Book Club - The Pornographer by John Mc Gahern

The book club choice for February is 'The Pornographer' by John McGahern

Brief Description

One of the preeminent writers of our time, John McGahern has captivated readers with such poignant and heart-wrenching novels as Amongst Women and The Dark.

In The Pornographer, Michael creates an ideal world of sex as a writer of pornographic fiction, while he bungles every phase of his entanglement with an older woman who has the misfortune to fall in love with him. But his insensitivity to this love is in direct contrast to the tenderness with which he attempts to make his aunt’s slow death in a hospital tolerable. Everywhere in this rich novel is the drama of opposites, but above all, sex and death are never far from each other.

John Mc Gahern

The first time I listened to John McGahern was on a programme produced by RTE, and I remember going from mild interest to being absolutely absorbed by what the man had to say.  He spoke about writing, the art, and the need to write, and as this was in the days before you could pause a programme, or view it later as a download, I ended up grabbing the first piece of paper I could find, (which was a torn up telephone bill) and started madly to write down notes.  I still carry that torn phone bill around in my wallet.  The many quotes I took down are each a gem, but for now, I give you my  favourite:-

'A good writer is present everywhere, but never visible.'

Walking/Photo Journal - Derelict Cottage Piperstown



Derelict Cottage -  Piperstown


One of the first things that struck me about living in the Dublin Mountains was the sense that so much about these surroundings were here long before any of us were born, and will remain long after we are all gone.  But there are elements that are not so safe, and one of those is the numerous derelict buildings that still remain from times past. 

When we came upon our own piece of derelict structure eleven years ago, we felt a connection not just to the land, but to the house itself.  It was in a very sorry state, most of our friends thought us mad, and indeed over the seven years that it took us to get approval for refurbishing the cottage, we did at times agree with them.

Anyhow like all good stories, it had a happy ending, but there were stories about the house, that went beyond the known historical tales attached to it, like the bold Robert Emmet and the Kearney's, both already written into country and local history.  No there was another story to be told, one that we heard much later.

The first time I got a hint of it, we had steel scaffolding up through the belly of the cottage and the daughter of a neighbour, (she was probably about eleven at the time) told me how she used to look up at our house from her Granddad's (Maurice Collins) place, and dream about one day living here, fixing the house up, for it was indeed a house that when you looked up at it from the lower levels of the valley, looked like something out of a childhood fairytale.  Later still, others too came and visited, and each recounted their own tales of the cottage, whether it was playing in it as a child, or revisiting it in later years, and each time they spoke, there was something special from memory in the house for each of them.

Maybe it was because of the history of the place that locals were drawn to it, they too sensing something that went beyond their own years on earth, but somehow our little cottage became part of what this beautiful part of Dublin represents, not just the landscape, but the people and the houses that they once called 'home'.

When I am out walking and I look at the derelict cottages, I think of the people that used to live in them, the ones that are no longer here, and the ones living, that remember these old buildings as part of their family history, for they are as important an element of this place as the hedgerow and the forests, and if we are not careful, we could lose them and their stories for good.

Poetry Bus Poem - Connections

This week's poetry bus theme from http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2011/01/poetry-bus-for-january.html asked us to write about something you like that other people don’t like. Or you’re afraid they don’t like it. Or you think they think you’re strange for liking it.

When I read this, I knew immediately the one thing that I would write about, which falls into the category of something you like but others might not, or think strange or weird or all that stuff that we all worry about.  Anyhow, it goes back to my early days of motherhood, that mad crazy time when so much takes you by surprise,  but I had such a draw to the smell of each of my babies, so think me strange, but the truth be out.  

Connections

They are all grown up,

all three of them.

It seems so long ago now,

but I still remember them small,

squashed up little people,

tiny hands that gripped my fingers,

trusting eyes that never questioned,

a primal bond that followed from the womb,

pulsating through every part of me,

like a lioness protecting her own,

and breathing in the smell of them,

back to a time before language,

a ancient bond that never falters,

the sense of you and them and yours,

to watch and keep close,

until the end of time.

Walking/Photo Journal - Tips of forest on Mountpelier Hill

From the top of the hill, the forest peeks up to the blue sky at the Piperstown Gap.

Walking/Photo Journal - Icicles Mountain Stream

I love the look and sound of water, there is something tremendously energising about it.

  But it was a cold walk this morning, as the icicles below on this mountain stream can testify.

Thought for the Weekend - Anonymous

'If you want to be something, you have to do something.'

