Launch of Growing a New Tail by Lisa C. Taylor

I am really delighted to be launching Lisa C. Taylor's debut collection of short stories, Growing a New Tail  in the Pearse Library, Dublin on Thursday 3 Sept at 6.00pm. Lisa and her husband Russ are flying in from the US especially for the event so it will be a double celebration for me getting to meet up with them again.

Her first venture into short fiction, this most  accomplished collection  is, as Suzanne Strempek Shea says in her endorsement, 'populated  memorably by characters who must find their footing after their lives have been irreparably altered by loss or circumstance. Richard Hoffman remarks on the exquisite writing, the observations  that are nearly preternatural,  the incandescent intelligence. But there is much more to it, with its poetry, its wit, its undeniable humanity. The only reason I didn't read it in one sitting was so I could savour each perfect image.

With its stunning artwork by Robert Sparrow Jones this is another exquisite publication from Arlen House. Congratulations, my good friend.

   

Alan McMonagle, another fine Arlen House author, will be launching the collection in Charlie Byrne's Bookshop on Sat 5 Sept at 6:00pm.  

Photo: Russ Taylor

Westport Poetry Competition 2015

Westport Arts Festival is running a poetry competition again this year in memory of our greatly missed friend, Dermot Healy. I am delighted to be judging it with Gerard Reidy.

Prizes: 1^st prize-€500, 2^nd prize-€200, 3^rd prize-€100

Cost of entry: €3 per poem, 4 entries for €10, unlimited entries

Closing date for entries: Friday September 4^th, 2015

THE RULES:

Entries must not have been, by the date of submission, published or broadcast in any medium. Entries must be the entrant’s own work. Entries should consist of no more than 40 lines. Entrants are advised to keep copies of their own work as entries will not be returned. The adjudicators will not enter into any correspondence concerning the competition. The decision of the adjudicators is final. You may enter as often as you like, provided entries are accompanied by the appropriate fees. Entries must be typed, using only one side of the page. No indication of the writer’s identity may appear on the poem(s) entered.

Postal entries and accompanying entry forms should be sent in an A4 envelope to: Westport Arts Festival Poetry Competition, c/o Westport Chamber of Commerce, The Fairgreen, Westport, Co. Mayo, Ireland. All cheques accompanying postal entries should be made payable to Westport Arts Festival. Please do not enclose cash. 

Winners will be announced during the Festival on Thursday, Oct 1^st 2015. Short-listed entrants will be notified one week in advance and invited to attend. There will be an Open Mic night at the Creel Restaurant, Westport Quay before the prize winners are announced.

Entry Form

Name:

Email:

Address:

Telephone number:

Number of poems entered:

Entry Fee:

Jetsam

Jetsam by Peter Moore

If I begin it will be with ordinary things, wallpaper curling down like feathers from the damp walls, the holy water font dried and crusted with salt, your apron hanging from the wooden hook at the back of the blue door as if you had just taken it off. I can see you now unfastening it, pulling it over your head, straightening your hair where the straps had tossed it. Rubbing Atrixo on your hands to mask the smell of onions that had gathered in your skin after preparing dinner. Slipping your shoes on.

And still I speak of ordinary things, your tweed coat hanging alone in under the stairs, the one with the short belt, buttons on the sleeve, the cuffs frayed. How you put it on, moved along the hall, as if in step to some unknown music, out along the green road to collect primroses and cowslips, snagging your sleeve on the briars. Sometimes, turned towards the window, your face was in shadow as you studied the waxwings glutting on windfalls, their tails hidden in among the red berries. What else is there but these ordinary myths, boiled up each day in a pot of potatoes, bread sliced like stepping stones, a cup cracked and stained from too much tea, locked in the memory until an apron hanging on a hook on a blue door opens it up.