Poetry Bus : Amber

Not being all that bloggerly of late, it's been a while since I posted something in response to a Poetry Bus prompt, but this weeks's prompt by 120 Socks caught the imagination. The combination of photo and word sparked off some kinda scenario and voice, resulting in the following - hope you like it.


Amber

All the missing days went down and met the rest of my life
gliding in that morning on the clearest skies money could buy
I began to cook with foggy disregard for the outcome

by the time my first guest arrived I had already begun to swoon
coming around each time to spit the metallic taste from my mouth
and scrape off the burnt offerings now clouding the kitchen

beginning again beginning again beginning again
like the audio track set to loop in the limited seating area
seemed the best chance of breaking through charred surfaces

with my home now full of people I could only hold my place
as crowds swam around me, those people asking questions
seemed to be in the minority, most were complacent

while some were advocates, extolling the benefits of exiting
or building a mezzanine or turning off the heat
others ate, glared, belched, smiled, kissed, fucked

it was all I could do to stay on my feet and even sleeping upright
I kept one eye open because I knew that if I went down this time
there'd be nobody, possibly even no thing to share when I awoke

so it was ordained.



© P Nolan 2011

Loads more responses to the prompt here.

That's it : I'm outta here!

I haven't been posting much here over the last while - been quite busy with other stuff.

One thing I finally got around to was moving my blogging activity over to the Wordpress platform, which just seems to allow a little more flexibility. Blogger seems to be attracting more spam too? So, from now on, I won't be blogging here, I'll be over there. The Scaldervillage Voice has hereby closed shop.

Hope to see you over at the new spot. Its a work in progress at the moment - plenty of tweaking left to be done. I'm also going to be on Facebook over here. As for Twitter? We'll see.

I've enjoyed the run here - and, in truth, the content will probably be quite similar at the new place - it'll just be a bit more integrated with my artwork etc.

Thanks to all the visitors and those who left comments - it's been fun! If anybody has me bookmarked or blogrolled, I'd politely ask you to please update your links to my new abode? I'll aim to reciprocate asap.

Ciao fer now!

Poetry Bus : Sign O' The Lino

This week, TFE's Poetry Bus is in the safe hands of the good Barbara Smith - and her prompt involved responding to the line;

'I got down on my knees and smelled the brand new linoleum,' from a story by Edna O'Brien, with emphasis on responding with longer lines.

Which I did - like this;

Trackstopper

I got down on my knees and smelled the new linoleum
and blessed the modern age that threw this dreamtime down

unrolled a pristine plane across my gritty concrete cage
clapped into place a slippery playground, this stage

across which - newly confident - I'd glide, a dancer born
my encores blowing faded floral curtains wide

a technicolor faun cavorting in my den until
I'd curl to snooze - a faded star becalmed again

alas, at other times my knees would squeak and drag as if
arrested by some drogue, a limpet smacked in place

I'd stick - just like that - scabbed knees turned to roots, topple
face down, cheek pooled cool to ground - looking back I'm glad it wasn't jute

The Poetry Bus : Scalderville Request Stop

World Wide Weird. One of the other poets mentioned a bizarre coincidence in terms of the image this project threw up for them.

Now I've just had mine. Shvvvvvr. I went with the number 12. The 12th square linked me into the image archive of the Musée McCord in Montreal. The McCord Museum is a public research and teaching museum dedicated to the preservation, study, diffusion and appreciation of Canadian history. Now here's the spooky part.

I counted down the page to image number 12, which turned out to be the photo of the august gentleman you see above. The caption describes him as "Mr. Whitney(?), Enniscorthy, Ireland, about 1885." An Irishman! What a coincidence, eh? Not major though - except that Enniscorthy is also my hometown, where I was born and raised. WTF? The universe is definitely trying to tell me something. Very 'Artists Way' indeed :-o

Enniscorthy is a beautiful place, culturally and historically rich, yet there's sadness too. The local landscape is dominated by Vinegar Hill, where the 1798 rebels were finally defeated, blasted back against the bare rock, as commemorated in Seamus Heaney's poem Requiem for The Croppies.

For a small enough town, it has produced a great many writers, including Anthony Cronin, Colm Toibin, Eamon Wall and - a more recent addition - Peter Murphy, whose novel John The Revelator, garnered noteworthy reviews and heavyweight fans.

Anyway, enough metaphysical tourism - how to deal with such a familiar subject in this particular context?


Around 1885

There was river traffic still
though the forest had long been cleared

In Deadwood they were mining seams
at home the gold was barley, harvested and brewed

Rabbits scattered - just as now - bared on stubble
cropped by hand, the season still the same

By the gate, Whitney saw a final coney jink to cover
opened his eyes to Montreal snow


© P Nolan 2010


And now, a warm Scalder welcome to my fellow Poetry Bus passengers. Tayto anyone?

