My whistle calls the drops,
till they tumble down in torrents,
pounding on the rocks and on the craggy shore.
Then the flood runs swirling brown through every creek and channel,
as though it cannot wait to fill them to the brim, Continue reading
Jamie’s intimate inner thoughts are pell-mell, associative, obsession-driven, literal, and culturally well-stocked. Continue reading
She brought ashore a language / and a pocketful of scraps: / a seagull nested in her mind / and she found shelter in a doorless house / that would let her neither in nor out / though she escaped in a dream / and saw before her a tribe / who reminded her of the dead Continue reading
Mary and many of her fellow passengers – convicts – on board the Earl Grey, having left Dublin five months earlier in December 1849, and disembarking on a grey May day on the other side of the world in 1850.
‘iomán’ focal ar ‘bhreac’ a mhaireann i nGaeilge Chorr na Móna amháin.
A word for ‘fish’ only used in Corr na Móna.
‘sham’ scoláire lae ó Thuaim a chuaigh abhaile gach tráthnóna.
‘sham’ a day-boy from Tuam who went home each evening. Continue reading
Melbourne Hosts successful two-day symposium on Irish Language. Next is a review of Australian novelist and diarist Helen Garner’s How to End a Story, much appreciated by those of us who are Garner fans. ‘Priests in the Family’ provides Enright’s intriguing family connection to James Joyce, followed by an ‘Introduction to Ulysses’ where she talks about her personal experience of starting to read that famous book at the age of fourteen, ‘mainlining language, getting high on words’ Continue reading
Beads of rain streak the window beyond which there is a violet tint in the sky as dusk begins to fall. Dim telegraph poles slip by. Then the chequerboard of yellow and black at the edge of a small town, and bubbled letters caught in the floodlights of an AstroTurf pitch. Continue reading
Always in a hurry, the fishmonger would stay in the middle of the street and shout out that he was there. Women rushed out of their houses with their aprons on. Clutching their purses, they queued for the fish wrapped in newspaper. Continue reading
During the night, my brother Brian’s dog never stopped yapping. Early next morning my mother called out and she always used the Irish language pronunciation of my name.
‘Meehawl, your fry is on the table, and you’ll need it. You have a long day ahead of you.’ Continue reading
I watched her through the process as her fingers moved so fast as to blur. Constantly she consulted the intricate pattern from a book by her side. Continue reading
Tinteán 