Dandelion Land


The green that creeps from beneath is a steady process. Warming the eyes along with the flawless blue of the sky with its cotton wool clouds. Blue and green, that is spring for me. It is without saying a relief to welcome the colourisation of the country after the death of everything in winter.

I can’t say that I would like spring as much as I did if I didn’t dislike winter. When I was in Korea it was the dry and arid air, the biting cold winds, and the white bright sunlight pitching rays constantly. Winter in Korea is a time when snow storms were a relief from the constant squinting.

For my first winter in Ireland I expected the long days of wind and rain, a grey and lifeless landscape, and the damp that seems to find everywhere. But it was the darkness which caught me off guard. The sun setting at four o’clock in the afternoon swallowed the evening in absolute night, and leaving myself, Herself, and +1 staring at each other at home, expecting something to happen.

Much like Korea, Ireland’s winter swallows up all the visible life. But for the crows hovering overhead, perfectly silhouetted in any weather but more so in the overcast of December and January, little signs of life persist. Waiting for the world to awaken after winter follows a similar pattern in Ireland and Korea. Snowdrops show first, white exaggerated in the damp mud of flowerbeds. Then the shoots of daffodils break through the earth.

In Korea at this time of year you can’t take a step left or right without seeing a cherry blossom tree blooming. Even in the most sun deprived thoroughfare hectic with traffic, a much desiccated looking tree will be blooming as resplendently as its excessively pruned bows will allow. I’ve always thought it to be a bit over the top.

Yet a few weeks ago I was driving into Dublin’s city centre and at Cabra Cross, just by the McDonalds and Tesco the traffic stopped. This is one of Dublin’s less dynamic traffic spots, and it certainly is not an attractive part of the city – but let’s not be too harsh as there are worse place to be stuck in traffic. I looked out the window, and much like those very deprived looking cherry blossoms, at the base of a tree were some frail and gutter mud splattered daffodils, attempting to be as resplendent as their situation allowed.

 

Now the daffodils are slowly dying off, but the trees have gradually been warming our eyes as first the hedges and now the trees start to green with spring. It’s not long after this that the dandelions come out, yellowing in a peppered splay across any grassy patch. A sure sign the warm weather has returned is dandelion seeds tumbling carelessly in the breeze of a sun splashed afternoon.

We call these piss-in-the-beds because if you pick one you will wet the bed, or so we were told as children. But I wonder would the dandelion be as common if it weren’t for children blowing their seeds at every opportunity.

I wake up early most mornings to the new sound of spring, as thousands of different noises come through to my room. Birds singing, mostly, but the leaves rustling in an April gust comes frequently enough. There’s also the silence of morning, something I can’t remember from Korea. Where no noise from the street permeates the walls, and looking out the window all I can do is really imagine the sound.

More so than before I appreciate my new domain in Ireland. The garden, green, and all the other colours it presents, and the breeze and the birds, it’s a long way from my old position watching for glimpses of life on the twentieth floor in Suwon. They are two different places, and nowhere can either be compared. Ask me if I prefer one, I’d probably prefer to not answer that but I would say that I’m happy where I am for now. All I need now is for someone to cut the grass for me…

Forced Recap: Chiang Mai 2014


Instead of being reminded by my regrets, I should be reminding myself by the way I wish to remember. It has been over two months since myself and the rest of my clan returned from our two month stint in Thailand. When we were there and after we returned we were sure that it was perhaps the best time we have spent together as a family. We gained a lot of confidence in ourselves as parents, learned a lot about our young daughter, and at the same time had a great time constantly exploring Chiang Mai. Up until the past week or two it has been almost a distant figment of my memory, and on most days it barely registers as something that we believe has marked our lives forever.

Granted when we left we knew that we had stayed our welcome and had to depart to the normality of home, work, bills, and of course Yeongtong. We did probably spend too much money, and believe it or not two months of sitting around not working can in fact get a little boring, even when you’re in Thailand. Of course we occupied ourselves but after Herself’s friend who came to visit during the month of February we saw the last few weeks as a wind down period before we headed back to Korea. And then disaster kicked in.

