I went to see The Devil’s Céilí at the Cornmill Theatre in Carrickallen this weekend and was so impressed at the stage set, and management. It was fabulous. The stage design was brilliant and really accentuated the strengths of the play. The play, by Philip Doherty and Kevin McGahern, is very different and I loved the theme and ideas, though I do think it could be edited – is the audience is led by the nose a little too much? But the way the drama makes use of the set, cleverly using space, light and brilliant creativity is very exciting and makes the performance a real pleasure to see. The acting was very good. Glen Shanley and Ronan Ward played their characters superbly and moved so well on the stage. Hats off to everyone – particularly The Crew. It makes me proud to live in Cavan, on the border with Leitrim.

It was a great end to a quiet weekend in Gowna where I got immersed/bogged down in the G Com scandal and debates of who did what where without actually discovering if the premises were bugged. When I first heard of G Com…I thought of the G Spot and somehow that slant never quite disappeared for me, and only served to add to my general impression of raucous hysteria in the claims and counter claims that abounded. No-one can do scandals like the Irish. They produce real ham performances! I love (I’m being ironic) the way everyone gets involved…and has something to say (including me now). The best comment I heard was the ex Northern Ireland Ombudsman, Nuala O’Loan. She seems like a sensible woman. She suggested that the Police Commissioner should be subject to the oversight of the  Garda Ombudsman and that it should be totally independent.

Quirke finished off the weekend for me in terms of performance. RTE are putting on the BBC production of the Benjamin Black (alias John Banville) novels set in Ireland in the 1950s. I haven’t seen Philomena or the Magdalen Sisters yet but the depiction of the cruel, arrogant hand of wealth and power bound by religion and thwarted love in the Quirke stories seems like an apt pre-cursor for some of our woes today. Brilliant performances.

By the way, here is a link to Slainté, my novella published on Amazon. I am told I need to do more to get it out there….oh dear

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HT7LVNW

All credit to Moth Productions and Gowna GAA who put on A Lock of Fierce Roars, a play by John McManus (a Ballyconnell man), in the Gowna Community Hall on Sunday 9 February. It was great to have a local production in the Village and the acoustics were excellent, well worth spending the money on. There is such writing talent in Cavan. It’s good to have it up front and out there, being performed. And the positive activity taking place in the local community is a great feel good factor to fall back on in the in morass of disillusionment and struggle in Ireland at the moment: the bugging of the Garda Ombudsman, the criminal gangs, the drink and drugs culture, the banking failures, trials. Sometimes it seems relentless. Having said that, ironically enough, A Lock of Fierce Roars isn’t a happy, clappy production. It touches  on the darker side of rural life, but in an amusing manner, which doesn’t leave a cloud on the brow. I’m looking forward to seeing The Devil’s Ceili, written by Philip Doherty and local Gowna lad, Derek McGahern in The Corn Mill Theatre in Carrickallen next Sunday.

 It is often local activity that helps brings the bright side back into life (don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten the fraught, status ridden, political tensions that accompany community engagement). In the last ten years, it has been great to see the local community so active in Cavan and supported by the local authority staff who have worked hard to lever in the funding, whether through Peace, LEADER, Arts Council or the EU into the county. For instance, recently Cavan Council’s Arts and Social Inclusion Office recently was successful in its bid for Leonardo de Vinci funding which is providing an opportunity for a large number of local artists to travel to other places and develop their craft. They are also now looking for artists to facilitate local workshops  to develop local visual art projects into some of the rural towns, funded by the Northern Ireland Arts Council. The Cavan Peace Partnership has got extended Peace III funding to help tackle racism and sectarianism. And the Council is looking at how to get involved in the Commemoration of World War 1. All of this requires continued effort, energy, enthusiasm and commitment from local people and volunteers as well as paid staff. And that can be exhausting after a while (particularly after all the fleadhs and other events – The O’Reilly Festival, Taste of Cavan, the Babble Festival, St Paddy’s Day, The Gathering etc etc), so hats off to all those people who still make it all happen.

