Aine MacAodha's Blog: My blog, page 6
December 6, 2010
Recent snow pics from Omagh
Some beautiful trees covered in snow, I love the way the snow looks on them,
December 2, 2010
Aine Mac Aodha - Poetry & Lens: That age~ Poem
Aine Mac Aodha - Poetry & Lens: That age~ Poem: "Greencastle Oham stone. That age I think I've reached it: this middle ground in life. Crows feet emerge without negotiation; bunches of g..."
That age~ Poem
Greencastle Oham stone.That ageI think I've reached it:
this middle ground in life.
Crows feet emerge without
negotiation; bunches of
greying hair hover like
mist on the October hedge.
My offspring have fled the
roost, making their own now.
Wasn't easy being Ma and Da.
I think of the failed mixed
marriage, the 80's being a
time of change—
fusing bodhran and lambeg
was no easy task.
I'm beginning to resemble
my mother. Her frown and
pondering nature, her hand on
hip, stares out to the horizon …
my father's need for the headlines
…
I stand still in a changing field,
like the Ogam stones of Tyrone,
grey and pointing skyward.
There are many tracks before me,
all leading down some road.
Morning pains subside in
the summer heat, like the
creaking wood of the stairs.
I think I've reached it:
endured the dark nights of the
soul.
What now?
November 17, 2010
My poem in Enniscorthy Echo
Scalderverse •
Enniscorthy, Co. Wexford is currently celebrating the 1500th anniversary of its foundation in 510AD. As part of the anniversary celebrations, local newspaper the Enniscorthy Echo will feature a weekly poetry column, entitled Scalderverse.
I was delighted that my poem 'Heirlooms' has been picked for publication in the Enniscorthy Echo now celebrating it's 1500th anniversary.
My mother now deceased was Mary Sullivan and lived in a small row of houses at Vinegar Hill before moving to Wexford town and then North. At a young age I read through her old Irish ballad books that she had collected; many began as poems which started stirring poetry in myself. This poem was inspired by a Willow patterned plate she recieved from her mother I now have it and it sits pride of place, so it thrilled me no end to have this published in her home town newspaper.
Heirlooms
If willow patterned plates could talk
the stories they would hold
given from mother to mother
words ingrained on the soul.
It would carry tears of an uprising
from the home at Vinegar Hill
'Basket women' some called them
mopping their men's blood spill.
They too became fighting women
took all sorts to the men in the fields
hidden in wicker baskets
on the bars of their bicycle wheels.
It sits with friends in the hallway
the pattern now faded to grey
almost a century come Easter
with a life time of tales to convey.
http://pjnolan.blogspot.com/2010/06/enniscorthy-1500-scalderverse.html
Enniscorthy, Co. Wexford is currently celebrating the 1500th anniversary of its foundation in 510AD. As part of the anniversary celebrations, local newspaper the Enniscorthy Echo will feature a weekly poetry column, entitled Scalderverse.
I was delighted that my poem 'Heirlooms' has been picked for publication in the Enniscorthy Echo now celebrating it's 1500th anniversary.
My mother now deceased was Mary Sullivan and lived in a small row of houses at Vinegar Hill before moving to Wexford town and then North. At a young age I read through her old Irish ballad books that she had collected; many began as poems which started stirring poetry in myself. This poem was inspired by a Willow patterned plate she recieved from her mother I now have it and it sits pride of place, so it thrilled me no end to have this published in her home town newspaper.
Heirlooms
If willow patterned plates could talk
the stories they would hold
given from mother to mother
words ingrained on the soul.
It would carry tears of an uprising
from the home at Vinegar Hill
'Basket women' some called them
mopping their men's blood spill.
They too became fighting women
took all sorts to the men in the fields
hidden in wicker baskets
on the bars of their bicycle wheels.
It sits with friends in the hallway
the pattern now faded to grey
almost a century come Easter
with a life time of tales to convey.
http://pjnolan.blogspot.com/2010/06/enniscorthy-1500-scalderverse.html
November 3, 2010
Author of the Month
http://www.derryplayhousewriters.org/index.php
With thank to the writers and especially Margie Bernard, Author of 'Daughter of Derry' who is the Editor and facilitator at Derry Playhouse Writers group for selecting me for writer of the Month.