Karen is thinking thrashy.

Rachel Fox Mad Max, the opera?

Dominic Rivron is having a Kiwi moment.

Enchanted Oak is laying down supplies.

Sandra Leigh is getting minty fresh.

Niamh B with a touch of Poe.

Titus the Dog is feeling a little 'ruff', yet experiencing the Poetry Bus twilight zone.

The Watercats are seeing Goblins.

Argent is time travelling.

The Bug is sizzling.

Jeanne Iris is setting sail.

Uiscebot is getting frisky.

Poetikat razzes the moneymen.

NanU is catching toads.

Swiss considers British algae.

Crazyfieldmouse is parched.

Pure Fiction is exorcising.

Great stuff and thanks to all!

The Poetry Bus conductor is hanging out the back with an outstretched hand for tardy travellers - make a dash for it!

* ADDENDUM * Here's a response to the prompt from my non-blogging friend, poet Chris Allen;













Not unlike the Trees at Dyrehaven

Tomorrow in this place the sun will shine,
The choirs of old will be recalled in the acoustic arch,
The beauty of nature reign supreme
And the holly trees squat and summer green,
Their thorns a little rounder - berries gone,
November passions fallen – their reds fired to earth.
This formal wheel - its turn in turn will take.

And I cannot imagine the face that I might have
There in the moment to carry the tides of existence,
To turn into the wind of shapes and matters
This final record of the watch.

Tomorrow as you rise above the valley
Move beyond the canopy and linger
Fluid and abiding like a river returning

The berries I saw fall here last October,
A velvet vein of wine in the still of winter
Sweetened and distilled by time and distance
A moment alive in the breath of it all to trace
Elements as periodic as a glimpse of the eternal
In which a man might make his soul a shelter.

If everything is thrown before the heavens,
Exposed to every weather in acceptance,
Home, is a memory sustained
By forces which are more than we can name
Of moments felt and entered in the heart -
A place existing always where you are.

© C Allen 2010

The Poetry Bus : All Aboard!

So the Poetry Bus has been rattling away along its circuitous route for a while now, and.. Parp! Parp! Good Lord, here it comes, hurtling with a distinct lack of decorum down Scaldervillage's main street, mit ye merrye olde buschauffeur ag gáire amach as an fuinneog. Let the dust settle, stock up on Tayto and Red Lemonade and step onboard to partake in this week's trip.

So, first things first. Before going any (ahem) furthur, please pick a number between 1 and 14.

Ok? Got it? Certain? Right, onwards.

The following link will bring you to a web page. To the right - just below the main image on that page - you'll see a group of 14 small squares. Each of these is a (randomly generated) link to a particular archive of photos. Click on the square that corresponds with your chosen number. Count down to the image in that particular collection that matches your chosen number. Let that image (or whichever tickles) be your prompt. Write.

Here's the link.

These photo archives are part of a larger project called The Commons on Flickr. Be Careful! You could quite easily spend the rest of your day (and then some) browsing the visual riches therein.

Don't do that (now). Instead, write! Then post your poem on your blog and comment here to let me know when your work is online. I'll post again on Monday.

Note : In general, the photos in The Commons are intended to be used for personal, educational or research purposes, so there are usually "no known copyright restrictions" - allowing you to reproduce them on your blog if you wish. But please respect any restrictions that may apply to any individual image, if so stated beneath the image.

Have Fun!

As The Crow Flew : Temple Bar and beyond

Well, the Crow Gallery show was a resounding success! A great turnout for the launch itself, with plenty of interested bodies through the gallery over the course of the exhibition. It was a real treat to get the work in front of a new audience - and the paintings got a great response all round. I sold about 70% of the work - which is remarkable given the CEC™ (current economic climate). Huge thanks to all those who purchased, attended, sent good wishes etc. It's been memorable!

I also had the opportunity to attend 2 really excellent exhibition launches last thursday; Comhghall Casey at the Merrion Hotel, courtesy of Solomon Fine Art, and Joe Dunne at Ib Jorgensen - two serious painters in fine fettle and full flow at the mo.

Also, due to being in town, I got a chance to take some photos of those Edward Delaney sculptures I mentioned earlier- that's them up top - epic work!

I missed TFE's poetry bus this week - but hope to have something for next monday's challenge. Should be a good one.

Off to the Crow Gallery again tonight, for the launch of Cloudburst - new paintings by Helen McNulty, also curated by my colleague Tony Strickland. Looking forward to this one - the work should be good, and I'll be off-duty :-)

The Crow Show : Up the Walls

So, the stuff is stuffed, the deed is done, the walls may not be altogether plumb, but then neither is my head. Finished hanging Ecotones last night and it's looking decent, if I may say so. Launch tonight at 6pm - feel free to drop in. Should be fun - maybe moreso if the rain that's bucketing down on Dublin today goes away for a while.