- Anonymous

Walking/Photo Journal - Bohernabreena Road - The Real Story

The Bohernabreena Road or as it was originally known 'Bóthar na Bruineas' or it's english translation 'the road to the hostel', is believed to be the road to one of the most famous houses of hospitality, the site of Da Dearga's hostel.  The destruction of Da Deargas hostel has become one of the local myths.

 



The Hostel Under Attack

(Extract from Myths and Legends of South County Dublin)

During the reign of Conaire, peace and prosperity reigned: however, that was soon to come to an end. His fostersons, the sons of Donn Deasa, formed a robber band that stole pigs and cattle. They did this to see what harm they could do the king and what punishment he would mete out to them. They then got Conaire's sons to join them. All of them were captured and brought before Conaire who banished them, and they were forced to leave Ireland.
While in exile they met Ingsel the One-eyed, who was also in exile. Ingcel Caech was the son of the Britons. Ingcel listened with great interest to the foster brothers of Conaire Mor when they talked of Ireland: and he saw in that land a great prize of riches.
He asked the brothers help in raiding Ireland. They gathered together an army and landed on the Dublin coast near Howth.


At the same time Conaire had gone to the south of Ireland to settle a dispute. On his way back to Tara he decided to rest for the night. He visited his old friend, Da Dearga, at his hostel in Glenasmole: Da Dearga received him with great festivities.
The hostel lay so that the Dodder flowed through it. There were several doorways in it but only one door. This was placed in whichever doorway the wind blew upon Da Dearga.
Ingcel and his followers kept watch on the hostel. They realised that Conaire was inside. The Hostel was full of warriors, musicians playing and jugglers doing wonderful feats; and Da Dearga with his servants giving out food and wine. Ingcel then marched to the attack and surrounded the hostel.
The great struggle began. The Hostel was set on fire, but the fire was put out. Conaire and his men sallied forth - hundreds were killed. Once again the enemy attacked, the Hostel was once again set alight. Three times the Hostel was set on fire and three times the flames were put out using the waters of the Dodder and all the wine in the house.
Ingcel asked one of his Druids to cast a spell on Conaire. The druid makes Conaire very thirsty. Conaire has done a lot of fighting but he can fight no more till he gets a drink. He begged for water, but it is all gone putting out the fire.
One of his servants, Mac Cecht, leaves to seek out water for his king. Mac Cecht travelled all over Ireland looking for water, while the battle raged on, and Conaire was still dying of thirst. At last Mac Cecht finds a lake, Loch Gara in Roscommon, where he fills the King's golden cup.
When he returned to the hostel, he found the defenders all dead or fled, and two of the attackers cutting of Conaire's head. He killed them and poured water into Conaire's headless neck.
The severed head thanked him for his good deed and then died. The hostel was destroyed.

(Gives dying for a drink a whole new meaning!)

BUT THE ROAD IS STILL THERE AND THE OFTEN HEADLESS 120 SOCKS GOT UP AND DOWN IT TODAY!!

Book Club - In the Skin of a Lion by Michael Ondaatje

This month's 'In the Skin of a Lion' by Michael Ondaatje is the latest book to fall victim for review.  Reviews will hopefully be posted next week.

In 1920 Patrick Lewis arrives in the bustling city of Toronto, leaving behind his Canadian wilderness home.  He immerses himself in the lives of the people who surround him, learning, from their stories, the history of the city itself.  And he had his own adventures: searching for a missing millionaire, tunnelling beneath Lake Ontario, falling in love.

In the Skin of a Lion is Michael Ondaatje's predecessor to his Booker Prize-winning, The English Patient.  It is in it that we encounter for the first time, Hana the orphaned girl and Caravaggio the thief, among a large cast of characters. 

'Ondaatje writes in curves, in time-lapses, a sort of verbal cinema whose narrative is unfaltering' The Times

If you have read this book and want to say a few words on it, please post a comment. Thanks

Walking/Photo Journal - Early Morning Frost Piperstown

Early morning frost Piperstown.  Who can control the impulse to write at times?

Frost Piperstown

Early morning frost underfoot,

you can smell the land,

ground twists of turf and moss-coated rock,

pulsating from this jagged place.

Like a seasoned seductress,

leisurely undressing by the light of day,

and always the bird song,

falling like drops of rain.

Walking/Photo Journal - Night & Day Dublin Mountains

Apart from the beauty of the landscape through the seasons, the shades that are created over the Dublin Mountains never cease to amaze me, from powder pinks to indigo blues!

 Pic from later yesterday on the Bohernabreena Road.