This is Chiang Mai

It was a disaster averted I can confidently assert now, but at the time it was my biggest challenge travelling anywhere. +1, our little angel, broke out in a really high fever. We treated her as best we knew, firstly with some paracetamol based medicine, then when a warm bath, and she seemed to be ok. However, later in the day her temperature sky-rocketed again, so we did the same but this time as we bathed her she turned blue and started shivering so much that she was practically shaking from left to right. We quickly threw some things in a bag and went to the Chiang Mai Ram hospital, which was fortunately nearby. +1 was diagnosed with pneumonia and was quickly admitted and then treated. Thanfully after a few days she was discharged along with a big box full of antibiotics to ensure the infection stayed away, and in case in her temperature rose again. It is probably this which shook us so much that allowed us to want to return home to Korea as quickly as we hoped. It was a scary moment, no doubt, but the fortunate no brainer of investing in travel insurance beforehand allowed us in the end to only worry about our child’s health, and not on the further widening of our travel purse strings.

Yet for that moment, which we all recovered from, we still turn to each other and kind of ask ourselves, ‘what about Thailand?’

The Three Amigos

Staying in Chiang Mai together for a long period was something that myself and Herself had promised ourselves for years. Ever since we first were seeing each other and rendezvoused with a charge and jump into each others arms after the last flight from Bangkok touched down in Chiang Mai on day in mid-September, 2006. Herself knew Chiang Mai well and looks back on it fondly. She spent three months learning traditional Thai massage there the winter before. Her memories were still fresh and her enthusiasm to show her stomping grounds was fervent. We came back to Chiang Mai in 2012 briefly on a quick visit to Thailand and again had a blast (read about those adventures-ish here), although we skipped up to Pai and then down to Koh Chang as well to give out trip some needed variety. This time we spent the entire two months in Chiang Mai.

Perhaps though we are doing the reflecting thing wrong. We came back with huge suitcases after one of those awful night time flights which give you about four hours sleep and an early morning arrival in Seoul. This would possibly be easier if we weren’t hauling around our toddler who, as is always the case in these situations, is on a much different sleep pattern to the encumbered parents. We dumped our bags on arrival, pulled a few needed things out, then shoved the suitcases into the spare room and didn’t look back at them for another month at least. I went back to work the following Monday, while Herself struggled to fall back into the routine. Yes, routine, the death song of any wild aspiration. It was cold, the air was crappy, we needed to go to Homeplus, and we really looked forward to getting out to the east coast as soon as possible. At least we had a car though.

Change

Many people use their holiday pictures to refresh their memories, and I suppose we could have done this. I can’t really, as I’ve uploaded them all to my ageing laptop which is now in my office in work. Constantly shutting down as it over-heats, I can’t even contemplate how or when I’ll get the chance to comb through the 30 or 40 gigabytes currently stored on it. I want to. I need to. In fact, we need to. It’s a classic case of information overload, taking so many pictures that you completely forget them. It’s not enough to say that I really enjoyed learning how I could use my camera, it’s time I actually pulled out all those images and did something special with them, other than plaster my flickr page with albums from markets, which is about the height of what I’ve done so far.

On my bookshelf next to my computer which I write from now there are six photographs of myself and Herself. Always these pictures look at us, and always they are smiling. There is one from our wedding party at home in Dunboyne, two from our actual wedding day, a picture from my masters graduation  (a qualification I earned with her welded tightly to my side it must be said), and three pictures from our forever memorable honeymoon in Turkey. This is how we should celebrate our events, not by posting albums and updates on the internet, but in front of the places we pass the most each day. I always try to print some photographs but rarely find a suitable place to see them. Perhaps what I should really be looking to do is not find better things to photograph, but to find more wall space, without which I might end up with no memories to really to celebrate.

