers. Sometimes the sound level is a little uneven/ hard to hear when walking on a busy road, but well worth saving for a listen at home. Grace Wells's is my favourite so far. More info here: Dedalus Press Audio Room

2. The new brochures for the Frank O'Connor Short Story Festival are here, and thank god my design skills are improving! They look good and I'm getting excited that it's festival time again. Kudos to Pat Cotter for the great colour scheme he devised for the publicity materials! FOC has a nice new coat of deep blue. Brochure launch this Wednesday! O'Connor Fest Info Page

3. Had a reviving conversation with Kevin Higgins & Susan Millar du Mars after their reading at O'Bheal this month. This is my second time meeting the both of them and I've always found them incredibly encouraging to new writers. We laughed about what it means to be a yank abroad (embarrassing enthusiasm which sneaks out on occasion; that feeling of 'foreign' when going home again). We mulled over the problem of lack of confidence in women writers, and decided wives would be handy for writers of either gender (haha). The best bit I took away from my time with them: persist, persist, persist. (They're both at Salmon Press.)

4. Finally, I'm labouring it at this point, but I just really love Eileen Sheehan's poem 'Living in the surreal with Alois'. It keeps coming back to me. Sheehan at Doghouse.

Moloch

2010-08-11T21:27:00.004+01:00

In the arts hallway at my highschool a Voltaire quote stretched along the lockers: 'All arts are brothers: each one a light unto the others'. This has always interested me. I suppose poetry and music are the obvious combo, but I love textiles or canvases that incorporate words. Triantan Theatre Company did an interesting project last year in Cork, inviting poetry and visual art based on the scripts/rehearsals of a series of one-act plays.

So why did it take me so long to find out about Moloch E-journal of Art and Writing? Noel Harrigton, one of our contributors at Southword Journal Online, included a few links to his work in the journal so I thought I'd check it out.

It's a(free!)online journal where the visual arts and poetry/fiction feed off each other, inform each other, inspire each other, rather than being roped off in separate spaces. I particularly liked Geraldine Mitchell's haunting 'Beachcombing'. The illustration by Laura Knowles is quirky and delicate, and I find myself as a reader trying to guess which came first. (Not to mention the excellent web design, easy to navigate, eye-catching and unique, incorporating the artist's work on each individual page).

Check it out-- well worth a browse at the very least. I'm definitely going to attempt a submission!

New review in Verbal magazine

2010-07-08T19:11:00.003+01:00

(Cross posted on Facebook)

Happily found a home for my review of Michael McKimm's Still This Need in Derry's excellent Verbal magazine. I met Mike last year at the Heaventree Festival in Coventry, part of a Cork-Coventry twinning exchange. Coincidentally he had just been chosen by Matthew Sweeney for the Best Irish Poetry 2010 that I was working on at the Munster Literature Centre, so I'd had some exposure to his work already, and glad to get to hear more. During his reading I was struck by his work's simultaneous gentleness and clarity and after reading the collection instantly felt the need to spread the word. So, here it is in PDF format (page 16).

And a link to Amazon, of course.

Short Rant #1 (of many to come): Short stories Vs. Mini-novel mindset

2010-06-04T15:50:00.000+01:00

I’m a podcast addict. I listen to more podcasts than music nowadays, and am particularly addicted to ones relating to poetry or short stories. The New Yorker does an amazing one where authors read and discuss stories from the archives—Jhumpa Lahiri on William Trevor, for example. It amazes me this stuff is free... So today I was listening to the Guardian Books podcast special on the Hay Festival, where they were interviewing Kazuo Ishiguro about his new collection of short stories called Nocturnes. To my massive disappointment he described his process this way: ‘I approached it rather like a novel....I sat down and thought of a book that was actually made up of five stories. Once I got going I discovered that it was much more similar than I thought because actually when you write a novel, it can have two or three narrative strands that you can intertwine. It occurred to me that many great novels are several stories...spun together.... You have separate stories that have a linking relationship.”

This view of short stories massively irritates me. It’s like saying a poem can be written by introducing line breaks to an anecdote. (Which people have, sadly, said to me more times than I care to remember.) And this approach isn’t uncommon. A few of the F. O’Connor Competition collections, past and present, have been written this way, including at least one of this year’s long-listed, big-name authors. I’m resisting the urge to say ‘those aren’t real short stories’, but barely. If you pull a narrative over the span of hundreds of pages with interweaving stories, despite the variety of narrative voices—how is that not a novel?? This is, admittedly, curmudgeonly. And I have enjoyed some of the books that I’m railing against—I just didn’t get that ‘short story feel’ from them and felt cheated. Obviously many, many publishers and writers with superior credentials to mine have no problem with novella/short-story grey areas. But to me, the short story form’s beauty is in its focus, its mortality. Its artistry requires an awareness of negative space, of what to let go of, and what to linger on...briefly.

