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  • ‘The Hare Arch’ by Eilis Ní Dhuibhne.

    January 23rd, 2009
    The ‘Hare Arch’ by Alice Maher.

    Some girls have hairs on their heads,
    Artful girls have hares in their hearts

    Cailín óg álainn is ea mé anois
    Ach ní fhada na blianta ag sleamhú thart
    Agus ansin beidh buanna eile uaim
    Seachas an fholt ógra, an béilín binn.
    Is ansin a thiocaidh mo ghiorra i gcabhair orm
    an lá úd a déanfar cailleach den gcailín.

    Agus rachaimid amach, an beirt againn,
    Maidin Bealtine ag breachadh an lae
    Ag crú an uachtair ós na bá sna páirceanna,
    Ag crú na greinne, ag crú na bláthanna
    Ag crú an samhraidh, agus na samhlaíochta.

    (Le Eilis Ní Dhuibhne)

    This Poem accompanied an exhibition by Alice Maher which showed in the RHA Gallery in Ely Place last year. The top floor of The Night Garden exhibition was a series of wall art based in Imagery inspired by The medieval bestiary and The Garden of Earthly Delights. The book of Poems and collaborative Art by Maher and Dhuibhne is entitled The Night Garden, Mark my Words

    The accompanying art work is based in the women’s collaboration and is in pen and ink; and charcoal. I got mine when I attended and am unaware if the poems have been published for a book-buying market. I should hope they have ‘cos they are really good.

    The Night Garden, Images by Alice Maher and Poems “Mark my Words”, by Eilis Ní Dhuibhne.

    Alice Maher’s Chaplet image.

  • ‘The Claws of the Puma’, Patricia Verdugo

    January 17th, 2009

    patricia_verdugo_aguirre___chile_three3

    “Yes, if the tormentor could express himself-then nearly everything would be gained. only he could fix on a pin this harmful insect- only he sees through it. But the tormentor never speaks, he is the most laconic being that was ever created. he forces his victims to do the talking, the wailing, the stammering- he himself is silent-one might think it was stupidity, but it is not stupidity, one might think that it is contempt for words, but he does not despise words, he is interested in words. It is perhaps quite simply inability. He is bound to the action, the victim is bound to the word.

    Besk Brygd, 1947. Mirijam Tuominen

    I ask myself again this morning as we witness Ultra-Nationalism why people who fail (utterly fail) in leadership are the ones whose names we remember, and those like Verdugo are so easily forgotten. I think that we make a fetish of violence.

    Blogging Patricia cos we should not forget the violence of Ultra-Nationalism.
    Indymedia Obit of Verdugo.

  • Modern Visionary Writing, Barbro Karlén.

    January 15th, 2009

    4141g5xw86l_sl75_

    There are short posts with the most minimal information on Poethead giving glimpses (albeit briefly) of women’s visionary writing. They include Marguerite Porete, (a Beguine who was burned at the stake in the French Inquisition), and excerpts from the beautiful Anna Livia Plurabelle  Soliquoy, which shares a set of images and ideas with Porete.

    .
    I have mentioned the antiphons of Hildegard of Bingen and the gorgeous vision-laden writings of Ursu, Touminen and Julian Of Norwich. Mostly they were Women in the Wall (apart of course from the wonderful James Joyce whose tropes and archetypes do share similarities). I have been reading the Karlén for a week or two. I must admit studiously avoiding the poetry and focusing instead on the symbols, not least because I reluctantly accepted it as a gift from an old friend whom recommended it in the highest terms. Its not that I am unused to non-verbal communication, the use of word and tone by women, whose communication is not academic but it exhausts me and I do not know why.

    On a not unrelated note I see in the Guardian of last weekend that Charlotte Perkins Gilman‘s The Yellow Wallpaper is going to be re-issued, the review of same was excellent because the reviewer discussed her initial reaction to the story in t The Gilman short Story can be accessed in Scribbling Women, Short Stories by 19th Century American Women, edited by Elaine Showalter/Christopher Bigby.

    Back then to Karlén. I wonder if it because it is easier to read those whom are removed from us historically such as Porete and Julian of Norwich, that breaks the tension in reading visionary books?

    “Whilst the storm is raging and completing its work, this book will tell you more about this artist. He was the artist who had decorated the whole of the king’s palace with images of eternal beauty. The artist whose wisdom and power was able to transfer the highest eternal beauty and justice down here to the lower planets. The artist who periodically came to the world of human beings, to bring them visions of eternal truth. I shall now write down the poem that the good king wrote whilst he lived here on earth. A poem that is about the artist who made the statue.”.