*

Some previously uploaded photo albums from my two months in Thailand can be found here:

Chiang Mai streets Part 1

MAYA

CMU Art Museum

Chiang Mai Sunday Market, January 5 2014

Night Bazaar, February 2014

And if you click this link you can see all my albums from Korea, Thailand, Ireland, and more…

The Shape of the City


There is a shape to every city. Sometimes it’s not visible automatically and it takes time for you to realise it. You can look from above, with a map for example, or you can walk the streets and see for yourself. In Suwon, where I live, the shape is a similar one throughout all the cities of Korea, and that is straight lines and sharp angles. If you wanted you could call it boxy. In Chiang Mai where I am now it is not, it is a bit more of every kind of shape.

From above, taking the map view, if you look at Chiang Mai you could argue that it is not Suwon or Korea which is boxy but Chiang Mai. This is a safe argument. Any map of this city will show the central old part of the city surrounded by its moat and the one way streets which operate as a kind of city blood circulation system.

A look at a city such as Suwon where I’ve lived for the past few years shows a more naturally shaped city, not one dictated by the direction of a wall, despite the fact that there is in fact a very complete city wall in the very centre of it.

On street level thought things are remarkably different.

In Korea I have grown accustomed to the square shape of everything, not necessarily from the streets, but definitely from the buildings which line them. There’s no doubting the density of Korea’s population, and with that density comes a serious demand to use space intensively. Of course if you visit any city you will find that the shape of choice is the cuboid, but in Korea I think that this shape persists throughout the country.

Aesthetics aside, it’s a functional arrangement which seems to suit the inhabitants. Aesthetics considered, it allows for a unique view of the world which revolves around straight lines and right angles, with the occasional curve or triangle thrown into the mix to make things interesting. The city that I live in, Suwon, is certainly a place that this argument rings through. You could say that it is ugly, because it is certainly not what is conventionally termed as pretty, but it is something worth looking at.

Time and people wear away the walls of what was once beautiful the most, and to see an old city still busy with the buildings it was built with is a different kind of aesthetic which is more popular. These parts of the city usually come with their own smells, sounds, and annoyances, but they are as much a part of the visual experience. That you have to take them in while you look or see attaches it to your memory in a different way.

Korea’s cities and towns have a raw and obnoxious feel to them. There is always noise, from engines, shops, shouting, and any number of other sources, and the smells fluctuate with the seasons. Don’t imagine I’m talking about the smell of the food cooking, I’m a bit more inclined to recall the smells of the exhausts and drains which linger differently depending on the weather and temperature outside.

The shapes I spoke about, and which I kind of obsess over, are my own idea of order inside the mess of the big city. These straight incorruptible lines and angles are the only barriers which keep everything within its bounds. In Korea, more than any other country or city I’ve been in, these lines and angles are so pronounced that they invade almost every image you can take from that country.

Chiang Mai is different, and I dare to say the rest of Thailand is different. The uniformity exists on the face of things, such as main streets, shopping malls, and the many condominiums, but here it stops. Behind the main streets, alleys and laneways streak off, and from here I believe it is anyone’s guess what shape will be taken.

The city is not as dense, and is certainly spread out more. This allows for the joys of gardens, and random empty space with no other function but to wait to be filled – if that ever will happen.

The availability of space allows for a different experience, and sees the city form as something less reliant of space permitting more freedom to experiment with form. This is mixed into what is basically a poorer city provides a blend between the robust and rigid shapes of Suwon, and a more laisez faire way of shaping the city.

Time effects every street, and the old seems to be replaced as quickly as anywhere, dust being the most obvious evidence of change. To any observer Chiang Mai is turning into a more cuboid city. Condominiums, although not tightly packed together, and businesses close to the town cramp the arteries in the best way they know, square next to square.

Still, not all the city is immersed in this rigidity, and it is a city worth wandering to see the mix between the old rustic disorganisation and the new cubed order.

 

These photographs were taken in Chiang Mai University’s Art Museum, an example of how to find the cubed rigidity and of modern architecture in Chiang Mai and the beauty which can emerge from it. To view these photographs and more please visit my set on flickr. 