(Caveat: I say the following as a lover of Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio stories.) Beyond my qualms with the definition of a short story, there’s the issue of the interwoven-narrative cliché which is being exacerbated by the film world. Ok, when I was a teenager I got a kick out of Pulp Fiction’s various, seemingly random story lines running together in the end. Well, I was a teenager. But then followed Amor es Perros. And Babel. And Crash. And Magnolia. These films are good of course, but...well, you know what’s gonna happen. People obsessed with their own problems will come to some cathartic-crisis-realisation that their lives are interconnected and truly do have an influence on others and the world. Cue the exit music. The conceit isn’t flawed, but the flogging of it is. Let’s give it a break for a while. Keep short stories short and individual as a means of respect for the form, acknowledging that they aren’t just practice runs for novelists.

/rant

Launch of Patricia Walsh's 'Continuity Errors'

2010-05-17T17:04:00.003+01:00

I'm honoured that a Cork poet, Patricia Walsh, has asked me to introduce her at the launch of her first collection tonight (soon to be published by Lapwing Press). I know her through the O'Bheal Poetry Night, and have always enjoyed her work. She's grown in confidence over the years I've known her, initially being one of us in the 'hit-and-run poetry reading' sorority (i.e., a shy, quiet but fast reading and then speeding away from the microphone!) Nowadays she gives her poems the time and measured read that they deserve, which has been wonderful for those of us who love what she does. Congratulations, girl. We're proud of you!

Here's the introducation to her launch that I'll read tonight:

When I heard Patricia was having her first collection published, I was delighted but not surprised. Her poetry has held an interest for years, way back when O'Bheal had a home at Pa Johnson's pub. If you listen carefully, you get glimpses of her wicked humour, her fierce intelligence and the pure, raw emotion running through her work.

Reading her first collection, Continuity Errors, has been a welcome chance to look at her work on paper-- to take my time exploring her themes of love gained and lost; to consider her philosophical challenges and queries; to indulge in the simple pleasures of her well placed line breaks and deft word choices.

If I've learned anything from the other women poets I've cornered for advice, it's the importance of bravery. I assure you, bravery is one of Patricia's virtues. She is unflinching in her confessions-- without self-indulgence or demands for pity. Hers is a pursuit of honesty, clarity.

Take, for example, a few lines from her poem 'As I Was Walking'. Its lines are sharp and simple, and the stanza ends with a clever, moving twist:

As I was walking
Perpendicular to the road
A charm went up
And bit me.
Surveying the gouge
In my shoulder, I
Did not cry, cry out
Not even noticing
The veins disconnected
The flesh festering
I went along and
All that hurt
Was a smile.

I encourage readers to purchase Continuity Errors, not only to support an up-and-comer, but to own a collection of poetry that will undoubtedly move them.

Congratulations, Patricia. Best of luck tonight.

Check Lapwing Press in the near future to purchase her collection: http://lapwingpoetry.webs.com/ourstore.htm

The Ugly Business of Motivation...

2010-01-17T19:21:00.003Z

I’m convinced that I have dark powers of deceptive persuasion, having (unconsciously) tricked a handful of magazines into publishing a poem or two of mine. Maybe this is something I should market in Poets & Writers for a few extra bucks... The Daily Mirror headline should be something like ‘30-Something Female Poses as Poet’, the sub-headline: ‘Readers’ horror as “only alright” work spreads through local publications.’ Ok, I won’t over-indulge in the pity party but I’m the only writer I know who feels relieved when getting rejection letters and a dull sense of dread when I succeed. (Insert random Woody Allen quote here). Even worse than achieving publication is the idea of going to the launch where faces are put with names. The thing that keeps me going is reminding myself how utterly egotistical insecurity is, and that if my work is truly mediocre it will also be forgettable and cause no one very much annoyance!

So I’m forced to ask myself what in the world my motivation is for writing. If I’m not comfortable with being read or published, why do it in the first place? Is it the assload of money I spent on an MA programme and the guilt that would come from having wasted it? Or maybe, like a messy breakup, it’d just be too socially awkward to explain? More likely, though, is that I don’t want to lose that writing feeling- that feeling that comes when everything is flowing just right. It’s like being at a live concert, getting absorbed in the music, and the world just becomes seamless, expansive and ecstatic. Being in the moment, writing, helps outrun the ego and its myriad little instruments of torture.

Despite all the whining, I am excited and nervous about the forthcoming March launch of Landing Places, Dedalus’s new anthology of immigrant poets in Ireland and am very grateful to Eva Bourke and Borbala Farago for including a couple of my poems. I’ll let you know how it goes. If I have not managed to transcend the ego by then I’ll be the pale woman in the corner consuming a bit too much wine.

Best Writing Cafés in Cork

2009-11-19T17:48:00.006Z

There's something about a café that helps me focus. For me, writing at home takes immense discipline with the distractions of TV, Facebook, piles of laundry etc. I'm painfully aware that café-writing is a bit navel-gazing, a bit self-help, a bit look-at-me-ain't-I-arty? Still, it works for me. An hour or two after work before I settle in at home ensures I get *something* done during the week.