 But this blog about the importance of community and family is also by way of  a thanks to everyone who responded to my early January blog (in whatever way) about the publication of Slainté, and downloaded and read the novella. It was really interesting to get reactions of people. Of course, I re-read it then, and wished I could edit it further! I  wonder if the meanings and judgments I attribute to novels and books I read are intended by the author. That is the joy of reading and writing…the creativity of each of us!

 I was saying in my early January blog that I was feeling more unemployed than writer. That’s why I self published Slainté. It’s also why I am working on getting a few local projects going. I am hoping to set up ‘At The Edge’, a regular Reading in the library for published authors and poets with an open mic event afterwards for local writers to get an opportunity to read their material in public. And I am running workshops – both poetry and writing. I am still writing, if in a rather haphazard way, mainly poetry and reading it. I am a featured reader in Galway this month. I was also published this month in two recognised poetry publications and will be in a third next month. So this month I am more writer than unemployed!

 Finally, as a writer, I’m not keen on clichés, but this is an old chestnut that always continues to amaze me: the more you put in the more you get out. Sadly, I always only remember this after the event, never during the ‘putting in’ stage. And, I never take kindly to being reminded of it by others. Often what ‘I get out’ isn’t what I hoped or thought it might be…but that’s the wonder of life.

 So with those homespun words, I take my leave of you. Oh, and here is a poem I did at the end of last year. I saw Saving Mr Banks (about PL Travers, the author of my role model, Mary Poppins), and loved it. It’s in the vein of a Carol Ann Duffy series of poems, when she wrote from the perspective of the ‘partner’. Hope you like it!

 If You Knew Mary Like I Know Mary

(after Carol Ann Duffy) 

At first it was great. I loved the escape.

We’d paint our dreams and jump right in,

race on mares from the carousel,

create castles of sand, waltz with animals.

Even when I was ill, it was no bitter pill

She’d give me a spoonful of chips and pale ale.

Mess? We’d make as much as we pleased as

with a click of her fingers, it was cleared.

We danced on the roof tops with chimney sweeps,

we took tea on the ceiling,

a perfect treat!

But life like this, it isn’t real.

It makes a marriage a touch surreal.

I tried to talk to Mary, to explain

we should move on, there was no shame

in settling down.

It was the first time I saw her frown.

Practically perfect in every way

is what Mary used to say.

She didn’t like to be cocky

Mary believed in modesty.

But modest is modest and becomes not a wife.

She never understood the facts of life.

She knew what was right and what was wrong

about banking and suffragettes

and singing a song.

But while Mary could pull a dove from her skirts

and feed the birds,

she knew nothing of how to make children.

For me it became a bit of a burden.

For a man’s a man

He has to do what he can.

Can you imagine Mary naked,

having rampant sex?

No, it’s not what you’d expect.

And she didn’t either.

In fact she slept

with her Poppins clothes on,

yes, fully dressed,

with her parrot umbrella for extra protection.

At first, I thought it a real turn on

but when the Parrot was scathing

at my attempts at love making,

well, it  put me off.

It didn’t help that Mary scoffed.

As she does.

I tried my best to make our marriage work

but alongside Mary, I looked a jerk.

What she gave to Michael and Jane and the Banks Family

she couldn’t give to herself and me.

When I suggested it was time for us to set up house,

maybe in Bournemouth,

she stuck up her nose, sniffed and pouted her mouth

She put up her umbrella and sailed away,

East or was it North?

I heard the parrot whisper

Get a divorce!

The Banks family didn’t seem to mind when she left,

the day the wind changed

and we were estranged.

But me, you know, I was bereft.

I remember, everyone having fun flying their kites

Even my old rival, Dick Van Dyke.

They didn’t notice Mary fly away,

one gloved hand holding that parrot umbrella

clutching her carpet bag in the other.

But I saw that tear on Mary’s sculpted pink cheek

and knew that silently she wept for me.

I heard Lucinda Creighton on the radio last week, a lot. What was that Reform Alliance conference  about? She claimed it was to  hear the views of the ‘people’, of the ‘man and the woman’ on the street. It did strike me that as well paid, elected representatives of the people, the views of their constituents are something that they should already know. Maybe they just wanted to hear different ones.