    (From : A Moment in the Blossom Kingdom and When the Storm Comes , by Barbro Karlén.

    I will excerpt some of the poem onto the blog tomorrow along with an excerpt from Liliana Ursu, a modernist writer in the immediate post WWII period.

    • Discussion of Hildegard Von
    • Bingen’s Music; but try and get the CDs/LPs
    •  Marguerite Porete
  • The Garden of the Fand 1916 by Sir Arnold Bax

    January 5th, 2009

    Whilst in Mayo on holidays a conversation occurred regarding accessing written materials by Artist and Seer George Russell (AE). The only book obtainable from the library was The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries, by W.Y Evans Wentz.

    There are a few pages of unidentified interview with AE within the book (Colin Smythe, Humanities Press, 1911). The name of Bax also emerged, (but unfortunately upon my leaving), thus it appears that the LPs will be played for me at a later stage. Bax was an  acquaintance of my host, who had some interesting stories on Bax’s Irish sojourn and  eventual death to impart. There is, as far as I can make out nothing on YouTube. I must await the pleasure of hearing the music, described within the sleeve notes as,

    “The Garden of the Fand is the sea…in the earlier portion of the work the composer seeks to create the atmosphere of an enchanted Atlantic.. Upon the surface floats a small ship… the little craft is borne on beneath a sky of pearl and amethyst until on the crest of an immense wave it is tossed onto the shore of Fand’s miraculous island. Here is the inhuman revelry, and the voyagers are caught away unresisting into the maze of the dance. A pause comes and Fand sings her song of immortal love.. the dancing begins again, and finally the sea rising suddenly overwhelms the whole island…twilight falls, the sea subsides, and Fand’s garden fades out of sight..”

    • Text mentioned: The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries by, W.Y. Evans Wentz. Colin Symthe: Humanities Press 1911.
    • My contact on where to access info on Bax in Ireland.
    •  Some Arnold Bax Music 
  • Borges, Neo-Nazism, and a Pierre Joris Link to Edward Said.

    January 1st, 2009

    There has been a European under-current in indoctrinated and ugly Neo-Nazism, indeed it turned up on a political site where I sometimes hang out to do my bickering. Political-sites often provide a happy breeding-ground for people who would rather not think, but do one of two things : indoctrinate others of like mind , or have somewhere to vent that has a loosely-managed  and therefore easily circumvented set of policies on violent hate-speech and censorship. 

    One of the methodologies of indoctrinating young angry and violent men is to utilise the cultivation of ignorance as a tool, this is usually known as applying the imprimatur (censorship), wherein one’s individuation and desire for knowledge is channelled into the creation of violence. There have been shootings of the Jewish community in Denmark. One Irish site had a person encouraging the soft-targetting and murder of jews from the diaspora. A certain inadequacy  is evident when hate-speech is allowed thrive under a banner of free-speech, whilst cyber-bullying is ignored in other places. I expect that it all comes down to editorial choices vis controversy is seductive and acquires negative attention whilst the exposition of issues through utilising the intellect is scary. I expect that attention is what is wanted (even if it is negative) it is better than nothing. One shouldn’t really have high hopes for any site that has a consistent negative attention-cycle , borne of endless publicity-seeking.

    Controversialists  are thus encouraged to cripple their humanity and to  carry out the evil of older more experienced and twisted men,  and yet this brand of race violence is failed, will fail and continues to create violence and inequality. it really is up to every reader whether they wish to think or have some erratic faceless person shove their belief-systems down out throats, its that simple. I would encourage Poethead readers to buy books and not waste good time on the internet !

    The reference to Pierre Joris is to the Nomadics site which has an interesting Edward Said essay Link. I am away from my library, but wish to publish an excerpt from The First Diasporist Manifesto soon, called the  The Almond Tree . 

    Kitaj’s discussion on artifical diasporas and the violences of the Middle East are grounded in his exile and understanding of the issues, and unlike the twisted violence so recently reared up onto Irish bulletin/discussion boards actually tries to discuss and contextualise the issues.

    I think that certain Irish boards knowingly cultivate the tub-thumpers and people of violence,  if it helps to wear the free-speech label,  all the better. It is far easier for a group of ill-educated androcentrists to have cyber-bullies safely touting their ignorance on political  boards than to have them attacking people in the streets. A certain reduction is harm is encouraged, save for those amongst us who find cyber-violence as abhorrent as actual physical violence. I’d rather read a Kitaj essay than the semi-literate bilge that passes for political discussion in Ireland today.