I've been a bit hectic between this, that and the other - so didn't get to post my Monday poem yesterday - so here it is now. Reacting (not quite sure how, though) to Totalfeckineejit's photo prompts, resulted in something a little different, voicewise;


Sage

Tell once again the strange tale of the talking dog
how one day he raised his head and said

"I've only been quiet all this time
because I've been so busy watching you all
and couldn't believe my eyes."

think back to the various expressions of surprise
among the small gathering who happened to be there

to witness the burble of unbelief, self-doubt, fear
then finally the growing chorus of blame

and how that dog ducked and spun through a forest of legs
avoiding most of the blows, until finally disappearing from view

obscured by the dust of the disturbance
leaving behind a streaked crop of twist-legged hunched backs

scouring down into the settling dust, sweating, grumbling
finally meeting each other's eyes and seeing there

accusation, defeat, suspicion, confusion at the supernatural occurrence
that nobody really believed had taken place anyway

until the silhouette on a nearby hill
howled

© P Nolan 2009

Monday Poem : Hometown Thoughts




Monday again, and here's my contribution to Totalfeckineejit's Monday Poem exercise. Another quickie, broadly on the theme of hometown / leaving;


Coronation

Aged five, we moved two miles outside of town
trees greened and became my playmates

hunkered snug between their roots
to shelter from a squall

toting arm-thick branch lengths, lancing
through head-spun territories

or serving as a gnarled Lee Enfield
from the comic strip trench of a laneway ditch

gleaming hazel rods forked, bronzing
some never-certain divination

early Autumn rain drummed down mystic jewels;
chestnuts, glowing burnt umber

then - older - the tempation of those lowest boughs
hoisted me, finally breaching the canopy, a head

among the beech tips, wondering how I measured
on the grey cathedral spire of a world left behind.

© P Nolan 2009

Monday Poetry : A Cafe Scene





A certain blogging acquaintance came up with the idea of making Monday a sort of rolling poetry day - with a new theme / challenge each week. The idea being to write something quickly and post it equally quickly around about 7pm. This weeks theme was a café scene - here's mine - and you can check out other participants via the comments here.

Diner Dance

each time I come back to this dining place
despite the random peppering of chairs
with varied faces never seen before
the empty ones are always waiting there

some face me while the others coyly skirt
the crooked aisle that makes my walk a dance
these passive partners frozen to the floor
I swing my hips through their feigned nonchalance

foursquare they sit, denying molecules
that whizz and dip and pirhouette inside
that kiddy's blurt of juice, the mother's lift
of eyebrow and her pressure-venting sigh

time and again I touch the wallflower chair
melt one into the other, take the floor
as watchers changed to prey avert their eyes
we turn the tables on the pack once more

An inner émigré : Stepping Stones review

My review of Stepping Stones : Interviews with Seamus Heaney is now online over at Todd Swift's wonderful blog, Eyewear. It's a smashing book for dipping into, full of personal insight and recollection, coaxed into daylight by O'Driscoll.

Just got myself a ticket for the special 70th birthday tribute for Heaney, planned for this year's Poetry Now festival - yay! My understanding is that the festival poets will read a favoured Heaney poem, or perhaps something else that they deem appropriate. I'm sure its a fairly open brief - should make for an interesting event. The tribute is scheduled for Saturday 28th March, though the poet's birthday is a little later, in April.

Interesting, or at least coincidental, to note that he was born in the same year WB Yeats. Yeats died on 28th January 1939 - Heaney was born a few months later on 13th April. No occultist conspiracy theories please!

I'd guess Heaney is in for a fair few celebrations this year to mark the beginning of his seventh decade. I believe RTE has even pushed the boat out and - gasp - commissioned a symphony!

Happy Birthday Abe

Isn't that a beaut! In keeping with my previous celebration of 200th birthdays of prominent Americans, I thought I'd note that today is the two hundredth anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln. The image above is by Irish Illustrator PJ Lynch, from "Lincoln and His Boys," written by Rosemary Wells. (in bookshops now). PJ was on the Tubridy show on RTE radio 1 earlier today talking about the book and Lincoln in general. I believe its one of the first books PJ has illustrated using oils rather than his usual watercolours - looks like its all the richer for it!

Doherty Does Dublin




So the Babyshambler himself turned up (whatever about on) and delighted his Dublin Liberteenies with a display of detached dissolution. Pete Doherty was in town last Friday, to visit TCD's Philosophical Society and made an appearance on the Late Late Show. Much discussion online about the resulting shenanigans (or lack thereof). Whatever about Doherty, Pat Kenny seems to have come off as wooden and misguided as ever - without the aid of any chemical handicaps whatsoever?

