All posts filed under: International Women’s Day

A celebration of women’s poetry for International Women’s Day 2017

Featured image from “The Infinite Body Of Sensation” by Salma Caller   Salma Ahmad Caller is an artist and a hybrid of cultures and faiths. She is drawn to hybrid and ornamental forms, and to how the body expresses itself in the mind to create an embodied ‘image’. UK based, she was born in Iraq to an Egyptian father and a British mother and grew up in Nigeria and Saudi Arabia. With a background in art history and theory, medicine and pharmacology, and several years teaching cross-cultural ways of seeing via non-Western artefacts at Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, she now works as an independent artist and teacher. salma caller artists statement [PDF] “In the Glass Coffin” by Kim Myeong-sun Today, I withstood agony again, Because my life is still lingering, Trapped in scarcely visible sorrow. If my body is trapped Like the life of a dinky, dinky thing, What is with all this sorrow, this pain? Like the bygone prince, Who had loved the forbidden woman, I believed I would live if I danced in the …

Poetry for International Women’s Day 2016

Both a page and performance poet, Anne Tannam’s work has appeared in literary journals and magazines in Ireland and abroad. Her first book of poetry Take This Life was published by WordOnTheStreet in 2011 and her second collection Tides Shifting Across My Sitting Room Floor will be published by Salmon Poetry in Spring 2017. She has performed her work at Lingo, Electric Picnic, Blackwater & Cúirt Literary Festival. Anne is co-founder of the Dublin Writers’ Forum.    “The World Reduced to Sound” by Anne Tannam   Lying in my single bed a childhood illness for company the world reduced to sound.   Behind my eyes the darkness echoed inside my chest uneven notes rattled and wheezed. Beyond my room a floorboard creaked a muffled cough across the landing grew faint and faded away   My hot ear pressed against the pillow tuned into the gallop of tiny hooves then blessed sleepy silence. In the morning steady maternal footsteps sang on the stairs. I loved that song.   The World Reduced to a Sound is © Anne …

“Ceathrúintí Mháire Ní Ógáin” and “A fhir dar fhulaingeas” by Máire Mhac an tSaoi

Máire Mhac an tSaoi poetry Original Irish versions followed by English translations . Ceathrúintí Mháire Ní Ógáin I Ach a mbead gafa as an líon so – Is nár lige Dia gur fada san – B’fhéidir go bhfónfaidh cuimhneamh Ar a bhfuaireas de shuaimhneas id bhaclainn Nuair a bheidh arm o chumas guíochtaint, Comaoine is éiteacht Aifrinn, Cé déarfaidh ansan nach cuí dhom Ar ‘shonsa is arm o shon féin achaine? Ach comhairle idir dhá linn duit, Ná téir ródhílis in achrann, Mar go bhfuilimse meáite ar scaoileadh Pé cuibhreann a snaidhmfear eadrainn. II Beagbheann ar amhras daoine, Beagbheann ar chros na sagart, Ar gach ní ach bheith sínte Idir tú agus falla – Neamhshuim liom fuacht na hoíche, Neamhshuim liom scríb is fearthainn, Sa domhan cúng rúin teolaí seo Ná téann thar fhaobhar na leapan – Ar a bhfuil romhainn ní smaoinfeam, Ar a bhfuil déanta cheana, Linne an uain, a chroí istigh, Is mairfidh sí go maidin. III Achar bliana atáim Ag luí farat id chlúid, Deacair anois a rá Cad leis a …

‘The Mermaid in the Hospital’ by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill

  She awoke to find her fishtail clean gone but in the bed with her were two long, cold thingammies. You’d have thought they were tangles of kelp or collops of ham.   ‘They’re no doubt taking the piss, it being New Year’s Eve. Half the staff legless with drink and the other half playing pranks. Still, this is taking it a bit far.’ And with that she hurled the two thingammies out of the room.   But here’s the thing she still doesn’t get — why she tumbled out after them arse-over-tip . . . How she was connected to those two thingammies and how they were connected to her.   It was the sister who gave her the wink and let her know what was what. ‘You have one leg attached to you there and another one underneath that. One leg, two legs . . . A-one and a-two . . .   Now you have to learn what they can do.’   In the long months that followed I wonder if her …

‘An Mhurúch san Ospidéal’ by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill

  An Mhurúch san Ospidéal Dhúisigh sí agus ní raibh a heireaball éisc ann níos mó ach istigh sa leaba léi bhí an dá rud fada fuar seo. Ba dhóigh leat gur gaid mhara iad nó slaimicí feola. ‘Mar mhagadh atá siad ní foláir, Oíche na Coda Móire. Tá leath na foirne as a meabhair le deoch is an leath eile acu róthugtha do jokeanna. Mar sin féin is leor an méid seo,’ is do chaith sí an dá rud amach as an seomra. Ach seo í an chuid ná tuigeann sí — conas a thit sí féin ina ndiaidh ‘cocs-um-bo-head’. Cén bhaint a bhí ag an dá rud léi nó cén bhaint a bhí aici leosan? An bhanaltra a thug an nod di is a chuir í i dtreo an eolais — ‘Cos í seo atá ceangailte díot agus ceann eile acu anseo thíos fút. Cos, cos eile, a haon, a dó. Caithfidh tú foghlaim conas siúl leo.’ Ins na míosa fada a lean n’fheadar ar thit a croí de réir mar a thit …