    • Nomadics wherein essays, links, discussions on global issues of rights.
  • ‘The Second Voyage ‘ by Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin.

    December 27th, 2008
    Odysseus rested on his oar, and saw
    The ruffled foreheads of the waves
    Crocodiling and mincing past; he rammed
    The oar between their jaws, and looked down
    In the simmering sea, where scribbles of weeds defined
    Uncertain depth, and the slim fishes progressed
    In fatal formation, and thought If there was a single
    Streak of decency in those waves now, they’d be ridged,
    Pocked and dented with the battering they’d had
    And we could name them as Adam named the beasts
    Saluting a fresh one with dismay, or a notorious one
    With admiration; they’d notice us passing
    And rejoice at our destruction, but these
    Have less Character than sheep and need more patience.

    I know what I’ll do he said,
    I’ll park my ship in the crook of a long pier
    (And I’ll take you with me, he said to the oar)
    I’ll face the rising ground, and climb away
    From tidal waters, up river-beds
    Where herons parcel out the miles of stream,
    Over the gaps in the hills, through warm
    Silent valleys, and when I meet a farmer
    Bold enough to look me in the eye
    With ‘Where are you off to with that long
    Winnowing fan over your shoulder?’
    There I will stand still,
    And I’ll plant you as a gatepost or a hitching-post
    And leave you for a tidemark. I can go back
    And organise my house then.

    But the profound
    Unfenced valleys of the ocean still held him;
    he had only the oar to make them keep their distance;
    The sea was still frying under the ship’s side.
    He considered the water-lilies, and thought about fountains
    Spraying as wide as willows in empty squares;
    The sugarstick of water clattering into the kettle;
    The flat lakes bisecting the rushes. He remembered spiders and frogs
    Housekeeping at the wayside in brown trickles floored with mud,
    Horsetroughs, the black canal with pale swans at dark;
    His face grew damp with tears that tasted
    Like his own sweat or the insults of the sea. 

    by Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin.

     This poem is culled from The Penguin Book of Irish Verse. It was edited by Poet Brendan Kennelly and published in 1970. Both poets have collections, translations and ongoing works.

  • RIP Harold Pinter: 1930-2008

    December 26th, 2008

    This morning’s Newspapers announce the death of Nobel Winner and Playwright Harold Pinter. Rest in Peace. I toddled up to the corner shop to get fags and saw that one of the the UK papers was carrying a huge black and white image of the author. He was a frequent visitor to Dublin, indeed, we have been lucky enough to have some excellent Pinter Seasons in
    the Gate Theatre; and that is where we saw him breezing through.

    His plays were gems of created tension and violence include The Homecoming, The Room, the most formative one for me was (and is) The Dumb Waiter,   but it was always about more that the plays or his life. There was also his opposition to George Bush,his abrasiveness and his intellectual integrity. That  will be missed.

    The London Independent which is online carries the appreciation and Obits for those interested in the Great Man.I was unimpressed by Betrayal, but everyone has their own Pinter resonance. The images in the Papers belie his commitment to fighting the regime that has brought intolerable suffering to our world, he spoke out against the Gulf War again and Again. He used his profile and relationship with the Press to oppose this Disgraceful subversion of International Arbitration bodies , including the UN. Along with Tony Harrison the poet, he became a strong and enduring voice against the media silence on this great suffering and for that we must be thankful.

    “The Crimes of the US throughout the world have been systematic, constant, clinical, remorseless and fully documented but no-body talks about them”.

    Would that there were more with his courage and bravery in the face of a relentless and idiotic media, that both ignores and spins this period that we have lived and raised our children through : When war and abuse became fodder for mass consumption, Snuff.

    RIP Harold Pinter: 1930-2008.

  • Happy Christmas , I lost my avatar

    December 22nd, 2008
    Mainie Jellett Figuarative Composition.
    Mainie Jellett figurative Composition.

    O well, I lost my avatar so have included an image of guimel, after attempting a braille V, and a semaphore download. 

    Today I went to the National library and got maybe five minutes of quiet time in a Christmas rush that involves me doing all the cooking. (Thus ingredient buying). The Yeats exhibit is still there and will be showing during the Christmas period on the 29th of the month until 4.45pm. The National library is having a facelift at the moment, so people should follow the scaffolds and signs.

