The Oath The little hand he holds Is all they could find to give him: Wrapped in blue plastic, A hand once brown, now bloodied and black, The hand of one too young for school, The hand of his daughter, Riven in the charred rubble That had been her room, The hand he held so … Read more
On November 14th I am releasing my debut album Sea Salt & Turpentine on the Ergodos label with a launch concert at the National Concert Hall. The album is a collection of chamber and vocal works I composed over the past two and a half years for Ficino Ensemble and Michelle O’Rourke in rotating subsets. … Read more
December light spills down the halka, through the shutters and across my bed. Living in Fez, the small daily chores take me back to a country lane in Ireland that houses a thatch cottage where my mother and grandparents lived. As the days and months pass, I harbor my habit of disconnection. Studying Darija has … Read more
Old Road Sign The sere severed plywood sign painted a modest white was nailed once to spindly posts among the water oaks. Now by accident it dangles, peeling and warped. Underbrush too dense perhaps to let the fool board fall. The paint is blanched so that it fairly imitates the mists oft seen in bayous … Read more
It was because of Daniel that Mary Ann remembered Tom again; because she’d found out about Daniel’s latest affair. “Latest” was how she would position it to everyone now; one of an incalculable number—whether spaced apart or pressed together didn’t matter anymore because Mary Ann could only see a faceless mass of paramours sprawled one … Read more
This article is the first in a forthcoming three-part series by Cillian Doyle on the role of the state in a mixed economy. Last month there were two seemingly unrelated events which in an Irish context can be connected. On September 9th Mario Draghi’s published his 400-page report on improving E.U. competitiveness. The report provides … Read more
Whom You’re Never Told She pleads with her mantras for years—endless In a hill so tranquil, where she is—she always is There she dwells untold, whom you never know—whom you’re never told Bearing the name; Ujung Geni. The Javanese herbalist who cheats Time and death. She broods in her thoughts no other than To live, … Read more
I was born in Dublin in 1987, and grew up 5 kilometres west of the city centre in a village called Inchicore. Since birth I’ve been completely enveloped by music and creativity. My father, Dave Clifford, was involved in the counterculture performance art scene of the late 70s / early 80s in Ireland. Additionally, he … Read more
The First of February Well, here’s a pile of puke on a bank of snow, Yoga-pants-purple, budget-cocktail-blue, Lava lurid as a toy volcano, Day-glo confetti frozen stiff as glue. The fire hydrant’s calked in hardened gum. A Phillies Blunt’s in a bottle of Pepsi Inside a purple Shark Week Slurpee, And it looks like someone … Read more
One must begin by asking a begging question: is literary criticism, in Ireland, dead? Recently, reading Susan Sontag’s 1966 essay ‘Against Interpretation’, this reviewer noticed the absence of the pronoun ‘I’, which has become ingratiated in the ‘I’ singular, the most fantastic, the singular phenomenological self-view. The singular ‘I’ – the Me, Myself, and I … Read more