Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
This weeks' effort was prompted by Emerging Writer's comment on her Diva's at the Body & Soul Festival post...
A Poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your Jellyfish to Homebase
Don't bring your jellyfish to Homebase
I don't care if he asks you with exquisite grace
or threatens to sting you, I don't want to see your face
with him tucked under your arm there.
Don't let him convince you he's that fastidious
and wants a new shower curtain less hideous
than what you have, he's not even amphibious
which means he'll feel fairly alarmed there
Yes homebase is no place for your boneless wonder
he'd be sure to tear the displays all asunder
while searching for aquarium toys, what a blunder
it'd be, he'd lose every charm there
So sit him down and rub his belly
Tell him it's not just because he's smelly
there's just too many sharp things there for a jelly
No homebase for your jellyfish today
Monday, June 28, 2010
Recently I've heard football commentators bemoaning the fact that really great footballers come from the streets, they play for the love of it, and they practise endlessly, discovering their flair through the long hours of ball against the wall and then with others, and the commentator was moaning that there was less and less of that magic happening with the professionalisation of the training process, the corporate approach. Writing doesn't physically hurt as much as football, especially at its worst (I have had my moments of - indoor soccer, muscle pulled or god forbid getting in the way of a fast moving ball - agony, so I know what I'm talking about here), but I guess there could be some parallels.
Writing for a market is a craft and a skill, but writing for the joy of it, is surely more exciting/ intoxicating, more likely to result in something unique... Trying to write for the right balance of motivations is tricky.
You have to think about your own game first, play as if it's the world cup every time, even when it's just a kickabout among friends, don't be crying on the pitch for a genuine tackle, or let a wide prevent you from shooting again, don't spend more time watching others and reading the analysis of other games than you spend honing your own skills, but do learn from others when you can. Just think about the moment at hand, you're only as good as your last sentance, well placed word, whatever..... Stop reading this, this instant and feckin get on with it!!!!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
So this week we were directed by Don't feed the Pixies to take inspiration from a sign for a place in your locality. About 3 minutes away from where I live is a place called Adamstown - It's the first planned town in Ireland since 1982. It was greatly praised in the early days of its planning for the fact that it was actually being planned - a housing development for up to 25,000 people and they were going to put schools and shops in etc. The schools are up and running there now. The place isn't as full as it would be if it weren't for the whole R-word though, and it featured on a recent TV show here about ghost estates mentioning how certain play areas that were planned and promised haven't been delivered there yet.
Anyway - mine's below - other bussers can be found here....
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Anyway, of course I can't remember the 80's personally, being so young and all, but I do have a handy eye witness account in the shape of my diary begun in the year of 1984 (when I was 5), however that diary is lost... it was a 5 year diary, and no doubt it's lurking somewhere, but in the absence of having the energy to look for it, I have found the one begun in 1989 when that first
one ran out (It was a 5 year diary, and I was fierce organised in those days)...
So 1989, what pearls of wisdom can be mined from its crusty shell? (real names changed to protect the people involved)
"Today Ireland won a league against Malta. The score was 2 nil. The Malteze were throwing rocks at the Irish. The Berlin wall was knocked down lately. I got 12 books of tickets to sell for CASA today. On Home and Away today Carly wanted to go to bed with Andrew"
"Today in school a girl bumped into a wall. We watched a prayer service about Nano Nagle the foundess of our school. Tomorrow we are getting a day off because of it. I'm going to the body shop for bath pearls"
"Today is Monday, last Friday I went to Angela's to practise marbles and to write more of "Lines of Rymes" the poem book. On Saturday I went to my 7th lesson in French. I got a French magazine called bonjour. I was invited to a party and I was told about Mr Walsh's death on duty. Nothing much really"
"Today I had PE, I scored one for our side. I went to Gerry Walsh's funeral rights with the school. The three daughters were crying. On Home and Away Steven found out about his uncle being burnt to death. His parents were already dead the same way."
