'Belfast Twilight is a powerhouse of a first collection, leaving the reader hungry for more of the same, but satisfied that such testament to the haiku and senryu form exists in the Irish lexicon.' - Colin Dardis

Alt faoi IMRAM na bliana seo. Article on this year's IMRAM.

I've just signed the Open Letter to support Standing Against Hate in our Communities. Can you do the same?

Ag seastán IMRAM ag an Oireachtas an tseachtain seo a chuaigh thart.

And if you fancy it, you could do a wee bit of shopping with your wee credit card, then go back to your wee hotel for a wee drink.

Join a walking tour - on Sunday 9 November - where I'll be reading from Belfast Twilight with saxophonist Seán Mac Erlaine, acclaimed by the Irish Times as ‘one of the most interesting and adventurous musicians of his generation’. Tickets at link below. dublinbookfestival.com/event/poetry...

Eithne chilling on her mid-term, drawing by Niamh.

Having a chat with poet Nessa O'Mahony here. Thanks to her and Peter Salisbury for this lovely little film. Hope you enjoy watching it as much as I did doing it.

Better late than never, we got into the polls at 9.30, after picking up Eithne who had travelled all the way from Belfast to vote for the first time. Democratic duty done, but a bit disheartening to hear from polling station staff that the turnout seemed to be the lowest they had ever seen.

Roinnt leabhar a fuair mé inniu. Today's book booty.

so fluffy… from a seagull’s belly a little feather falls old dog hobbles through fallen leaves on his paws wee booties side by side swooping way low then way up two crows compass needle a tree’s shadow slowly turns in autumn sunlight above the golden trees a seagull’s sunlit belly

Two gems from Dedalus Press. Neil P Doherty's translations of Turkish poets are elegant and hugely readable. Jaki McCarrick's poetry takes us through landscapes urban and rural in Ireland and England, with a gorgeous mix of the lyrical and the narrative - poems where people and tales come to life.

a boy’s strange shame walking home from school poverty in his bones autumn darkness a man recalls his hatred for his childhood school autumn darkness the crumbling plaster in a man’s childhood house autumn darkness an abbey of monks prays for a man’s soul

autumn darkness in a rain-soaked lane a child’s broken bike a dog barks behind a locked door autumn darkness sound of rain ebbing into silence autumn darkness autumn darkness amidst fallen leaves an abandoned suitcase

Lovely review of Belfast Twilight in latest issue of Fortnight Magazine, by Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana.

Latest poetry book booty, looking forward to reading them all.

This is spectral and beautiful - a 1974 autobiographical 16mm short film about poet Frank Stanford, made by Stanford and his publisher, Irv Broughton. A weave of poetry, talk, shadow images, blues songs.

Film of Cultivating Voices online reading. It was a great pleasure to read in the company of Catherine Ann Cullen, Lauren O'Donovan and Molly Twomey, whose work it was a joy to hear.

Drawings by Niamh Lawlor of poets at last night's Cultivating Voices online reading. Myself, Catherine Ann Cullen, Lauren O'Donovan and Molly Twomey. And a big thanks to Sandy Yannone for bringing us together for a lovely night of poems, and the stories within the poems, of which there were many.

a squirrel leaps to attention the church bell tolls

bog at night the old man’s warning of bottomless holes Everest in its melting snow dead bodies man scoops ice from the river wraps it in straw buried in the dark bog hand-made butter hands shaping a symbol bog body

rainy Dublin in a doorway’s shelter lovers chase the dragon side by side in the autumn wind lovers lost in phones

hanging in a garden shed dead father's coats

I'm so horrified by the things I read that I read with one eye covered and even then I skim because we're only seven months in and already the country is rolling over and no one is righting the ship I thought we would I thought, ultimately, we would I did. I really thought the hero would be us.

Frank Stanford’s The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You. Keen to have a copy of this, out of print for some time. Luckily there's a new edition from University of Arkansas Press next year. Love the excerpts I have read so far. Hallucinatory, incantatory, gorgeously weird.

Current reading. Sarah Orne Jewett's short novel of life in a small American town is both lyrical and sparse, suspect this was an influence on Ursula Le Guin's Searoad. Nice wee read.

Very pleased with Adam Wyeth's nice review of Belfast Twilight on latest episode of Books for Breakfast (Ireland) podcast. At link below.

these are our times: I weep for my country, then make a grocery list

fruitless flight of a wasp in autumn dead flower to dead flower

eitilt gan toradh foiche sa bhfómhar - bláth marbh go bláth marbh - Liam Carson/Rody Gorman

The Harlan Ellison section. Wrote some amazing stories, seems to have been forgotten about, I think. At his best, a wonderful fabulist with a dark, edgy style that could sing.

The October Country. By Ray Bradbury.

flying out of the hole in Hank Williams's guitar a luna moth Haiku found in Frank Stanford poem.

Otherworldly poetry by Frank Stanford.

Ag tabhairt faoi dánta a roghnú on chnuasach iontach seo le haghaidh léiriú de chuid IMRAM.

Unarmed women, children and elders died in the Wounded Knee Massacre. Survivors witnessed troops chasing down children running away to butcher them. And now the US government calls those troops 'brave soldiers'. MAGA would do it all again. Genocide is on their minds. They tell us what they are.

A great pleasure to be interviewed by poet Nessa O'Mahony today for the next film in The Attic Sessions. Lovely chat about poetry, Dublin, Belfast, starlings, what have you. Thanks also to Peter Salisbury, who did the filming. A beautiful autumn day too, the sun illuminating The People's Park.

From The Uplands by Uxío Novoneyra. Translation by Erín Moure.

Got these in the past week. About to take a deep dive into the American South gothic blues vibe of Frank Stanford, called the 'swamp rat Rimbaud' by Lorenzo Thomas.

“But are there not many fascists in your country?" "There are many who do not know they are fascists but will find it out when the time comes.” ― Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

autumn wind drizzling rain blurs a haiku’s words

Current state of bedside books.

Haiku found in Distance of the Wolf by Antón Lopo. tree’s roots sunk deep in dark soil Galician poem at night he follows paths made by cows poet in a dream tall tales by the blazing fire outside wolves howl poet’s dark dream the baying of wolves at his lover’s door

Poem by Uxío Novoneyra. Translated by Erin Moure.

Happy birthday to the good Doctor, William Carlos Williams, born on this day in 1883. '...poetry is language charged with emotion...A poem is a complete little universe. It exists separately. Any poem that has any worth expresses the whole life of the poet. It gives a view of what the poet is.'

Poem by Giuseppe Ungaretti, translated by Patrick Reagh.

Dublin train hurtles past pine forests their darkness deepens blood red marks on the backs of sheep a field in Athenry beam of sunlight amidst the dark pines dragonflies glitter just beyond a bright green field a bog’s deep darkness crow’s shadow on a sunlit water-tower the train races on

two girls hug their crying friend Galway after rain two women lost with a man’s directions Galway after rain

on a man’s head a little moth alights Galway after rain wings folded a pigeon plummets into its own shadow Galway after rain on a busker’s guitar a glint of sunlight spiral dance in the blue sky’s ozone midges after rain

scent of grass crackles in the air graveyard after rain rain sparkles on blue birthday balloons old man’s grave autumn drizzle a white butterfly flits from grave to grave spinning in the breeze a child’s windmill on a grave