Last week I was at the 23rd John Hewitt International Summer School in Armagh
The theme of the five-day event was "Back to Uncertainty: Considering other possibilities" Uncertainty being an inherent element of life, especially political life, in Northern Ireland and being, perhaps, vital to the preservation of peace. Terrorists, after all, are generally certain about their ignoble causes.
Five days passed in a pleasant blur with talks, interviews, readings, creative-writing workshops, panel discussions and evening entertainments. And excellent eating and drinking.
Two evening entertainments stand out:
A play called Melody given by the Lurig Drama Group from Cushendall and a concert by four outstanding musicians who usually work as two duos but sometimes , as on this occasion, as a quartet. The play, a comedic two-hander of great originality, was acted superbly and brought the house down while the concert, given as The Heartstring Sessions, was sublime for its musicality and the sheer pleasure of watching exceptionally talented musicians playing seemingly for the sheer joy of it.
A play called Melody given by the Lurig Drama Group from Cushendall and a concert by four outstanding musicians who usually work as two duos but sometimes , as on this occasion, as a quartet. The play, a comedic two-hander of great originality, was acted superbly and brought the house down while the concert, given as The Heartstring Sessions, was sublime for its musicality and the sheer pleasure of watching exceptionally talented musicians playing seemingly for the sheer joy of it.
Participants at the School included poets, prose writers, critics, musicians, politicians, an art historian, a retired editor of the Irish Times, a professor of sociology and many ordinary punters like me, each of whom was urged to join one of the creactive writing workshops; either poetry, prose, drama or memoire writing. I became a poet for the week, producing works to order; sometimes in minutes, otherwise overnight. Here is the least bad of them, a so-called list- poem.
Beside the Seaside
Oh I do like to be beside the seaside,
Beside the seaside,
Beside the sea
But
As I walked on the strand
Yesterday, I found:
The Umbilical of an Orca – Cut
Two Plovers eggs – Blown
Three ‘Goldstar’ beer bottles – Smashed
Eleven Lords – A-Weeping
A beached Exxon tanker – Seeping
Some striped sand – aggregating
A lump of Pitchblende – Warming
And
A love letter,
Him to her variety – Inelegantly
Thrown down
Comforted by all this lovely decay,
I lay down on the heavy water
Took up my pen and the Paper
And crossworded there,
At the seaside,
On the sea
The Summer School was an exciting, exhilarating, informative, educative, friendship-forming, entertaining week and I will be going back next year.
After the School was over, I had a couple of days in the Glens of Antrim to suck in the good air and to think and also to take in a guided trip around some of the sites associated with John Hewitt. Along the way some of Hewitt's poems were read aloud by a local actor, whose style and sense of rhythm really brought the works to life.
A reading at Oisin's Grave