So, in summary, the 80's were all about Home and Away for me. Nice to see poetry in evidence, as well as my trademark wondrous sensitivity...
I leave you with this one, my little bit of "art" from the 80's...
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Anyway - by request of Don't Feed the Pixies - here it is...
A Poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your Geranium to Boots
Don't bring your Geranium to Boots
I don't care if he begs you from the base of his roots
all the way through his stem to the tips of his shoots
Listen to me or regret it
The shelves are stocked for horror there
for plants, seeing cousins dead for health care
Rose extract for showers, lavender bled for hair
He'd never forgive or forget it
Yes beauty shops are no place for geraniums
You better get this through your thickened cranium
for your beloved plant, twould be worse than uranium
Keep him away and don't ever let it
be the cause of him going off his water
let him stay up all night watching Ryan's daughter
Whatever it takes, don't let him witness the slaughter
No Boots for your Geranium today
Click here for Jessica Maybury's response poem
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Here's my effort....
We could do nothing
The statue god was made of string
We could do nothing to save him,
Us... the follower moths
Bathed in the water of life
Just took a spark
To set him off
Pagans smiled and someone, somewhere,
Rolled their eyes, “It’s gotto be a hoax”
They said, and firey rags brightened
The ash dark night, and the kippers in
The pond were smoked
And mobile phones buzzed with the jokes
“Woooah, your sect is on fire”
No one knew that this was just the start
And God was smiting all bad works of art
I’ll finish now before this poem is smitten
But first, I offer the words, as lyrics to the girls in Atomic Kitten
Friday, June 18, 2010
She began to write a year and a half ago and has just finished the third draft of her first book of poems, working title ‘Take This Life’ and is in the process of looking for a publisher. She reads regularly at the Glor sessions and Seven Towers’ Last Wednesday Series.
In her own words:
“Language has always fascinated me and whatever work I am doing, the importance of how we tell our stories and communicate our essential truths has remained a constant. Through work as a teacher, life coach and parent, the power of using language effectively and honestly, interests me greatly. “Poetry can tell us what human beings are. It can tell us why we stumble and fall and how, miraculously we can stand up” Maya Angelou. When I began to write myself, poetry seemed a natural choice and I believe that no other form of writing communicates so succinctly the unique but ordinary experience of being human.”
Join us for a walk and a talk on Sunday at 4pm (8pm in Tashkent) - Liffey Sound - link on the left, or catch up afterwards on http://sundayscrapbook.blogspot
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
"I shouldn't have had that whiskey just now, as I am soon going to have to drive, seeing as I am in a car and all"
Then I said to myself
"You crazy fool! You weren't drinking whiskey! You were reading about drinking whiskey!!"
and at that I was able to relax again, unclench my fist from the steering wheel and continue to read... but I couldn't continue to read, of course, I had to flick back to the whiskey drinking section and try to unlock the secret of the vividness, which I couldn't.
It reminded me of one other instance where the writing was so vivid I felt like I really had lived through it... the other time was with a Haruki Murakami book where I was reading a section concerning a mystic cat torturer, later that day I started telling someone about this awful vivid nightmare I had had that day. Again I'm not sure why this piece of writing had so transported me... I'm sure I've had more such experiences than that, but maybe they're so ingrained that I just can't remember them as false memories and they have somehow snuck into my library of real ones... (I sure had fun with that Big Friendly Giant as a kid though...)
Anyone have any similar experiences to report?
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Another in the ever popular weekly series of silly poems attempting to dissuade you from bringing various animals to various places of commerce. We also accept commissions.
A poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your Ant to Carphone Warehouse
Don't bring your Ant to Carphone Warehouse
He'd be sure to think you're quite the rare louse
If you brought him to such a bare house
He'd never forgive you, no way
There's no picnics to pilfer for your little critter
no crumbs between phones, he'd mistake all the glitter
and would be awful upset when it turns out to be bitter
to taste, oh, he'd be so dismayed
They're a social animal this 6 legged arthropod,
But make no mistake, a wink's good as a nod
Don't need electronics to talk to their squad
Phone shops are no place for Formicidae
So be sure to leave your ant at home
And I don't mean the one married to Uncle Eoin
Their antennae are safer away from the phones
No carphone warehouse for your ant today
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
So I took option 1 of Jeanne's thought provoking prompts - see details here....