There are several crucial elements that make the perfect writing café. You have to be able to stretch out that one cup of coffee without getting looks from the management. You have to have space for your crap: books, bags, pens, paper. The environment has to be interesting, but not too interesting ... and include fellow patrons who will mind their own business and not annoy you. Personal space enters into this-- how far apart the tables are, the availablity of small tables where parties of six won't be glaring at you to move so they can sit down.

Cork Coffee Roasters on Bridge Street is my FAVOURITE place for real coffee (as opposed to the burnt water they serve at O'Brien's). They have beautiful desserts and cracking atmosphere. The big window is great for people watching. However, I couldn't imagine sitting down to write. It's always packed (and rightly so) and you often feel the people walking in the door eyeing your seat and estimating how long you'll be by what's left in your coffee cup. Personal space is an issue. And if you're a woman, there's the nuisance of one of the regulars who has a pathological need to chat up anything with more estrogen than him. So, Saturday Guardian and a natter = yes. Writing a poem = no.

Chains like Nosh + Coffee in Carey's Lane or Insomnia in French Church Street are OK. You get a loyalty card, it saves money. The workers don't really mind if you stay or go. Free wi-fi (which I would find a distraction, rather than an aid). But there's something a bit soulless in these places. And at 5 or 6pm you're being booted out the door.

Yes, Tribes has to be addressed. It should be perfect-- arty decor, small tables available, late hours. But there's something unsettling about the place for me. I feel ancient in there. It'd be perfect, perhaps, if I were 15 years younger ... there is a youthful, buzzy, happy energy there that just leaves me cranky. And wtf is up with the 6 or 7 euro desserts? And the bland easy listening music?? I've heard Whitney Huston there one too many times. For me, Tribes is something that happens when the friend I'm meeting up with suggests it. Or when it's late and we're too hungover to start drinking again.

I've tried so many, and time and again I find myself back at the Pavillion. It's a place that shouldn't work, but absolutely does. The decor is nice, but unobtrusive. The crowd is getting arty-er (which could be good or bad if you get wrapped up in socialising). The bar staff are great, friendly but not hovering. Did I mention it's a bar? So, not the morning option. But after work between 5 - 7 (the Golden Hour, in my estimation) it's just busy enough, with just enough small tables. There's wi-fi. There are giant cups of (average) coffee or nice big pours of wine. You won't be the only one there alone, and generally the patrons are an adult crowd. The only problem is I over-use it'd still be nice to have a second option.

Any suggestions? Any recommendations in other towns?

In defence of experimental poetry

2009-11-08T19:03:00.004Z

Before church got all tangled up in guilt, judgement and exclusion for me, I used to experience an incredible amount of awe when walking into a Catholic church. The windows of picture-stories, the softening touch of incense, the candles whose colours each had their own meanings. Awe came from a sense that I was no longer in normal life; in-moment/immediate experience became the focus and the ‘thinker’ silenced. The feeling was transcendence.

I think awe is missing from a lot of modern poetry.

I’m all for accessibility. I think the everyday is valid as a subject. But sometimes the endless march of poems about fine days, grandmothers, wildlife and lovers in a ruthlessly literal way becomes exhausting for me as a reader. (I say this as a poet who has written poems about all those topics, for better or for worse.)

I was walking home from getting groceries in town and had an UbuWeb podcast on about experimental female poets and I was, for fifteen minutes, able to shake grumpiness and anxiety and become totally immersed in poems. Their work was blended with exaggerated vocals, sounds as crazy as balloon orchestras, anagrams, chanting. For none of the pieces could I say ‘that poem was about XYZ’ and I loved it. I felt awe. I liked being taken ‘out of myself’ and feel immersed in something bigger than literal meaning.

This is similar to what musicians and visual artists can do with their work—place you in a sacred space and prime you to be moved. The poetry being written nowadays could use more mystery, to create work which is distinct from journalism or a look through someone’s photo album or diary.

And I could do with following my own advice...

Jazz Poetry...minus the berets and snapping

2009-10-28T09:23:00.012Z

You know you're becoming a local in Cork when you go out 'for the jazz', but avoid places that actually have a jazz band. D and I went to Callanan's on Sunday, hiding in the snug with the full intention of seeing what else was happening 'after this next pint'. We attempted one more place after that, but allerg to the crowds abandoned our drinks and got a kebab and a taxi. Despite my lack of support, I was kind of sad at how empty the streets were last weekend. It's easier to be grumpy about the crowds if they actually exist...

Monday night I made a better effort. Ó Bhéal hosted Coventry's BACKRA MeN, a trio of drums, double bass and poetry-vocals (respectively Ben Haines, Si Hayden, Jon Morley). I'd met Jon in Coventry last year at the poetry festival he runs through his publishing company, Heaventree Press. Thanks to Ó Bhéal and the city council, I was lucky enough to read a few poems in a new poets showcase, which I talk more about at the Ó Bhéal blog. Not only did I get to see Jon again, but also met his beautiful partner, Suki. She's a visual artist, and we had a nice chat about the arts, creativity and things that draw the senses. A great beginning to an evening mixing the forms of music and writing.