The media, of course, were obsessed by the notion that this could be the start of a new political party by a band of thwarted but ambitious politicians…and they have a point. If you have political notions, you need politicians to fight for and implement them…if you live in a western democracy.

This is the problem for the Claiming Our Future campaign, set up a couple of years ago. Like at Alliance for Reform conference this last weekend, over a thousand people attended the first Claiming Our Future conference in October 2010. Proposed policies for a more equitable tax, and democratic system have been developed. Working groups were established. Local meetings were organised to ensure grass roots representation. And activities are still taking place  (www.claimingourfuture.ie). But it’s difficult to see how all of this us takes forward without a political vehicle to drive it.

I think there probably does have to be a new political party to forge change…and when I say new, I don’t mean reconstituted or revamped, and when I say change, I mean the introduction of equality and justice in our society with transparent political systems. But that’s easy to say. Who wants to be a new politician? Not me, certainly not after watching Borgen.

Borgen is the Danish political series. It is the nickname of the Palace which houses all three of Denmark’s branches of government, the Parliament, Prime Minister’s office and the Supreme Court..I could not endure what Birgitte Nyborg, the  female PM, did in terms of her family, her colleagues and indeed her political values. I know she is a fictitious character, but it seemed a very much based on practical real life.  I could not make all those political compromises, work with the rabid right wing , give up my relationship, give up my family, endure the fatigue, the awful negative press, and the responsibility for my child’s ill health. And I suspect, to be good in politics these days, you need to be able to do so and more.  To be a successful leader you need particular qualities which enable you to be decisive, ruthless, shameless. For me, that’s the irony. Once a leader develops these skills, integrity, equality and transparency are undermined.

Borgen started each episode with a quote. My favourite was from Winston Churchill:

‘Success is not final. Failure is not final. It’s the courage to go on that counts’

I guess that’s what we all have to do whether we are a disillusioned Irish electorate, a disappointed Irish politician, or an unemployed Irish individual. It’s all a massive, never ending journey, and success or failure, it doesn’t stop. We’re all a part of it, so we might as well make the best of it.

I have also been reading Donna Tartt’s novel, The Golden Finch. I enjoyed it. It’s long and maybe over complex. But, there is a similar theme.  Nothing is as it seems. There is no end plan. Life is the struggle, the doing. Having ‘power’ ‘ money’ or ‘where with all’ to change things may seem to be the ultimate objective, but it’s not. Movement or change comes in the wake of struggle.

As a writer, when I stare at white blank pages or screens sometimes it’s a challenge to remember that. So, keep on struggling, everyone, and all will be revealed …unless it’s Amber, the RTE serial…don’t get me going about that!

Spring 2014 Cavan Poetry/Prose Workshop

An eight week poetry workshop will be facilitated by Kate Ennals every Wednesday evening from Wed 12 February 2014 between 7pm and 9pm in Cana House (behind St Phelim’s School) Farnham St, Cavan Town.

The workshop will include discussion on poetry and different exercises. Kate will provide poems for inspiration, and assignments each week. The group will workshop  the poems/writing of each participant.

The aim is to bring together local poets/writers to stimulate and develop their work.  There will be a limit of 10 participants allocated on a first come, first served basis. Fee is €10 per session, to be paid at the first workshop.

For further information and to register, contact Kate Ennals on facebook or email kateennals@live.co.uk.

Bio Kate Ennals

Kate has just completed the MA in Writing at NUI Galway, receiving a First.  She has lived in Ireland (Dublin, Cavan, Galway) working with local communities and writing for the last 20 years. Kate Ennals was highly commended in the Desmond O’Grady Poetry competition in 2012. She was published in the January 2013 and 2014 editions of the poetry magazine, Skylight 47, published by the Galway group, The Skylight Poets. She was also published in March 2013 in Crannog, the Galway arts magazine. Kate won 3^rd Prize in the Dead Good Poetry Competition, run by Over the Edge and the Galway Rape Crisis Centre in May 2013. She has both poems and short stories published in The Galway Review and  is to be published by Boyne Berries and Burning Bush 2 in 2014.

