Translations - Brien Friel 2014

The naming of things, the definition of boundaries, can be so soothing - to know where you are. Like this most beguiling of plays, that starts off so soft and quiet. you would not notice someone calling you a different name, why bother when Roland sounds so similar to Owen. Or Eoin. How important is it, really?

"It's an eviction of sorts"
 Translations is one of the most disturbing pieces I have seen for years. The story involves the redistribution of boundaries. The old Irish place names don't really match up with each other and and are beholden to old and forgotten stories. It's best we move on, with clearer and crisper boundaries. Right?

But with the new names the new boundaries are drawn up for... whose benefit? When a boundary is defined for the national purpose, there are usually for the nebulous "greater good". It never seems to reach the local people, whatever it is. This seems a gentle piece at first, until a seemingly random piece of violence (never confirmed) propels the second half into something deeper, darker.

I won't give you a spoiler if you have not seen the piece. But if you are dual nationality/ Dual language/ dual identity you may find yourself troubled by this. Or reassured by it's recognition of the forces that could tug at someone. As I am I can see the need for modernity. for shaping and measuring names. How can we talk except with a common and agreed language. As a second generation Irish,  British citizen I can see the damage done by the legacy of twisted history. But on the other hand, I am also aware of the damage wrought by ignorance designed to "protect" future generations. Who is it that  decides, imposes, new names? And what history, whose stories, do you erase for the arbitrary ease of your children?


The ambiguity of the piece was not softened with the violence, implied and otherwise of the final act. When someone else defines your world, why be surprised when they take it over?Language, words shape our worlds. If you do not tell your story, someone else will tell it for you. And always there is the shadow of the potato blight hanging over any potential future of the piece. It is set in 1833, years before the blight of 1845. The sweet smell never felt so ominous, especially for thopse who are aware pf what happened next

I was hoping to give you a proper or otherwise review of a play. I am too disturbed for that. This play provokes questions, and for you. I have no answers. Maybe that is the point.

Translations runs until the 03 May at the Rose Theatre, Kingston upon Thames. I would recommend that you see this rare treat.  Details here: http://www.rosetheatrekingston.org/rose-productions/translations

Other worlds, other voices - ach dhá dhomhain difriúil?

Disaster!

I wanted to write something about the feel of the languages, the world that Irish evokes. How the feeling... feels. And compare it to English. Because of I have learned anything (and sometimes it feels like I haven't) at all it's that the words describe two different worlds....

.... and the feelings I have cannot be described in the Irish I have. Yes, the words can be found but it's the life behind them, the idioms, the feeling that I cannot understand, never mind convey.

I am beginning to wonder at what I have written. But it's too late, I'm bringing it in tomorrow. I don't know.

RIP Seamus Heaney

But I've no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

"Digging" by Seamus Heaney. Hear (and see!) Seamus read it on youtube here

Seamus Heaney passed away. A sad loss to his family and to the people who admired his work.

I count myself as one of them - I've reading started to read his work, not expecting to find much to interest me. It surprised me, how the beauty of the poems touched me. That someone finds Ireland, the bogs of Ireland beautiful still feels like a strange thing. Why is this, I wonder?

Heaney's work is heavily rooted in the soil, especially his poems about the people found in the bog (Bog Queen springs to mind). But it wasn't just that, his poems examine his connection to, his love for his family. There's almost a guilt about not following in his fathers footsteps, but surely that's what we as human beings must do. Find our own way to own our traditions, sometimes that means stepping away from what our parents made us. Times change, and our lives need to change with them. but that doesn't mean we don't love our roots - does it?

And in honour of the man, please enjoy this reading of "the rain stick"
 

Botanic gardens

Seasonally effected - 24 April

Dublin or Baile Atha Cliath?

I'm really quite excited, the podcast from this month's seasonally effected is already available to hear. Do you want to listen? There's an eclectic mix of poetry, history, sound experiments, animation and surreal fantasy. You can download it here

My piece explored the history around the 24th April, 1916. It's an important date in history for me, and for many Irish people as that is the date that Pádraig Pearse read out the declaration of the Irish republic on the steps of the General Post office in Dublin.The Easter rising ended 6 days later on 29th April 1916 - Pádraig Pearse had given the order to surrender.The aftermath was as bloody as the fighting.

I read out a couple of poems I had written about the Irish women who were present, the women who seem to have dropped off the face of the earth as far as a lot of historians are concerned (if you hear about anyone it's usually Constance Markievicz, the first women ever to be elected as a British M.P.) So just to spite them I wrote a poem. That'll show them!

So, the next Seasonally effected will be on 29th May 630pm-9pm. Will you be there?

Tá sásta orm - Manchester Turf

Turf, fresh from the Manchester fields ;-)
Image credit: SM Jenkin

Tá sásta orm - I am happy (The happiness is on me if you want to be more literal about it)

I managed to get away to Manchester for their St Patrick's day parade last weekend. Their celebration was out of this world; a full two weeks of music, literature and culture culminating in a parade that stopped traffic in Manchester city central.

Many of the people up in Manchester originated in the wild west of Éire, county Maigh eo (Mayo to all you Sasanach out there!) are you enjoying the view of the lovely turf to the right there? Someone was selling it as incense at Albert square... there were many tractors on display that day

It got me thinking, how happy I was to be there. Proud about my Irish heritage yes, but also proud of my English heritage that could celebrate the Irish language and culture with us. I love how the happiness is "on" me, rather than me being the emotion. It's a recognition that the feeling won't be me, won't last forever. And on that thought..... slán!

The year of the snake

Celebrating the year of the Snake. Chatham High Street 17/2/13
Image credit: SM Jenkin

Happy new year!
So we are now entering the year of the snake, quite an interesting animal for a writer to relate to. There are so many myths and legends attached to this particular animal.

The second thing I think about is the myth of Saint Patrick, and his expulsion of all the snakes from Ireland (can you guess what my first reaction/ thought is? Exactly).

What I find it interesting is the story, did Patrick really get rid of all the snakes in Ireland? Or was he, as so many storyteller friends of mine assert, talking about the druids in the area?

When it comes to stories, myths and legends they always have strings attached. Whose translation do we use today? Whose ideas are weaved into a "plain story"? What's the real message here? This is something that angers me, when I am told that I'm "reading too much" into a story, all stories have assumptions. What is wrong with questioning them? Questioning and challenging, re-telling stories are the only way they stay interesting, the only way they speak to us.

Hence, the year of the snake. One thing I can admire is their ability to shed their skin, to let loose the constricting skin of last year. Do we want to start that now? What stories do you want to tell, in your own way?