The band's lyrics/poems of course were Jon Morley's creations, mostly from his collection Backra Man. In the overleaf for his collection, he explains:

"The backra (buccra, bacara, béké) is gora, gajo, gringo, oyinbo, sassenach, whitefella: all he devours. By birth and position privileged, by history an oppressor....he must be named, stereotyped and then humanised by subversive strategies: localism, postcoloniality, the picaresque. That is backra identity."

It's an interesting choice, taking the historically black tradition of jazz and using it as a way to subvert the 'backra man', owning it as a sort of Jungian shadow mask. Morley is known for his work with African and Carribbean poets, and will be publishing a collection of Derek Walcott's early poems with his publishing company, Heaventree Press. His own poems are dark and unflinching, and very very honest.

With all this seriousness, any self respecting audience member would have been forgiven for expecting a dry evening. Not so. I was struck by the utter joy with which BACKRA MeN performed, in constant connection to each other through their driving performance. They had fun with it, and by the end the audience was calling out for an encore. Soulful and smooth, it was a great evening out.

Virtual Cuisle

2009-10-17T16:38:00.013+01:00

Had planned on going to see Fleur Adcock at Cuisle this weekend, but gradually lost steam between making travel and accommodation arrangements and trying to weigh all the costs against an hour at a reading... somehow pre-recession this wouldn’t have been quite the same decision making process—but that’s the reality of it. Besides the impending Arts Council budget, I wonder how much the economic downturn is affecting the arts? Really hope Cuisle drew the crowd it deserved. Stony Thursday, the White House Poets and Limerick City created a really amazing line-up. During the Frank O’Connor festival in Cork we were delighted at the great turnouts at most of the readings, and the generosity of the local audience in their donations. It will absolutely help keep us going at the Munster Literature Centre.

In the meantime I’ve had a bit of a ‘virtual Cuisle’ at home, thanks to the internet. What’s great about the festival experience is the exposure to writers, new and established, and coming away with a couple of favourites that make you feel hungry for poetry again. Ok, sitting at home doesn’t give you quite the same buzz as being in the same room with the author— but the wealth of interviews and audio files available for free on the web are brilliant to whet the appetite.

So here it is, your virtual-Cuisle:

Robert Hass (USA):
Extensive bio, poem texts and audio from the excellent ‘Poetry Off the Shelf’ podcast.

Donald Hall (USA):
Bio, texts, audio.

Fleur Adcock (NZ/UK):
Bio, texts, audio.

Penelope Shuttle (UK):
Bio, texts, audio.

Aonghus MacNeachail (Scotland):
Poem: ‘At Home’.
Interview with Textualities.

Lidija Dimkovska (Slovenia):
Poetry International Web: bio, audio.
Selected poems.

Taja Kramberger (Slovenia):
Texts, bio, article.

Catherine Smith (UK):
Poetry Society commended poem, audio.
Sample poems from her collection Lip

John O’Donoghue (UK):
Poems, interviews, articles.

Patrick Moran (Ire):
Bio, poem, links.

Ulick O’Connor (Ire):
Business Post article.
Irish Writers Online entry.

Clairr O’Connor (Ire):
Poems and bio.

Paul Muldoon (Ire):
Audio, text, bio.

Vivienne McKechnie (Ire):
Interview.
Video of a reading.

Maurice Riordan (Ire):
Video of reading and discussion of ‘science and poetry.’
Poem in the Guardian.

Paul Sweeney:
Very hard to find in cyberspace! Hopefully we’ll hear more from him, post-Cuisle.

Official Links:

Official Cuisle poster and brochure.

White House Poets' Blog.

Review of Nude by Nuala Ní Chonchúir

2009-10-10T16:20:00.002+01:00

Nude
by Nuala Ní Chonchúir
Salt Press
2009

http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/smf/9781844716425.htm

I devoured Ní Chonchúir’s new short story collection in two sittings, like a sneaky box of chocolates best consumed when wrapped up in a duvet at night. The book itself is a kind of gallery, and its very-short short stories are sharp portraits of the characters’ lives. Being the kind of person who’d take the Tate Modern over the Tower of London, the Musée D’Orsay over the Eiffel Tower, I was absolutely spoilt . Almost every story contains an artist, gallery or a painting but somehow manages not to labour the theme. The title of the book conjures the debate of art versus pornography- what is the difference between a nude painting and ‘nudey pictures’? Questions of power, choice, intention, sex, (im)morality, attention, passion and love run as an undercurrent throughout the stories.

