Flatmate
Okay, maybe new flatmate is not so weird. But I do get quite defensive about unknown quantities. So.
This dude smokes. Not in the house, though, as that is strictly not allowed, but he brings his smoke in on his clothes, and I quite dislike that.
Hmm, maybe I'm just looking for things to be nutty about.
Not much happening at work. Am likely to go to Manila quite soon, though, which'll be nice, as I haven't seen my mum for almost a year now.
There's a sky-full of rain today. In the mornings, the snails crest the tops of the lawn around here, calm and slow, and crunchy underfoot for the unwary.
I get a bit icky about snails. Let's not go there.
A year in the life of an Australian writer in Ireland.
This blog is now closed.
If you'd like to read more, please visit my other blog, Ivy is here.
Thank you for reading Dublin Up.
Monday, June 30, 2003
Friday, June 27, 2003
Thursday, June 26, 2003
Coriander
Don't you just love the smell of coriander? I bought a bunch for tonight's sushi-making session. Yum.
More Irishishms: 'work away'. It means 'go ahead', as in 'go ahead with what you're doing, don't mind me'.
There's also 'fair play to you', equivalent to a British 'well done', or the Australianism 'good on ya'.
Don't you just love the smell of coriander? I bought a bunch for tonight's sushi-making session. Yum.
More Irishishms: 'work away'. It means 'go ahead', as in 'go ahead with what you're doing, don't mind me'.
There's also 'fair play to you', equivalent to a British 'well done', or the Australianism 'good on ya'.
Monday, June 23, 2003
A sick-day
Don't fret. I'm not. Sick, that is. Maybe of work, but not physically ill.
I like just pottering around. It's a different quality to when I had nothing to do in Aberdeen, though. Maybe because it is am aimlessness intended to relax you and take your mind off things, rather than a pointless filling-in of time by wandering in and out of shops, looking for something meaningful to happen.
Or maybe not. What do I know, really?
I'm planning on going to the Philippines to see my mum soon. That'll be good. I might finally be able to buy clothes that fit me. As I am going via Hong Kong, Mark is already putting in his gadgetry orders. He does love his toys.
And yep, I'll pack a medical face-mask.
A poetry mag has just returned my submission, but without the actual poems themselves. The editor kindly notes that I write "good things". I wonder what he means by that, exactly.
Don't fret. I'm not. Sick, that is. Maybe of work, but not physically ill.
I like just pottering around. It's a different quality to when I had nothing to do in Aberdeen, though. Maybe because it is am aimlessness intended to relax you and take your mind off things, rather than a pointless filling-in of time by wandering in and out of shops, looking for something meaningful to happen.
Or maybe not. What do I know, really?
I'm planning on going to the Philippines to see my mum soon. That'll be good. I might finally be able to buy clothes that fit me. As I am going via Hong Kong, Mark is already putting in his gadgetry orders. He does love his toys.
And yep, I'll pack a medical face-mask.
A poetry mag has just returned my submission, but without the actual poems themselves. The editor kindly notes that I write "good things". I wonder what he means by that, exactly.
Friday, June 20, 2003
Wednesday, June 18, 2003
Move
I am currently fortifying myself with a shot glass of Baileys before tackling the packing-up. Tomorrow, we move to Milltown.
It's not been that long ago that I packed up a shop full of books. Now I get to do that all over again. On a smaller scale, though. Still, I seem to have acquired a substantial number of books.
*sigh*
I am currently fortifying myself with a shot glass of Baileys before tackling the packing-up. Tomorrow, we move to Milltown.
It's not been that long ago that I packed up a shop full of books. Now I get to do that all over again. On a smaller scale, though. Still, I seem to have acquired a substantial number of books.
*sigh*
Monday, June 16, 2003
Poeted
The most enjoyable part of the Gala Event last night was Wendy Cope's love poem, with an unromantic element that ended up making the piece quite amusing. Pity she wasn't there to read it herself. But at least I got to see Julian Barnes, Sophie Hannah and Brendan Kennelly.
Spent most of the time looking at the writers on stage thinking, I could do that. I want to do that. I want to be up there. Alas, not yet, but someday.
David Foster was not all that. Maybe his novels are cool, but he himself could do with some work on his delivery. He sure made an impact on the Irish audience, though.