It was at the Playhouse Theatre back in 2000 that the group was officially formed as a 'writers group' and has recently celebrated it's tenth year and is still going strong. It was a real eye opener (in a good way!) for a country girl like myself but one I will treasure as this was the beginning of my journey into serious writing, honing the craft and meeting other writers each with their own voice and gift.
The Playhouse offered a variety of Creative Writing Masterclasses with theatre director David Gothard and Playwright Dave Duggan, 'Dance Lexy Dance' to name just a couple and we also completed a Eurocats community Arts certificate with the Playhouse and Omagh's plain speaking community group.
The Derry Playhouse Writers meet from 1-4pm every wednesday and have done from it's beginning, a great space to get the creative juices flowing.
November 2009, the Playhouse Theatre celebrated its official re-opening after an extensive renovation. http://www.derryplayhouse.co.uk/
Please click on the links and have a look around at the writers site and find out about the other writers and their works; you won't be disappointed,
Aine x
With thank to the writers and especially Margie Bernard, Author of 'Daughter of Derry' who is the Editor and facilitator at Derry Playhouse Writers group for selecting me for writer of the Month.
It was at the Playhouse Theatre back in 2000 that the group was officially formed as a 'writers group' and has recently celebrated it's tenth year and is still going strong. It was a real eye opener (in a good way!) for a country girl like myself but one I will treasure as this was the beginning of my journey into serious writing, honing the craft and meeting other writers each with their own voice and gift.
The Playhouse offered a variety of Creative Writing Masterclasses with theatre director David Gothard and Playwright Dave Duggan, 'Dance Lexy Dance' to name just a couple and we also completed a Eurocats community Arts certificate with the Playhouse and Omagh's plain speaking community group.
The Derry Playhouse Writers meet from 1-4pm every wednesday and have done from it's beginning, a great space to get the creative juices flowing.
November 2009, the Playhouse Theatre celebrated its official re-opening after an extensive renovation. http://www.derryplayhouse.co.uk/
Please click on the links and have a look around at the writers site and find out about the other writers and their works; you won't be disappointed,
Aine x
October 27, 2010
Poem for 7th anniversary of my Nephew Barry lost to suicide 7 years ago today
As this is my nephew Barrys death anniversary, he lost his young lift to suicide 7 years ago today. I would like to dedicated this poem to him and all the others who lost their young in this way, please keep prayers in your thoughts for them and their families as their grief is awful for them, why? is their biggest concern, Many left no notes and this leaves the families distraught as even a note would have consouled at that time. Thanks, Gra, Aine.
Thoughts of you
IM of Barry
It's harder to fill spaces at night when
day has dimmed behind the horizon.
It's a time when cloaks fall to a close
around rural towns.
I think of my nephew whose 'McLean's grin
I see in all the young lads trudging the streets,
looking for answers, yet met with walls.
with little outlet other than
football or boxing to hone
those rough edges.
I imagine he fell into himself
his fledging mind unable to cope
with life's offerings of history,
and status.
The papers today
speak no more of war in the North
but of teenagers calling time on life.
Aine Mac Aodha (c) 2003
Thoughts of you
IM of Barry
It's harder to fill spaces at night when
day has dimmed behind the horizon.
It's a time when cloaks fall to a close
around rural towns.
I think of my nephew whose 'McLean's grin
I see in all the young lads trudging the streets,
looking for answers, yet met with walls.
with little outlet other than
football or boxing to hone
those rough edges.
I imagine he fell into himself
his fledging mind unable to cope
with life's offerings of history,
and status.
The papers today
speak no more of war in the North
but of teenagers calling time on life.
Aine Mac Aodha (c) 2003
The 7th anniversary of my Nephew Barry lost to suicide 7 years ago today
As this is my nephew Barrys death anniversary, he lost his young lift to suicide 7 years ago today. I would like to dedicated this poem to him and all the others who lost their young in this way, please keep prayers in your thoughts for them and their families as their grief is awful for them, why? is their biggest concern, Many left no notes and this leaves the families distraught as even a note would have consouled at that time. Thanks, Gra, Aine.
Thoughts of you
IM of Barry
It's harder to fill spaces at night when
day has dimmed behind the horizon.
It's a time when cloaks fall to a close
around rural towns.
I think of my nephew whose 'McLean's grin
I see in all the young lads trudging the streets,
looking for answers, yet met with walls.
with little outlet other than
football or boxing to hone
those rough edges.