Ní Chonchúir has a shrewd eye for relationships, and I wish I’d been handed this collection as a teenager as a primer on romance. She tells painful truths. Leaving the Madonna-Whore dichotomy in the rubbish, she gives us women who are good, bad and ugly; intelligent women who make stupid, loving or selfish choices. And she treats them all with utter compassion, which allows the reader some space to remember their own odd or weak moments with a bit of forgiveness. I was particularly humbled after reading ‘Xavier’, where a woman falls for the classic bad boy, ‘beautiful, angry’. His compliments border on insults, but his attention is intoxicating. He is passionate and impatient and the woman struggles to assert her needs for fear of losing him. Even in the moments where she brings up some strength to take care of herself, there is no chick-lit moment of happy transcendence. No community of women bringing ice cream while singing, I Will Survive. What’s left is the reality of independence: lonely and isolated. For the reader, however, this is comforting rather than depressing.

There are moments of comic relief too, my favourite being ‘Roy Lichtenstein’s Nudes in a Mirror: We are Not Fake!’ It’s told by a nude woman in a painting, observing a woman in a gallery who is looking at her rather suspiciously. The voice is hilariously American (‘Our canvas is B-I-G’), and very like something you’d imagine a Lichtenstein woman would sound like. The story, like many of the others in Nude subverts the object and the subject, letting the model tell her own story. On top of this, you get a look at female competitiveness and the damage only a woman can inflict on another woman.

Nude is a gorgeous collection. It’s sexy, intelligent, sensual, challenging and, even better, an addictive read. Highly recommended.

An Interview with poet Maighread Medbh

2009-07-19T17:35:00.003+01:00

JM: Your performance was particularly moving because of the delivery of the poems, sometimes involving song. Do you ever read your work out loud to help in the revision process?

MM: Always. And it’s also essential in the first draft.

JM: Do you see 'page poetry' and 'performance poetry' as essentially different media?

MM: No. More like the same subject, different specialisations; or like classical music versus rock. The performance poet experiences the words in his or her poem as physical entities inducing a kind of dance, and must respond physically and dramatically to them.

JM: You've said the science inspires you. How does a poem like 'Unified Field' move from theory to poetry? (Does this question make sense? :)

MM: Yes, the question makes sense, except that the trajectory from theory to poetry is not always easy to describe, and may be very short or light-years long. What often happens, in my case, is that I always have a myriad thoughts in my head. A few of these come to the surface and stay swimming there. Then one day, something happens. It could be a minor event, such as a passing comment or a look on someone’s face, a scientific fact that pops before my eyes or a striking sunsheen on a tree. The event gives dramatic reality to the accumulated thoughts and a first line is born. The other lines might come without much effort or they might need some inducement. That’s how ‘Unified Field’ came into being. It didn’t need much inducement.

JM: Part two of your book is a requiem. Do you think poetry can help writers move past or cope with traumatic experiences?

MM: Psychologists have found that creative people can recover from traumas which destroy others or cause mental illness. In Pat Barker’s ‘Regeneration’, the psychiatrist says that mental illness can be caused by the inability to integrate certain aspects of one’s personality. This was the view of Jung and has given rise to a therapeutic method, using creativity, in the work of the psychoanalyst, Thomas Moore. So the answer is a definite yes, in two ways: firstly, the poet is by nature an observer, and that position gives one distance from all that occurs, because one is always creating dialogue between event and its transformation into a thing of beauty; secondly, working on a poem focuses the mind on form and detail, directing the energy outward and bringing about catharsis. Any form of writing will do this, but it must be disciplined. I’m not sure that simple outpouring achieves such effective healing.

JM: Do you have a favourite place or time that you find conducive to writing?

MM: I like my study and my computer, Sunday mornings and quiet dark evenings, but I write whenever and wherever I can. When I’m planning, I like to get out of the house and go to a neutral place, like a cafe or hotel. Many of the requiem poems were written in a nearby hotel lobby over a cappuccino or a green tea.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Read other interviews with poets at http://www.obheal.ie, under the link 'Interviews with O'Bheal guests.'

Cork's Midsummer Festival 2009

2009-07-05T23:12:00.003+01:00

When I went to the Triskel to get my tickets for a few Midsummer Festival events, the hip chick working there looked at them and said, ‘Oh cool! Good on ya woman.’ Desperate for approval as I am, it was a very satisfying exchange. And right she was; my festival experience was, by and large, cool. And as usual, I didn’t get to everything–but hey, a recession’s on. I felt extravagant going to three events as it was.

The People’s Republic of Gerry Murphy- A Musical Odyssey

Not having done any research before seeing this, I’d imagined poet Gerry Murphy on stage as a piss-taking troubadour. Not so. It’s a show performed by Roger Gregg and the Crazy Dog Audio Theatre, 20 years after its original run. Apparently it was originally performed in smaller venues than the Everyman Theatre and the consensus seems to be that something more intimate suits his anti-establishment, rebellious work better. No matter, in my opinion. The glossier performance is a way to give non-poetry readers an approach to understanding his work.

