Tuesday, 30 April 2019
Found Things
I am moved beyond measure to have an essay in the current volume (7) of Reliquiae Journal from the wonderful Corbel Stone Press. This has been a long time dream of mine and I am very grateful for the vital work Autumn and Richard do.
'She is, for want of a better word, hovering; caught in a thin place, liminal- ity oozing out of her not-quite-dry bones. She has not yet met the ferryman and we know it.'
Labels:
corbel stone press,
essay,
found things,
oublished,
print,
reliquiae,
thin places
The Haibun Journal
I have two pieces in the current issue of The Haibun Journal.
*****************
' - like sleeping and then waking; the in-breath and the out...
...With a Faoilleach moon hung high'
[From ‘Crotach/ Curlew’ ]
' – to the right swans take their place in fields filled with water that should not be there at all, water that has ignored all borders'
[From 'Inbhir / Estuary ']
Labels:
nature writing,
poetry,
print,
published,
the haibun journal
Monday, 11 March 2019
A winter weekend in Copenhagen
Words for Lone Woman site on sobriety, borders, stereotypes and nature. The interpretations featured on this site are deeply moving and inspiring.
Labels:
borders,
copenhagen,
nature,
nature writing,
published,
sobriety,
winter
Wednesday, 27 February 2019
'Unnameable Things' for The Clearing
'I have found the words for butterflies, in my native tongue, and I am drawing their lines on my insides. I am ready, now, to speak of unnameable things.'
This essay was incredibly moving to write, and the fact it was written for this deeply inspiring site has filled me with such gratitude and courage.
Monday, 25 February 2019
'Naomh Bríd' for Oh Comely
'When winter lays its head down, memories dance; the delicate ghosts of who we once were...Light, streaming out, unstoppably; to a soundscape of oystercatchers...'
Words about St Brigid, Ireland and healing for Oh Comely .
Labels:
creativenonfiction,
kerrinidochartaigh,
nature writing,
ohcomely,
print
New Year, New Moon Bird
I have some words about 'Curlew Moon' by Mary Colwell on Mark Avery's site. It was such a pleasure to write about this book and my own curlew experiences.
Saturday, 2 February 2019
'That Further Shore'
https://newwelshreview.com/article.php?id=2272
'That Further Shore' has been highly commended in the New Welsh Writing Awards 2018: Aberystwyth University Prize for an Essay Collection Shortlist.
"This collection hinging on Northern Ireland is strikingly organised around images of wild animals. Its themes are ‘making place’ through art, exile, transfer, transition and bridges to reconciliation. Its voice is personal, empathetic and political. Classical references, symbols and motifs from the natural world put this entry into the class of literature."
'Atlantic Palimpsest
https://literatureworks.org.uk/national-memory-day-writing-competition-shortlist-announced/
'Atlantic Palimpsest' has found a home at The London Magazine after being shortlisted for The National Memory Day Prize.
https://www.thelondonmagazine.org/atlantic-palimpsest-kerri-ni-dochartaigh/
'Atlantic Palimpsest' has found a home at The London Magazine after being shortlisted for The National Memory Day Prize.
https://www.thelondonmagazine.org/atlantic-palimpsest-kerri-ni-dochartaigh/
‘Atlantic palimpsest’
-for Heaney and the Peace Bridge
Grey and greying sky
reflected in choppy body,
as our matching heron
performs his balancing act for all to see.
The Donegal hills,
patient,
waiting; barren,
call a siren song,
lost and piercing- on the wind.
ours is a past seeped in rust.
a history bathed in thick, black squelch;
M U D L A R K I N G, always, for our sense of self.
waiting for that ancient bogland
to spit
and spew
and remould
our memory of last Winter,
in all its terrifying beauty.
The years that have passed
are like a body now lost
to the sea: already long gone
many moons before that dark body of water
swallowed it up
-claiming-maiming; tossed
-out and in along a coast line
that will not claim ownership, in the harsh grey spell of morning.
Things hidden under the surface
that cannot
cannot
be kept in the belly of the sea.
Memories that are washed up
all along the tideline- obscuring the path
not yet solid; the future not yet in seed.
I gather spat up objects, broken things and leftover parts of the storm
and begin to see them, clearly, in all that fragile, unstoppable beauty;
under a thundering, Island-thick sky.
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