Maybe I'm too critical because of my acting background. I know that when you're on-stage you certainly have to earn it, audience-wise. Quite a few upped and left, because he was too soft-spoken, couldn't hear him over the noise of the fan. You strained to hear. But you got to admire the ballsiness of one who can recite the first chapter of their book (about twenty minutes' worth) with nary a prop but one's bottle of water to refresh the occasionally parched throat. Props to you, Mr Foster.
Another poet I liked was Liz McSkeane. She was a nervy one, like a balled-up skein of stretched cat-gut, ready to unravel. Her lines were clean and bare. I like that.
My one complaint is the trend to rhyme. Why is that? Please stop. Don't rhyme so much, people. Use it judiciously. As Mark observed, the audience will end up just waiting for the last words, and miss the ones in-between.
Rhyme-shmyme.
The most enjoyable part of the Gala Event last night was Wendy Cope's love poem, with an unromantic element that ended up making the piece quite amusing. Pity she wasn't there to read it herself. But at least I got to see Julian Barnes, Sophie Hannah and Brendan Kennelly.
Spent most of the time looking at the writers on stage thinking, I could do that. I want to do that. I want to be up there. Alas, not yet, but someday.
David Foster was not all that. Maybe his novels are cool, but he himself could do with some work on his delivery. He sure made an impact on the Irish audience, though.
Maybe I'm too critical because of my acting background. I know that when you're on-stage you certainly have to earn it, audience-wise. Quite a few upped and left, because he was too soft-spoken, couldn't hear him over the noise of the fan. You strained to hear. But you got to admire the ballsiness of one who can recite the first chapter of their book (about twenty minutes' worth) with nary a prop but one's bottle of water to refresh the occasionally parched throat. Props to you, Mr Foster.
Another poet I liked was Liz McSkeane. She was a nervy one, like a balled-up skein of stretched cat-gut, ready to unravel. Her lines were clean and bare. I like that.
My one complaint is the trend to rhyme. Why is that? Please stop. Don't rhyme so much, people. Use it judiciously. As Mark observed, the audience will end up just waiting for the last words, and miss the ones in-between.
Rhyme-shmyme.
Saturday, June 14, 2003
Morning
Also, Mark and I are leaving Lucan, and moving to Milltown. How pleasantly sylvan and rural, think you not?
So now it'll be a 20-minute bus ride, instead of an hour. Hmm. "I measure out my life in petrol fumes."
I went and saw a Poetry Slam last night. I'd expected something better, actually, but still, it was amusing. The featured poet, however, was incredible.
Lemn Sissay was so energetic. Even his soundcheck wasn't just a soundcheck. He has caused me to re-think the ways in which I perform my work. I'm sure this influence will start leaking into how I do this from now on. "It won't happen overnight..." Again, I say, Incredible!
Also, Mark and I are leaving Lucan, and moving to Milltown. How pleasantly sylvan and rural, think you not?
So now it'll be a 20-minute bus ride, instead of an hour. Hmm. "I measure out my life in petrol fumes."
I went and saw a Poetry Slam last night. I'd expected something better, actually, but still, it was amusing. The featured poet, however, was incredible.
Lemn Sissay was so energetic. Even his soundcheck wasn't just a soundcheck. He has caused me to re-think the ways in which I perform my work. I'm sure this influence will start leaking into how I do this from now on. "It won't happen overnight..." Again, I say, Incredible!
Friday, June 13, 2003
Again!
Yay! A poem is to be published in Ireland, in The Stinging Fly sometime this year. And I get paid!
Whee!
Yay! A poem is to be published in Ireland, in The Stinging Fly sometime this year. And I get paid!
Whee!
Thursday, June 12, 2003
No poetry headache
Have just been from a session of the Dublin Writers Festival. It was a freebie, which is very cool for someone like me, on a budget, but still wanting a taste of literature.
I guess my favourite of the day has got to be Knut Odegard. If anybody who reads this has any sway whatsoever with regards to getting writers on a festival program, I strongly urge you to invite this extremely charming gentleman. He has a sweet air about him, much like one's stereotyped image of an absent-minded professor, but his presence on stage, in front of an audience, is both solid and slightly mesmeric.