The music was jazzy, the performances were slick and sexy, and the humour in Gerry’s work was brought across with wit and timing. ‘A Complaint to the Muse’ was brought to clamorous life with the female performers invoking a chorus of Cork women to plague the poet. I get a (not so) secret kick out of this one because of the number of friends of mine who would lecture me for laughing. I can’t help it- it’s so human and also gets away with it by addressing ‘the Muse.’ ‘Easter Sunday’ was performed by Glenroe’s Liam Heffernan with his head down a toilet. Hilarious. A few of his more solemn poems were included, beautifully, such as ‘The Long Valley Afloat’. The CD of the performance and his book can be bought at http://www.crazydogaudiotheatre.com/gerryshow.php .

The Big Lebowski in the Spiegletent

An utter disappointment. I was so geared up and giddy to get to watch this cult classic with other nerds like myself. At first things seemed promising: the staff were in dressing gowns, some people in the crowd were wearing Maud’s Viking horns from the Dude’s dream sequence, the beer was...adequate but flowing. (Not a white Russian in sight, sadly). When it came time to go in, my group luckily found a table near the entrance. Within a few minutes it became obvious they’d oversold the tickets and some people were without seats. Ushers dragged a few chairs over, blocking the exit aisles and crunching into the knees of people already seated. Anytime you wanted to get up to use the toilet, it required squeezing uncomfortably past the standing crowd at a closeness you’d like to reserve for the bedroom. As I was sitting with the screen slightly behind me, I had to assume a spinal twist yoga pose throughout the film in order to see it. However, I was luckier that the people who had tables that were set up exactly to the left and right of the screen. It would have been impossible for them to see anything at all. Ah, the price you pay for having one last drink and good conversation outside! Shame on the Spiegletent. They’d want to sort out the logistics of this one next year.

MedEia

This was the event I’d anticipated the most. I’ve been wanting to go to a Corcadorca production for years, having heard glowing reviews about their performances and unique use of space. I booked early this year, and suspect the enthusiastic approval of the Triskel ticket seller had something to do with this one. It was a retelling of the Greek story, Medea, employing a chorus of three actors and, uniquely, dolls. The performance took place in the unsympathetically named Vertigo Suite of the County Hall, which was surprisingly beautiful. The entire room was walled in glass, giving a panoramic view of Cork. When the play began, the actors drew the blinds bringing the audience fully into the space. They sat at three block-shaped white tables, dressed in white suits. The audience sat on white benches that lined the room. This gave the feeling of being in a space which was both neutral and universal, perfect for storytelling.

Medea’s story, that of a betrayed woman set on bloody revenge, was told by the chorus of actors who occasionally moved into the role of a character, gracefully and deftly. Each character in the story had a corresponding doll, which was placed on a lit platform when being referred to. It sounds bizarre, but this conceit really helped the audience keep up, and often audience members became so engrossed in the tale that they’d be watching the dolls intensely as the chorus spoke. For such a violent story there was great humour, and lines from song lyrics were incorporated in a clever play on the idea of ‘chorus’. Never were they clunking or kitsch, instead they served to support the idea that these struggles of love, betrayal and jealousy are stories we’ve been telling for centuries. From the story I took away an unsettling understanding that the act of love in all its forms is in great danger of greediness, which ultimately destroys its object.

For a play called MedEia, however, I was surprised at how entirely classically oriented the text itself was. I had expected a blend of both the old and the modern, incorporating news reports, public relations, celebrities, paparazzo and the like. This didn’t happen exactly, but an audio and visual installation was used to enhance the performances, being a kind of artistic news report displayed on a wall of TVs behind the set. However, I found myself so engrossed in the actors’ performances that I rarely paid attention the video work. Nevertheless, the actors should be commended on their unflagging attention, to each other and also to the audience–their eye contact was intense and urgent. They needed us to get the message of the story. The rhythm of their performance was expert, moving fluidly between a humorous familiarity and heart-wrenching tragedy. A unique and absolutely brilliant experience, which will having me booking early for Corcadorca for anything they do in the future. http://www.corcadorca.com

A New Criticism?

2009-04-26T17:33:00.001+01:00

As someone who is new to writing book reviews, I’ve experienced a bit of anxiety as to the role of the reviewer. My approach thus far has been to find the value in each work and write the review in such a way that the book may get in better contact with its audience. If I come across something in the author’s work that I don’t connect with, I don’t emphasize it. Part of me fears this choice is false in nature, driven by my need to be ‘nice.’ The other part, however, acknowledges that every writer who has published has put their energy, time and love into a project. This should be praised in itself.

Having said that, it is a huge gift when someone reads a poem of mine and says, ‘I don’t really get where you’re going with that line,’ or ‘this phrase sounds clunky.’ The vague, high-pitched, ‘Oh that’s nice!’ or ‘I liked your poem,’ can make me quite queasy. I suspect it immediately, unless some detail follows regarding *what* exactly was liked. Mind you, this is in the forum of a workshop or in a personal email. The context of a publication is not the equivalent of the author looking for advice on style.

