Daniel P. Wade Paul Francis Quin has proven himself an approachable enigma. The myriad glamour shots gracing the cover of his upcoming album ‘Life on Earth’ and various assorted publicity materials tend to portray him as otherworldly, a strange mixture of glamorous and uncanny. Nonetheless, he is quite happy to talk, in his wryly calm and personable manner, … Read more
Covid-19 has perhaps spelt a temporary death for, amongst many other things, flaneurship – that is, the practise of being able to wander throughout a city freely and unobstructed, making observations as one goes. Peter O’ Neill’s latest collection addresses the flaneur directly. With a background in translation, academia and his long- avowed admiration of … Read more
Dublin, 2015 Four hours after his head gets kicked in, he’s wheeled into the A&E on a gurney. Splayed, supine, he looks like a crash test dummy; blood soils his tracksuit. Only the saliva oozing from his lower lip tells them he is human. His breathing is shallow but steady, hence why none of the … Read more
On the LUAS, she counts thirty cranes spiking the skyline. She hasn’t seen this many since 2007. The entire journey into town, she keeps her face visible; she doesn’t care who sees the scar snaking from her cheek to the bridge of her nose. Under her jacket, she grips the hunting knife, reassuringly heavy against … Read more
Cyprus, 1965 The lads of the 42nd Infantry Battalion sat slumped on the Land Rover’s steel floor as we lurched over dirt tracks; shade from the tarpaulin kept them cool as they spoke quietly together, in Irish. Since arriving in Cyprus, they’d spoken no other language. I knew most of them had joined up at … Read more
Rooftop Blues I could go for a quick smoke on the roof, the steel vent pipe snaking its lobed edges toward the window, hear the incidental music of engines snarl up from Richmond Street, relentless as diesel. Maybe, just maybe, I see people for what we are and want no part in it? Spilled lighter … Read more
‘I say the word ‘forever’ less and less, the more I understand it.’ It’s a good line. I might get it tattooed on my chest. Or carved on my tombstone. During the heatwaves and increased storm warnings of the summer, I felt my heartbeat for the first time in a while. The seasons change so … Read more
I was born in Dublin, but I don’t know where I’ll die. The early summer of 2011 was schizoid. I walked for hours in a soft downpour, the sun crawling in and out the haze, getting the best of both climates. I kept my pace relaxed, cocooned in my anonymity, just the way I liked, … Read more