One of his best works that he read today was set in Macedonia, about war's effect on one deaf farmer, Boris. It is at times whimsical, wry, and detailed with the touches that bring the scene to life. Most of all, it was affecting. It is not very often that I sit listening to a poem, my eyes almost over-spilling with tears.
The first poem he read, about oxen, was also read very well. Such a deep, sonorous voice, almost incantatory, heavy with the hoof-beats of those animals.
I heard five poets in all. I think it ran a bit (or a lot) overtime. Poetry events never run on schedule (apart from the ones I organise, of course!). I have one (paid-for) session on Friday, a Poetry Slam event, which should be a treat.
Have just been from a session of the Dublin Writers Festival. It was a freebie, which is very cool for someone like me, on a budget, but still wanting a taste of literature.
I guess my favourite of the day has got to be Knut Odegard. If anybody who reads this has any sway whatsoever with regards to getting writers on a festival program, I strongly urge you to invite this extremely charming gentleman. He has a sweet air about him, much like one's stereotyped image of an absent-minded professor, but his presence on stage, in front of an audience, is both solid and slightly mesmeric.
One of his best works that he read today was set in Macedonia, about war's effect on one deaf farmer, Boris. It is at times whimsical, wry, and detailed with the touches that bring the scene to life. Most of all, it was affecting. It is not very often that I sit listening to a poem, my eyes almost over-spilling with tears.
The first poem he read, about oxen, was also read very well. Such a deep, sonorous voice, almost incantatory, heavy with the hoof-beats of those animals.
I heard five poets in all. I think it ran a bit (or a lot) overtime. Poetry events never run on schedule (apart from the ones I organise, of course!). I have one (paid-for) session on Friday, a Poetry Slam event, which should be a treat.
Wednesday, June 11, 2003
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Blecchh!
It seems like only yesterday when I was complaining about being sick. Well, here I am again, sick with some sort of summer flu.
I haven't written in so long, I know. Partly because the landlady's moved back into the house and I feel a bit odd working in her office while she's at home. And the other reason is because my thoughts haven't really organised themselves sufficiently into blog-entries.
A weird thing about the landlady that Mark finds unsettling. According to him, she seems to be finding reasons to appear inappropriately dressed, i.e. walking around the house in a t-shirt (I think in just a t-shirt) and acting surprised when she happens upon him, say, in the living-room (when the TV is blaring on), or the office (when you can hear Mark typing away in the next room). Is that creepy or what? Needless to say, we're househunting in earnest at the moment.
Oh, my tooth is now A-OK. So here's my big grin for ya. *GRIN*
I've got tomorrow and the next day off, so I might be able to shake off this darn flu. The Dublin Writers Festival starts on Thursday and I'll be able to get in a bit of culture. Yay! I've already bought my tickets for the Poetry Slam on Friday night.
Rain is funny here. It rains in bursts, and then it disappears as suddenly as it came. The best rain is when you can see it coming down a street in waves, heading towards you, and you open that umbrella just in time before it hits.
It seems like only yesterday when I was complaining about being sick. Well, here I am again, sick with some sort of summer flu.
I haven't written in so long, I know. Partly because the landlady's moved back into the house and I feel a bit odd working in her office while she's at home. And the other reason is because my thoughts haven't really organised themselves sufficiently into blog-entries.
A weird thing about the landlady that Mark finds unsettling. According to him, she seems to be finding reasons to appear inappropriately dressed, i.e. walking around the house in a t-shirt (I think in just a t-shirt) and acting surprised when she happens upon him, say, in the living-room (when the TV is blaring on), or the office (when you can hear Mark typing away in the next room). Is that creepy or what? Needless to say, we're househunting in earnest at the moment.
Oh, my tooth is now A-OK. So here's my big grin for ya. *GRIN*
I've got tomorrow and the next day off, so I might be able to shake off this darn flu. The Dublin Writers Festival starts on Thursday and I'll be able to get in a bit of culture. Yay! I've already bought my tickets for the Poetry Slam on Friday night.
Rain is funny here. It rains in bursts, and then it disappears as suddenly as it came. The best rain is when you can see it coming down a street in waves, heading towards you, and you open that umbrella just in time before it hits.