I recently read an article on the Poetry Foundation website called ‘Show Your Work!’ (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/journal/article.html?id=186047) which argued that poetry critics needed to ‘guide readers past their resistance’ and do a bit of reader-training. Matthew Zapruder posited that reviews should help readers to understand the choices a poet makes with words (the How) rather than making restrictive analyses on the themes of a work, which may limit the reader’s understanding (the What). An interesting argument ensued in the comment column beneath the article, arguing about whether this was an elitist approach or whether it was helping to make poetry more accessible. Turf wars popped up then, arguing the relative merits of Keillor vs. Armantrout, and hilariously, between the TV shows ‘Roseanne’ vs ‘Twin Peaks.’

Overall, I thought Zapruder made an excellent point. Articles and books like those of Ruth Padel’s 52 Ways of Looking at a Poem (http://www.ruthpadel.com/pages/52_ways.htm) do a great service in making poetry more accessible and widening its readership. I think this is important for reviewers in publications with general readerships, like daily newspapers or popular magazines. When you write for a literary journal, however, reader-training is moot. I’m stuck with the ethical problem of whether or not to nit-pick if a poem’s line contains a cliché or an awkward line break. After the book is published, what’s the point other than to unravel someone else’s hard work?

I’m lucky in that everything I’ve read had elements I could connect to and write about. I’m still of the opinion that a review should help a book find its intended audience. That is, unless you are an influential figure in the world of poetry who is helping to shape the direction that poetry is taking. (Which I’m not.)
In the meantime, I scour the Guardian’s Saturday Review, trying to learn from the professionals and gain a more educated and mature understanding of what journalist’s place is.

Heaney at 70

2009-04-18T10:19:00.003+01:00

Biographies of poets don't get aired on the national networks in the USA and most people believe poetry is just 'that rhymey crap I hadta read in high school.' As such, getting to settle in with a glass of vino and watch 'Heaney at 70' on RTÉ 1 (http://www.rte.ie/heaneyat70/tv.html) was fabulous. Ok, it started at 10pm which was a little late... but well worth staying up for.

The opening animation of his poem 'Lightenings viii' (my favourite of his) was simple and mystical at the same time, which was fitting. The documentary discussed his career as well as his relationships, and felt very comprehensive. There was a touching moment late in the documentary when the interviewer asks Heaney what his epitaph would be, and the poet is thrown. He gives a quiet laugh and says he'd prefer not to answer that. He pauses and then reconsiders, answering the question.

In my utter naivety I assumed great artists, writers, etc would have made peace with death. As if their craft let them in on the ultimate truth and they'd be unburdened by it. To see a wise man fear death was at once comforting and unnerving. I’m disabused of the notion that somehow by the end of my life I’ll be totally ready for it.

Feck.

Poetry Films in Cork

2009-04-04T17:22:00.000+01:00

On April 1st and 2nd the highlights of the Zebra Poetry Film Festival came to us all the way from Berlin. On the first night there was a retrospective introducing prior Zebra years, followed by a viewing of last year’s winning films and a panel discussion. The second night had a further selection of last year’s films and the winning film based on Billy Collins’ excellent poem, ‘The Dead.’ It featured almost childlike line drawings in black and white which moved fluidly through the 'plot'. It complemented the poem's simple beauty.

In my opinion, the film that most successfully captured a poem's images and tone was based on Andres Ehin's 'A Vegetated Director'. Surreal, but not overwhelimingly so, with gorgeous images like crocodile shoes becoming little crocodiles that scurry off around the office ceiling. The film honoured, but didn't usurp the poem unlike many others. What can I say? As a poet, I'm partial to the words.

I quite enjoyed the humourous films which were akin to standup comedy, extensions of spoken word performances. 'Financially Strapped' and 'Oedipus Rex' had me laughing obnoxiously while trying not to blush. Spoken word lends itself nicely to film, being more immediately accessible. I am very much oriented towards reading, rather than being auditory or visual, and found some of the filmic versions of 'page poems' quite difficult to digest.

A few of the films which emphasised the visuals over the poem were effective, including 'Bruised' which was captivating and disturbing. (A side note- the amount of nekkid ladies involved in the films reminded me I had not escaped my puritain roots. I kept thinking, in my best old lady whine, 'Is that *really* necessary?') However, in a few of the films the visuals seemed to completely dominate the poem, as in 'Again Again' from Myanmar. I got it, it made sense, but I didn't enjoy it. I found it overly repetitious, which of course, was the point.

In any case, the Zebra Highlights are the kinds of things that keeps me in Cork. I have such easy, cheap access to unique and engaging art on a constant basis. This is why I’m surprised at the low turnout to the event. It was well advertised, reasonably priced, in an excellent venue. The first night filled about two-thirds of the Triskel, and the second night there were only a handful in the audience. What keeps people away?

The cynic in me grumbles after nearly every reading I’ve attended that poets don’t show up unless there is some personal benefit coming their way. Over generalising and unfair, I know. However, I suspect there is a small truth here. It astounds me the number of people who read their own poetry at open mics but don’t bother with reading modern poets at all, never mind buy a book on occasion. The most amateur of musicians consume albums by the truckload. They have an investment in their community. Many on the poetry scene seem to have stopped paying attention after the leaving cert.