I never thought I would be able to be unemployed for any length of time. I am a doer. I like to be a part of ‘things’. But, people tell me, encouragingly, I am not unemployed, I write. But, as I sign on, I am technically unemployed. That knowledge lingers uncomfortably, at the back of my head (along with a scarcity of pennies). So, does writing provide me a veil of security, a rationale, an excuse? Does it pander to my lazy, insecure self?  Probably, for instance, I don’t hoover or wash the floor much. Or dig the garden. I prefer to work in bed than get up, wash, sit at a table and chair.  I only stop writing to get out of bed to walk the dog, swim, shop, cook. A writer…who re-writes, edits, checks face book, creates the odd poem. Call that a writer? I don’t know. I am suspicious. I hark back to the writers who came to visit us on the MA in Galway…yes yes yes, they said. But they had all been published. I have not, aside from a few poems.

When I finished the MA I gave myself until the end of 2013 to write. Then I would have to do something. I had a great year. I didn’t fret. I didn’t feel guilty. I wrote, entered competitions, started the blog, edited, read, ran a poetry workshop and danced as I walked. But 2014 has dawned. And it is as if I cast a spell on myself. Suddenly, the ease is gone. I am more unemployed than a writer.

So, I have to do something. It is winter. It is New Year. It is judgement time. I decided to self publish my novella on Amazon. The novella is about ageing. It seems appropriate. Yet there is still that slight stigma about self publishing. But, go for it, Kate, I thought. At least I will be able to stop worrying about it, and editing it. It will have to stand up for itself.

How to let people know? On the blog, I thought. Will I just send out a note…here is my novella. I didn’t like that idea, so I wrote a poem. I haven’t written a poem for over a month. I’m not sure it works, but it now belongs to Slainté, my novella, and so I must send them out into the world together.

Here goes:

Slainté

Isn’t it strange when the colours in the world disappear?

They are there

They ruminate, reflect

but have no resonance.

At the moment the sky is empty,

the day is shaky, the night wakeful,

eventful. Every day

In my winter garden I look for

daisies and buttercups,

snow drops.

But it’s too early, grey

cold, wet and dreary.

So, what to do? I lament.

Maybe, I think,

I can create from my bed

where it’s safe, warm and cosy.

So in an amazon fighting spirit of

Do…Do… Do…

to reclaim colour, I have done;

I have self published on Amazon

A novella called Slainté

For you, for me,

for each other.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HT7LVNW

This is the link. I’d love you to check it out!

Happy New Year! I hope the wind, rain and storms didn’t do too much damage to ye over the festive period and that they presage fresh, bracing, gleaming starts for us all – clearing out the old and sweeping in the new. Strangely enough, on the East Coast where I have been dog and house sitting, while there has been wind and rain, generally the sun has been out, high in a blue sky and shining on the glory of the eucalyptus, palms, pines, ocean waves and Georgian splendour of Killiney. I have been galloping with the dogs and my family over beaches, piers and mountains, visiting old haunts. It was a great beginning to 2014.

I have also been listening to NewsTalk on the radio in the kitchen and in the car. The dogs like the chat (so do I). It was where I first heard about the Limerick City of Culture story. Oh dear. There is nothing like a little bit of scandal to start the year. And the press was like a dog with a bone. As the resignation of Karl Wallace started to come in, I could hear the excitement of Chris Moncrieff, ‘we’ll keep an eye on this one’. Yes, poor public management, corruption, arrogant politicians, high dudgeon and indignation, victims, heroes are great ingredients. They were gnawed and pawed at until I was sick to death of the whole thing yet none the wiser. Why was I none the wiser? Because I never really understood what had happened. It all seemed ridiculous… as is often the way with our political scandal and the way it is reported.