    The last twice I saw the Yeats were excellent, at this point I just decide what room to enter before I go in and try to ignore the rest,tantalising as it is. Today I went into the little darkened office-space, wherein two fake candles (insurance reasons). The last time I was in there the angel of the Apocalypse fell off the stand and I banged my head. This is not the thing to do in the hushed rooms of the National Library Collection. Anyway, I highly recommend the exhibition to those who are familiar with Yeats; and to those who might get a kick out of the Metaphysics and occult aspect of the exhibition.

    There’s also a book-sale ongoing in the shop (which is why I had gone in to be honest). The weather is glowy yellow and town (Dublin City Centre) is buzzing beautifully. My shoes were too loud and I did not have enough time to really enjoy; but the exhibition is  excellently curated , and a break from the glitzy tinsel so beloved of our shops. Merry Christmas to all whom read Poethead.

  • Dublin Writer’s Centre Funding Cut and A Saturday Woman Poet.

    December 20th, 2008

    The Irish Arts Council is struggling with the yearly budget arrangements; and well the mainstay of support for Writers has been cut out of the Budget. This small preoccupation has many (many) reasons for me; but I shall refer in brief to two:

    1.In 2003 , the Then Minister for Arts and Tourism decided to commit a major error and introduce legislation (for the second time only in the history of the Irish State) that ties artistic funding quite closely to the organs and instruments of government. An extremely bad and idiotic idea; but we have been struggling with a Government for ten years that thinks Art is a business, thus removing the Arts portfolio from it’s natural place with Heritage/The Islands to a profit-creating sector.

    2. The man who has been appointed to the Arts Portfolio has been directly responsible (also in 2003) for abolishing the Heritage Agency (Dúchas). So it all fits together with inevitable alacrity. We have no legislative provisions nor Statutory Implements for the preservation of our heritage. Thus Tara. The links to the ongoing Tara campaign, which discuss more fully this remiss are on the right side-bar.

    Thats my protest registered. I am disgusted at how our state maintains both interference in our expression; and has no functional application in protections -go figure!

    A Saturday Woman Poet

    The Soul’s Expression by EBB

    With Stammering lips and insufficent sound
    I strive and struggle to deliver right
    That music of my nature, day and night
    With dream and thought and feeling interwound,
    and inly answering all the senses round
    with octaves of a mysitc depth and height
    which step out grandly to the infinite
    From the dark edges of the sensual ground!
    This song of soul I struggle to outbear
    Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole,
    and utter all myself into the air.
    But If I did it,- as the thunder-roll
    Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there,
    Before that dread apocalypse of soul.

     by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

    Love the usage of the words ‘inly’ and ‘outbear’; but then I adore the work of Ms Browning anyway

    Poethead uses OpenID
    Poethead uses OpenID
  • “Looking for Mother” by Dorothy Molloy

    December 14th, 2008

     

    I ransack her room. Loot and pillage.
    I root in her trunk. Crack open
    the tightly sprung boxes of satin
    and plush. Pierce my breast with her butterfly

    brooch. I pose in her hats,
    French berets, mantillas of lace,
    the veil that falls over her face,
    the boa she wraps round her neck.

    I try on her shoes. Her slippers
    are mules. I can’t walk in her callipered
    boots. I break into her wardrobe.
    Hands grope in the dark. Faded bats,

    like umbrellas, are humming inside.
    Stoles of fox-fur and mink: tiny claws,
    precise nails. Lips clamped in the rictus
    of death. I’m hot on the scent

    of oestrus, umbilicus, afterbirth,
    eau-de-cologne, I fling myself
    down on the bed that she made
    of dirt from the Catacombs, blood

    of the saints. Under the counterpane,
    nettles, goose-feathers, a torc.

    from : The New Irish Poets, edited by Selina Guinness Bloodaxe 2004.

     

     

    The Poems of Dorothy Molloy was launched in November 2019 (Faber & Faber)

    I remember well those fox-furs, my own mother was bequeathed a pair and I too delved into the huge old nana wardrobe, bringing out the fur stoles complete with little curled feet and a golden chain effect that operated as a clasp. The wardrobe revelation is part of most girls’ growing. In the meantime, there is a small piece on the trousseau, inheritance and the Island Women on the blog. I quite remember being unable to zip the zipper of my mother’s wedding dress confection onto me at twelve, nor indeed being able to squeeze my toes into the minute satin winkle-pickers that she wore for her wedding day!

    EDIT : 25/11/2010, this is a Reblog of a piece written to mark the 16 day Campaign to eliminate Violence Against Women and Girls.

    Mary Lavin’s Island Women
    International day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women and Girls 2010

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