Now, I’m not insisting every poet in Cork who didn’t attend isn’t pulling their weight. Mid-week can be difficult, and maybe films just aren’t their thing. I’ve been an early leaver at events and open-mics myself due to everything from tiredness, grumpiness or personal obligation. It’s valid.

I do question those who never participate beyond the sound of their own voice, however.

I'm looking forward to seeing what Irish poets will produce this year in the way of poetry films. If the written word is anything to go on, an Irish presence at the Zebra Poetry Film Festival would add depth, variety, wit and accessibility to the programme. And who knows? Maybe if we begin making films here, the audience will expand at future events like the highlights that ran last week.

For those on the literary slow bus....

2009-03-14T19:04:00.000Z

Editors and Literary Agents have been Twittering about what constitutes a rubbish query. As an aspiring writer, I’m fascinated. In their online discussion, Queryfail, they share bits of authors’ letters which resulted in rejection. One such failure reads, ‘My credentials for writing this book include: A divine mandate to speak the word of God.’ Fair enough. I’d imagine the Big Guy wouldn’t be that flexible in editorial process and could be a bit of a diva to work with.

Queryfail is the equivalent to Pop Idol’s painful montages of off-key, arrogant, bizarre and/or humiliating audition pieces. This is the stuff of gladiators, bullfights and Jerry Springer. Audiences want blood. And in the mildewed recess of the Id there is an awful satisfaction in seeing others fail. Good people are defined by their capacity to feel some old-fashioned guilt about it. Hell, I feel guilty just bringing it up! ‘At least I’m not that crazy’ can be an extremely comforting thought if you aren’t doing as well as you’d wished in life. However, it also has an element of cruelty.

The group’s answer to accusations that they are unprofessional and mean-spirited is that they are providing a constructive service to hopeful writers. This is true. It is also true that there are different kinds of failure. Misspellings, poor grammar, nebulous ideas, uninteresting ideas and even arrogance are viable targets, to my mind. Mental illness or emotional instability, a la ‘God is my co-author’, is not fair game in public. (Recounting the story to friends over drinks, however, should be allowed as a perk of the job. I fully admit, I was cracking up at the ‘crazy’ submissions myself.)

Despite the hype, there are indeed some excellent tips in the compiled version of Queryfail which are arranged under the topics:
· Failure to follow directions is an automatic rejection.
· Don’t include anything in your query other than what is requested.
· If you don’t have a book available to sell, you shouldn’t be querying.
· Only include relevant, professional publishing credentials in your query.
· Don’t sound crazy.
· Don’t toot your own horn.
(http://www.jacketflap.com/megablog/index.asp?Year=2009&Month=03&Day=05&postid=314226 )

The only ethics ‘fail’ I see is in ‘don’t sound crazy.’ How likely is it that a disturbed person could actually constructively apply this advice to their work? Posting their bizarre comments is akin to the gangs of teenagers who laugh at the man who dances frenetically outside of Argos. It’s a little disturbing and funny, yes, but part of becoming a human adult is growing the compassion to know it is beyond their control.

(Blog written after today’s Guardian article: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2009/mar/09/twitter-publishers-manuscripts-pitches)

Julia Van Middlesworth, 'Daddy Dead'

2009-03-13T10:40:00.000Z

I met Julia at the 2008 Frank O'Connor Short Story Festival in Cork when I was doing bits and pieces for the Munster Literature Centre. I'm a festival junkie as it is- I'd go to any reading in Cork I could get my grubby little hands on. As a result, getting to meet authors at the airport and occasionally have lunch or a drink with them wasn't exactly gruelling work for me.

Julia was one of those people I felt instantly at ease with. It's a rare luxury for me to meet a cool American here in Cork. After one of our lunches in the Farmgate, we were walking through the English Market and Julia saw a giant pig's head in a butcher's stall. Disgusting as it was, it was a good omen for her. Her story, Daddy Dead, won the Sean O'Faolain Prize.

'Daddy Dead' begins with the arresting line, 'You can buy baby pigs' feet in a jar.' It is the story of a little girl whose parents are negligent and abusive, and very much earn their monikers Mother Blind and Daddy Dead. Daddy Dead's mistress, Aunt Oink, forces the girl to eat pigs' feet when she wants to shut her up. The narrator is a warrior of a little girl, and defiantly survives and thrives, making her plan for escape with her barbie sidekick, Machete.

Julia's writing style is punchy and original. Like Flannery O'Connor, she takes reality and makes it both strange and ominous. Like David Lynch's films, the images have the power to attract and disturb at the same time. As the narrator gets closer to her escape, the prose brings in images of running pigs feet, feathers, running baby's feet and flying cars.

Her prize-winning story is published in the new Southword (Issue 15). I can't wait to see where her writing career will take her.