It made me think about sound and our uses of it, back to our earliest days, and I came up with the following...
(BTWI don't think my reading in this is particularly good, plus the poem itself needs a bit more work... and I would have retaped except for the genius performance of my wonder poetry dog, and since it's kind of a poem about doting on the young ones, and since she's turning 2 today, I had to post it anyway, plus had to cut the start and the end of it to fit it in... hope it still looks ok - turn the sound off, but back on again when the poetry dog makes her reappearance, her timing is amazing!)
Friday, June 11, 2010
So, this weekend we have the great Peter Cunningham on the show that is known as the Sunday Scrapbook - his chosen theme is "The Collapse of the Celtic Tiger"
Peter is a member of Aosdána and lives mostly in County Kildare, Ireland, although he can also often be found on the sea cliffs of his home county.
Peter was born in Waterford, Ireland, and has at various points in his life worked as a journalist, a kitchen porter, a clerk on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, an accountant, a commodities trader, a barge painter, a newspaper columnist and a sheep farmer. He went to school in Waterpark College, Waterford and in Glenstal Abbey School, County Limerick. He studied English and economics in University College Dublin and began writing short stories in his teens.
He is best known as the author of the Monument novels. Set in the fictional landscape of Peter’s native city and surrounding countryside, these stories are about Irish people and their lives and loves from the late 19th century to the present day. The novels have been widely acclaimed, in Ireland, the UK and US, and in translation.
His new novel, Capital Sins, a darkly satirical novel set during the collapse of the Celtic Tiger, is launching next Tuesday. SCOOP! and even better - dedicated readers of this blog are ALL invited to the launch... details below
"New Island and Dubray Books cordially invite you
to celebrate the publication of
by Peter Cunningham
launched by John Murray, RTÉ
6.30pm, Tuesday, June 15th, 2010
Dubray Books, 36 Grafton Street, Dublin 2 "
Make sure you're tuned to Liffey Sound, 4pm (that's 5am in Alaska) on Sunday to hear us or catch up on the show archives (sundayscrapbook.blogspot.com) soon after.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
A Poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your lobster to Monsoon
Don't bring your lobster to Monsoon
Don't care if he says there's plenty room
I assure you, you'd be quite the loon
if you brought him in a hurry
He'd soon discover it was a mistake
when instead of seeing friends like the cod and the hake
he'd find flowing robes but no wavy lakes
it'd be quite the shock, quite the blur he
wouldn't find rain coming down as he'd hoped
There'd be no drops of water, I don't think he'd cope
He'd be sad as a turtle would sit there and mope
his claws caught on garments all furry
Yes women's clothing's no place for lobsters
He'd be better off becoming a mobster
at least then you wouldn't hear him sob sir
no monsoon for your lobster today
NOTE: This is written by someone who has just reached an awkward age, just today in fact. The awkwardness deriving from the fact that her age is now a prime number - after this it'll be another 6 years before such an awkward age hits again,,, but for now it's awkward...
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
When she finished up the guy sitting next to me said, "that'd be a hard act to follow". I was on next. I still read the purpose built poem... without the pesky extra 's' - sadly also without another line or two - which threw the rhyming scheme in the earlier part of the poem out the door... anyway, it could only get better from there.. and it went alright. There were people shusshing each other in the doorway trying to listen, my fan(s) mobbed me afterwards... I gave away a couple of poems on paper, (the three I didn't know off) and redirected everyone else here... (I mean to this blog - in case you think that here was meant to be clickable and I just forgot to link it, oh ye of little faith)
If you'd like to see a really wonderful poet in action - come to see Eamonn Lynskey's launch of
"And Suddenly the Sun Again"
tomorrow evening in Lucan Library - ie Wednesday at 6pm. He has given me the huge priviledge of being the introducer of him to the crowd, and I'm a little terrified (what with not being as regular a book launch goer as I probably should be and not being sure what's required and knowing that leg one of his launch went fabulously well introduced by the great Karl Parkinson)
So if you'd like to see me try to look all knowing about poetry, you can find me there and then... Eamonn's new book is brilliant by the way... and if you haven't already heard his show you'll find it in the scrapbook archives.... do check him out.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Here's my effort..