Yes, I am getting grouchy and old (we probably all feel old at this time of year) but I have learned a few things and the value of experience and the importance of process (though I wish there was another term) stands out. What does process mean? According to the Irish on-line Dictionaries, it means ‘a series of actions, changes, or functions bringing about a result’. Think about process in terms of your own life. As you get older, you have more experiences in life. Personally, I respond to those experiences. They inform me. I discuss them. I learn. I change, hopefully for the better. We all do it. So why doesn’t process and  learning feature in our Irish bureaucracies?

I have worked in community development most of my life and ‘process’ is a key concept. Yet, it seems our public authorities and, may I  suggest, the press still operate an alarmist, accusatory, name and blame culture without looking at the origins of the issue. Yes, maybe in Ireland we have issues with responsibility and accountability, but we also need to understand the importance of  process. It cannot be replaced by any system. Sometimes people  see systems as panaceas. Put in a system and everything will fall into place. But the systems won’t work unless they respond to the issue and there will always be issues, always. When one appreciates the value of process, you are able to more easily identify the emerging problems and work towards resolution, making systems more flexible and practical. Supporting a process involves a vibrancy and tension that has to be understood. That is why management is so challenging. Management needs to constantly draw out the learning from the process, develop systems that respond to the learning, and constantly revise them as factors change and process evolves. We all know how hard constant change is to deal with. Management is not easy, as every parent knows.  The New Year’s Eve event in Limerick city sounded brilliant. But none of us remember that now.

Sorry, this early morning train of thought got a little complicated! But, I will try  to end on a simple, practical note. When I worked in the Irish Combat Poverty Agency, we put together a simple tool for supporting community organizations to devise policy effectively. Identify the issue, research possible solutions, build alliances, develop responses and actions, evaluate success, celebrate and start again. I have used this framework for much of my working and personal life and found it useful. Maybe that is too simple, but I offer it up…as a New Year’s gift!

Happy New Year!

BY BILLY COLLINS

           I woke up early this morning after a dream. It was about escape. My need to escape. Usually, I muster the energy to switch on the light and write down the dream fragments still swirling around. When I do this, often the dream takes shape and I am able to piece together a vague if haphazard story. This morning, however, I felt reluctant to pursue my dream. It was too threatening.

            Maybe I had this dream because I am reading a book by Stephen Grosz. He is a psychotherapist. The book is a series of short descriptions of his patients’ issues. Some of them are fascinating, but sometimes I close the book with a snap and a sigh, wondering at the narcissism and self obsession of people…maybe they have too much time and money.

          (Am I beginning to sound cranky?)

          Ironically, being cranky brings me back to my point. Grosz lays many of the troubles of his patients squarely at the feet of their parents. As a doting, responsible, loving mother, I find I want to scoff at this. As a daughter who has just spent a week with a mother and brother, I want to nod wisely for, terrifyingly, I saw in my mother and brother familiar traits, behaviour, rationalisations zipping around as if there were no tomorrow. I feel sure my own daughter and son would agree with Stephen Grosz…relieved to blame myself and their father for their own angst and issues. (Though I am sure they will take responsibility for their generous, good natured, intelligent characteristics – as indeed we all do).

          So maybe my dream originated in my week with my mother and brother who both stared back at me, like a mirror.

          Last week, I finished reading Kate Atkinson’s, Life After Life. I loved it. She tackled rebirth and the different lives that we each lead, embedded in the social and environmental layers that make up a person. I snuggled down happily in that thought, in the layers of Kate in the world, dressed up in the period clothes of time. It is scary to have those stripped away and see the skin and flesh of family with all its flaws, shivering at my feet.

          I love my family and recognise much of their familiar across the gene pool. Sometimes it is a delight to see my mother’s intelligence shine through my children, my brother’s meticulousness, my father’s good nature in their and my own make up. But, other times I dream of escaping.

 A quick poem came to mind:

 Already

I have a list of what not to do.

It’s long.

Don’t criticise. Avoid sarcasm.

‘How not to be like Mother’

But already I am doing it wrong

For already I see flashes

                        crashes

                                    smashes

traces

of family in me, in mine.

No

I need a list of what to do

to achieve

the person I want to be

in spite of what I am.