I imagine he fell into himself
his fledging mind unable to cope
with life's offerings of history,
and status.
The papers today
speak no more of war in the North
but of teenagers calling time on life.
Aine Mac Aodha (c) 2003
Thoughts of you
IM of Barry
It's harder to fill spaces at night when
day has dimmed behind the horizon.
It's a time when cloaks fall to a close
around rural towns.
I think of my nephew whose 'McLean's grin
I see in all the young lads trudging the streets,
looking for answers, yet met with walls.
with little outlet other than
football or boxing to hone
those rough edges.
I imagine he fell into himself
his fledging mind unable to cope
with life's offerings of history,
and status.
The papers today
speak no more of war in the North
but of teenagers calling time on life.
Aine Mac Aodha (c) 2003
September 29, 2010
Recent residency at The Tyrone Guthrie Centre
My recent residency/writers retreat at The Tyrone Guthrie Centre in Newbliss county Monahan was in June when I spent just four blissful days but wasn't my first time at Annaghmakerrig; affectionly known as the big house. My first time there was due to Omagh District Council offering me the Tyrone Guthrie bursary back in 2000 and it was my first time to be among such a diverse group of talented artists. I first came to know of Annaghmakerrig by a good friend and fellow Derry Playhouse writer member Bridie Canning (RIP) who told me to look up and read about this eden away from all the stresses of life and to consentrate on my writing which was difficult to do at home with then three teenagers and working part time and newly divorced; so I relished every minite of the two week residency. Since then I have tried to get back at least once a year. The first time there I put together my first book of poems titled, Where the Three rivers meet.
The big house Sir Tyrone Guthrie bequeathed his family home and estate to the State with the proviso that it be used for the benefit of artists. It was an inspired decision and one that has positively reshaped the cultural landscape of Ireland forever.My room was very comfortable with a writing desk overlooking the lake, a large window that opened out wide so that I felt I was out of doors, a large fireplace with pictures of the Guthrie family and every morning early I would see a hare or a deer sauntering through the shrubbery, thats the thing, you sit down to write and one is distracted too by the beauty of the lake as the misty rain often starts at the far edge of the lake and takes it's time before reaching the window. A full bookcase with every poet one could think of there at my disposal to read, and read I did, often late into the night with no sounds except the creaking of the old floors cooling down. No TV, phones or radios, complete peace. I was thankfull for the time to gather another collection and get it into some order before publishing it although there is still editing to be done at least the bones are there.
Mrs Warbrigg. She was a companion to Lady Guthrie, stories of her roaming the corridors made me weary at first, I stayed in her room at the top of the house once and every creak I heard I swore it was her, but no, it was just the sound of a cooling floor, I think....
Tyrone Guthrie bust. The garden beautifully kept by Geraldine Sheerin the Organic Gardener, just to wander through the garden and get the wave of various herbs and plants assalt the nostrils was uplifting. The Chefs' would serve the platters of leaves and herbs with freshly baked bread all an art in itself. The only stipulation was when the gong rang out at 7pm all the artists would sit down together for dinner and a chat, often someone would start a song or read a few paragraphs from their works. Most of the day was your own to do your work, such a serene place surrounded by a forest and a lake it was easy to relax and write, draw or sculpt or just ponder on your next creative venture.
The beautiful garden 
A view out to the forest and lake. 
Thanks to all the staff including,Patricia Donlon Director (resident)
Mary Clerkin Finance Officer
Ingrid Adams Resources Manager
for their warmth of welcome.
Annaghmakerrig 2002
The big house greets with an air of mystery,
petitioning to the gods a poem or song
to touch all our yesterdays.
The lake pretends to scowl at night and
wraps the waiting horizon in thought.
The ruthless breeze is laden with insight.
Songs find their way through the air.
The hearth inherits the fallen spruce,
whilst artists gather their cares.
Spoken signals gather like crochet,
fermenting works that ooze out in dreams,
and filter into daylight
masterpieces.
(c) Aine Mac Aodha
The big house as evening falls.
The lake
September 21, 2010
September 20, 2010
Aine Mac Aodha - Poetry & Lens: St Patrick's Well & Magherakeel Monastic Site
Aine Mac Aodha - Poetry & Lens: St Patrick's Well & Magherakeel Monastic Site: " On a recent visit to Castlederg in County Tyrone I stopped at the small village of Killeter (Coill Íochtair meaning 'lower wood') which l..."