In other news: I've millions of news, but sadly a bit too insanely busy to impart much of it, including things about the lovely Quiet Night thing with the coolness and yoof therein, as well as the research update on Poetry - Does it make your hair bad or does bad hair make good poetry, plus a full report on fun and frolics at Dubland Writer's festival so they'll all be coming soon....
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Peter blogs over here, and his poetry has long been a source of great entertainment and hilarity for me. He is a bus poet. He once snogged Dana, and has been onstage with the Boomtown Rats - but sadly hadn't told me that before we taped the show, so we won't be talking about that, we will be talking about many other things though... check him out
"Peter wrote song lyrics for the punk band he was part of many years ago, since taking up writing again in 1985 his writing has taken him to such diverse locations as the Shelbourne FC matchday programme, The Community Voice newspaper, and being poet in residence on the Creedon Show back when it had a daytime slot. His humorous verse has found homes in the shortlist of humorous verse section of the Strokestown festival's competition, was placed in the Kilkenny Swift Satire and Boyne Writers Swift competition and last year he was crowned Baffle Bard down in Loughrea, for which he won a stone turnip.
He published a book of mainly humorous verse in 2009 - A Flash of Orange - and two chapbooks this year.
More recently he has been published in Revival, Boyne Berries, Snakeskin, Southword and Crannog with some more serious poems. He was chosen for this year's Poetry Ireland Introductions series, recently won the Golden Pen competition and is generally pleased with how things are going with his writing." And why wouldn't he be...
He has chosen the themes of Rhyme and Timing to base the show around, and I can reveal there will be plenty of laughs and interesting insights along the way....
See ye at the usual time 4pm (or 7pm in Nairobi) this Sunday on Liffey Sound - live online at the link on the right, or catch up on the archives - at Sundayscrapbook.blogspot.com
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
I've written another purpose built poem for the event, again not sure whether I'll read it... - as always - opinions/ random irresponsible encouragement most welcome... :-)
A Quiet Night In
I'd love to go out
but I couldn't be bothered
didn't want to dress up, or look for another
excuse, so I'm just telling you straight and you better believe it
If I go I'll only be askin you when I can leave it
what I can talk about next to this dude
whether my hair looks all tangled and crude
why does what I'm wearing look faded and dated
next to the ethEreal annoying sprites out there
(the etherEAl annoying sprites are everywhere
no less annoying the fact that I can't decide how to pronounce em
with their stupid EtherEAlness)
who the hell do you think you are
where the hell are the toilets located
and who wants to be here, when home is so nicer
with its puppy dogs tails, and its sugar and spicer
and there's no con artists, selling kegs for a treasure
and there's no closing time, just bed at your leisure
no queueing for taxis or trembling sins
life's much more relaxing on a quiet night in
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Don't bring your Tarantula to Mothercare
You'll find you'd be unwelcome there
with an 8 legged friend in a cover of hair
All the babies would be screamin
Baby shops are no place for tarantulas
They'd swing on the nappies, bite into the hulas
meant for teething babes, who're called things like Lula
and Jingo and Myrtle and Eminem
No, the webs of your charming pale faced arachnid
will not make a decorative lace for the kid
Nor will they stop the blinking back lids
of the prams comin up, as they flee 'im
I don't care if he pretends to be from Nepali
or Icelandic, or Belgian or even Bengali
There'll be no baby shops for this creepy crawly
No Mothercare for your Tarantula today