But there's an interesting article by Peter Murtagh in today's Irish Times which relates how his teenage son was enthralled by Doherty, to the point of digging (out) some Yeats, and even a bit of Wilde. It brought to mind those comments that Seamus Heaney made about Eminem a few years back.

Now, I share a reasonably common view that Doherty is a mediocre talent 'bigged up' by the UK celeb machine. He's obviously got charisma and ability - as well as a serious dependency problem. I just can't see him as some kind of cross between Bowie and Baudelaire for our hollow age.

Yet it seems he's capable of firing genuine enthusiasm and inspiration in his youthful admirers - hopefully encouraging literate curiousity rather than narcotic. Is this a good thing, I wonder? Or does it simply re-affirm certain (misconceptions?) and stereotypes of the poetic personality - and not just in teenagers?

EDIT: There's an edited transcript of Doherty's interview at TCD now online at the Irish Times. Not particularly inspirational or anything - but quite 'funny old rock'n'roll' in parts, whether intentional or otherwise, e.g;

"I’ve bought a book about the psychology of cats, trying to get inside their heads, but they just piss on the duvet. They don’t care."

Elsewhereabouthese(p)arts

Some interesting browses of recent days;

Over on the Guardian Arts blog, Billy Mills welcomed the arrival of Lughnasa in particular and Autumn in general with a call for posts of Autumn poems - which quickly led to the usual syndrome of blog commentators picking a tangent and engaging in hostilities thereon. This time its about obscenity or violence of language and imagery in Art, no less. Some tasty poems scattered in there though - and the thread is still growing!

***

Expat Hungarian poet & translator George Szirtes' blog is consistently thought-provoking, always worth a visit and a couple of recent posts, springing from his recent trip to his birthplace, Budapest, stood out. But there's no shortage of great stuff here, from his trademark dry humour to more sombre commentary. Just excellent!

***

Meanwhile, over on Polyolbion, Matt Merritt has a good review of Happenstance stablemate James W Wood's recent collection, Inextinguishable. It's a cracking collection, which I hope to review here myself soon. One distinguishing feature is the fact that it's illustrated - students of Edinburgh College of Art interpreted his work, to mixed effect. This is an area that interests me - but it's rare to see a really successful collaboration of this kind. In that regard, I feel this book isn't quite there. However, the poems themselves are fine! Some of the artwork is fine too, but together - I'm not so sure?

***

Finally, over at the Irish Times, I see Aidan Dunne had also previously reviewed the I Can / Can I ? exhibition which features on the post below. He's a bit more emphatic in his take, where I found myself a little less moved - more bemused really. To be fair, I think that's part of this particular exhibit's intention. Anyhoo, who cares what the feckin' critics think - get in there yourself!

Hi. Again. At last. (For a while?)

Well now. In spite of many weeks of my non-posting (and the noticeable amount of quality long-term bloggers who are calling it quits) the blogosphere hasn't yet ground to a halt. A good thing? I think so. It's true that maintaining (any sort of quality in) a blog can be aright old chore - but what a great way to make and feed some of those synaptic contacts that internet technology always promised. And waffle freely.

I can't plead any kind of strategic decision behind my own recent lapse in posting. It just came down to being on holidays for the last two weeks and a bunch more weeks of random hectivity (hection?) before I went away (of which, more anon). Anyway, I'm back now - energised, tanned and typing again. Please do let me know if there's anybody left out there. I feel bad for disappearing just as a few people other than myself were starting to drop by. To be fair, I've always referred to my own wee cul-de-sac of the information superhighway as an 'intermittent' blog (Suffering the Intermit, anyone?) and so it has proven to be.

So, please allow me to re-kickstart proceedings by linking to a couple of (still-relevant) reviews which I penned for the Evening Herald before chucking a few more euros into Ryanair's coffers, and which appeared in my absence;

Chekhov via Friel : Three Sisters at The Abbey

Space Drama : Ulla Van Brandenburg at IMMA

Blogspotting!

A quick runaround some of my current online haunts reveals:

A NICE OVERVIEW OF CÚIRT on Nuala Ní Chonchúir's blog.

A RUNDOWN OF THE WINNERS of the Hennessy New Irish Writing Awards ( including links to shortlisted work) over on the Emerging Writer blog.

A NICE MIX OF POETRY AND PHOTOGRAPHY on Mark Granier's Lightbox blog.

Patrick Chapman's fourth poetry collection A SHOPPING MALL ON MARS is out now!

UK poet Matt Merritt blogging about his new collection TROY TOWN.

All well worth a gander!