Literature

COVID-19 has given us more of a taste of an apocalypse than we have ever had, emptying our streets, shops, and pushing family and friends away from one another and into their own bubbles. Mark O’Connell’s award-winning book, To Be a…

Of all David Cronenberg’s work, it’s his 1990 ad for Nike Air 180 that captures the spirit of his project most succinctly. ‘Transformation’ is only a thirty second footwear promotion but it packs a guttural punch that stays with you, that…

Astronomer Seal by R.P Moran Torpedo snouted, gazing up to  battleship-grey skies. Scanning for what? Sonar singing through clouds,  fishing for stars; hungry for answers. Arria after the roadside sculpture by Andy…

Vanessa Wye was fifteen when she first had sex with her English teacher, Jacob Strane. At thirty-two, some of Strane’s students come forward to accuse him of abuse, something that horrifies Vanessa. She doesn’t remember him abusing her.…

Female child narrators are rare in Irish Literature, while the notable presence of the male childhood is enough to form a genre of its own.  Thus when Christine Dwyer Hickey’s Tatty was published to great acclaim in 2004, it was breaking…

Tuesday Night by Sarah O'Neill Sometimes I feel like we are two sailors lost at sea. Stranded for days, bodies slowly dissolving in salt, Overwhelmed by thirst, our lips a distant memory, We look at each other and it’s like, Jesus it…

St Rumbold’s Well In Memoriam of the Tuam Babies by Fiona Perry I was born in a field blazing with corncrake call A seed released from its casement.  The hedgerows ripped from top to bottom  When I burst into the light, entered  The…

Stop by Laura Rahill Stop. And listen. Don’t panic, but come home now. Time is waiting, impatient  for us all   to just stop. And listen. Have you ever really heard your heart beat before can you hear it now? Listen. Do the birds…

Justice by Dearbhla O'Reagan an elusive word. we love our missing acquaintance until the pain is ours and rioting is the cure we will not know. not 'til the men in suits hear our screams our begs then we will know. when graveyard…

Laundromat by James Croal Jackson I want to breathe dirty cigarette lungs into the bed grime you say it  is time to bless the sheets  with renewal so we spin  around the laundromat hand-in-hand do-si-do  though…