Saturday, October 29, 2011

Literary Footprints

I recently stumbled upon this interactive map, showing the places that Holden Caulfield in J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye visited in New York.

Walking in Holden's Footsteps, NY Times

Which inspired me to try to map out the places Synge visited on the Aran Islands.

This morning (thanks to the freaky SNOWSTORM in New York today!) I came up with a very rudimentary version of my own Synge map, but this is in no way complete. I'd like to develop this further using a more detailed map in the future. These are places I was able to visit during my own travels (with the exception of Gregory's Cave - I couldn't figure out where that was exactly).

If anyone knows of places to add, please let me know!

Maybe in the future I'll also do a Synge in Wicklow map, since there are so many places he visited in the Wicklow countryside, as well. And the Blaskets, and Kerry, and France, and Germany, and...oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?

** Italish, a project through the publishers Querci and Robertson (they're Italian writers with interest in Ireland, and vice versa), is doing a similar sort of mapping game of Synge and the Aran Islands. It's in Italian!

Thursday, October 27, 2011

The Stinging Fly comes to New York!

Last night Columbia University was treated to a visit by five Dublin writers and the literary magazine The Stinging Fly in honor of their latest issue, which has a New York twist.

The Stinging Fly was started in 1997 and publishes new Irish and international writing including short stories, poetry, author interviews, essays, and book reviews. Three issues are published each year, and in 2005 The Stinging Fly Press was created for book publishing as well.

Emer Martin began the reading with a darkly funny excerpt from her latest novel, Baby Zero, showcasing her punchy dialogue and distinct characters. I enjoyed her reading style as well -- she really inhabited her characters with her voice and facial expressions. I definitely plan on picking up a copy of her book.

Sean O'Reilly read next, a piece whose name I sadly didn't catch (the room the reading took place in had the windows wide open and the street noise from Broadway occasionally interfered), but the piece was a tense dialogue between a man and woman having relationship problems who cross over from Northern Ireland into Donegal. I enjoyed the realism of his dialogue, and the anger that bubbled underneath the words. (If anyone knows the name of the piece he read, please inform me!)

Aifric Mac Aodha, the literary editor of the Irish language magazine Comhar and Irish language poetry editor of The Stinging Fly, read poems in Irish and in English. I loved hearing both the original and the translation. I've been to many readings in that room (Dodge Hall 501) and I wondered if anyone had ever spoken Irish in that room. Aifric had a very soft voice, but her poetry had a quality of violence, even sharpness, and I enjoyed the contrast. She also read a poem about a pilgrimage to an island -- I particularly enjoyed that one, for obvious reasons!

Keith Ridgway read an excerpt from a short story that was fiction-but-based-on-true-events, about a young man over from Ireland living in New York. One line that I liked in particular was something like, "I'm twenty and stupid. The two don't necessarily go together but I happen to be both."

Max McGuinness finished up the reading with part of his short story "The Great Irish Novel" about a man who is challenged to write the so-called great Irish novel. He read in a booming, dramatic voice that echoed through the room. The dialogue was snappy and funny, and I could definitely see his theatre roots (his first play, Up the Republic!, was performed in Oxford and Edinburgh in 2007-8).

It was an extremely enjoyable night, and I felt inspired by the writers who read their work. Many thanks to The Stinging Fly for making the trip to New York, and the Columbia Journal for putting the evening together.

Tonight (Thursday) at 7pm there will be a launch party for this issue of the Stinging Fly at Swift Hibernian Lounge at 34 East 4th Street. Readers will include Ciaran Berry, Tim Dwyer, Martín Espada, Emer Martin, David McLoghlin, Idra Novey, Jana Prikryl, Mark SaFranko, and more. Go hear some fantastic Irish literature!!!

Friday, October 14, 2011

Kindred Sculptors: Noguchi and the Aran Islanders

Last weekend I took a day to explore a bit more of the neighborhoods of Astoria, Queens, and thanks to a Japanese sculptor, I found myself transported back to the Aran Islands for a few lovely hours.

God, I love New York.

First stop in Astoria: The King of Falafel (it won a Vendy Award for best street food in NYC). Mostly lived up to the hype.

Second stop: Socrates Sculpture Park, where said falafel was consumed while sitting in a field buzzing with dragonflies amongst strange, amorphous sculptures in front of the East River.

Third stop: The Noguchi Gardens and Museum, a museum devoted solely to the work of the Japanese sculptor, Isamu Noguchi, whose 20th Century artwork made me think about -- you guessed it, the Aran Islands.

Noguchi (1904-1988), worked with huge slabs of stone (many different kinds, from basalt to marble). He didn't shape them into recognizable forms, but would work for a few months to a year or more on one piece, getting to know the stone by the process of slicing, chipping, hammering, polishing, to reveal all the stone's qualities.

The Garden

I believe this was a basalt sculpture. I liked the rock's natural color variation.
Stone Fountain
I'm not sure what kind of stone this was, but I liked how the outside was raw, and that even though he carved out a smooth chunk on the inside, he marred it. It reminded me of the rocks on Aran, and how the elements would always play a role in shaping the stones on the island, and the land itself. The Aran Islanders, of course, shaped the land as well by cutting up the stone to make farmland. They effectively created their landscape. I wonder if Noguchi would have seen the Aran Islands as a work of art.

(Or, if the islanders would have thought Noguchi was nuts for spending time playing around with rocks instead of farming).

Limestone cliffs on Inishmore, near the Black Fort, eroding
Crikes and glints in limestone in Inishmaan

The Wormhole, Inishmore

I feel like Noguchi would have gone crazy over the Wormhole. Look at all that color variation!

Friday, October 7, 2011

Blue Skies Smiling

Summer has finally fled New York, and the beautifully cool air has been reminding me of Ireland. I've been hard at work on my writing, but still trying to get outside more.

A few nights ago, the sky at sunset reminded me of one particular day on Inishmaan.

Sunset over NYC
Storm passing by Inishmaan
It's hard to see from the photo, but looking out into the distance, beyond the railing, the blue sky over the Hudson was almost the exact color blue in the Inishmaan photo, with a layer of flat clouds drawing a parallel line over the horizon. There are guardrails in the Inishmaan photo, too, but they're made of a different kind of material. And across the water there's another bit of land. For Inishmaan, it's Inisheer.
For us, it's New Jersey.

In other news, I went camping for the first time last weekend. Synge would be proud, I think. He had great respect for the nomad:

This old man I have spoken of wanders about Wicklow. As he sleeps by Lough Bray and the nightjar burrs and snipe drum over his head and the grouse crow, and heather whispers round him, he hears in their voices the chant of singers in dark changers of Japan and the clamour of tambourines and the flying limbs of dancers he knew in Algeria, and the rustle of golden fabrics of the east.

Granted, I was just a nomad for one night, but for me (an admittedly anxious person to begin with, afraid of bugs, the dark, and things that go bump in the night) it was a great accomplishment. And I had a great time and even got 8 hours of sleep!

As soon as I have the photos uploaded I'll share my camping experience, as well as hiking through a ghost town in the woods, just an hour outside NYC!

Hiking at Bear Mountain