 

“Poetry & Art” – An Essay on Creative Production (2008)


During 2008 I was slap bang in the middle of a masters in 20th and 21st Century Literature in the University of Southampton. At the time, one of the course options was a poetry writing module, which was part of a larger creative writing MA but suitable candidates could take part if they had proof of having written before, and I had.

I don’t go on much here about writing poetry, and sometimes I think I should, but perhaps I feel that writing is something I struggle enough at without having to pretend to know what I’m talking about. The poetry class I took made it a requirement to actually write an essay proving to a certain extent that I did have a clue what I was talking about.

Looking back at it now, I can recognise some strong elements of theory and understanding of what I was doing in my own writing, in a time when I knew less of my actual poetic direction than I do now, and I maintain I know nothing to this day. That’s not to say that I write bad poetry, just don’t ask me to give you a notion on what my actual goals are, other than to write and get published more (you can read some of my published poems here and here – but be sure to read some of the other great poetry on both these sites).

This essay though was written five years ago, so in advance allow me to offer my defence. I don’t think I’ve ever written as much as I have in the five years that immediately preceeded this essay, so I think my writing is better. I’ve also got my bullshit detector a bit more finely tuned, although still far from perfect. I haven’t edited this, except for a few typos, so please feel free to pick through it and raise any points in the comments section. There are large tracts where I related to my own poetry, and in terms of that you can refer to this document which includes all the poems which the actual essay was referring to (again, I have not edited these poems and consider them to be in their so-called original state).

So without further adieu, allow me to present my essay full of self criticism, self appraisal, but hopefully not self destructive.

“Poetry and Art”

Southampton, December 2008

Why and what am I writing for? What is the significance of my own ability as a poet or writer and what good can come of it? I have tried to confront as many themes and different styles for varying poetic effect. I have amalgamated my writing into a project which presents to the reader a journey. The ‘journey’ is an artistic journey from the position of questioning my ability, to understanding, and to the eventual acceptance and use of poetry as a means of conveying a message.

I have experimented with the use of language and its effect on the poem. Of course, there are various definitions of language and each affect us differently. A simple search on the internet for ‘language’ will reveal a primary concern with translation and learning new languages; this directs us towards the function of ‘language’ in poetry. Poetic language is a means of translating the world into art, the same as painting or sculpture, but in this case, with language and words. By learning to be ‘poetic’ we understand a new way of speaking and looking. This all sounds very simple, but that is its beauty; that it is simple and easy to understand.

With this in mind, I have used my own experiences and ideas to help my writing. I have used a mix of reality and imagination to create a blend of language which represents truth. At the same time, I have remained conscious of the fact that simple language portraiture has little function other than aesthetic. For me, poetry must contain more than just a picture.

I have added into my work emotion, nature, and the subconscious self that cannot be transmitted in conventional terms. Of course I am conscious of the disadvantage of individual interpretation. Human interpretation is, as Susan Sontag termed it ‘the revenge of the intellect upon art’[1]. And it is not only Sontag who holds this opinion. Nietzsche said:

“The feeling that one is obliged to describe on thing as red, another as cold, and a third as dumb, prompts a moral impulse which pertains to truth; from its opposite, the liar whom no one trusts and all exclude, human beings demonstrate to themselves just how honorable, confidence-inspiring truth is”[2]

 With that in mind, how do we know what poetry is? How can I tell that what I am writing is ‘true’?

Wittgenstein said that ‘mutual understanding, and hence language, depends on nothing more or nothing less than shared forms of life, call it our mutual attunement or agreement in our criteria’[3]. As a poet one is not left in the world with only feelings to decipher but left in the world with meaning to respond to[4]. Art is created for a response to be created from it, not dictated from it. Poetry must insist on running its own course, finding its own measures, and charting its own course in hidden or denied places as a means of unlocking its true feeling and expression.

When I write, one of the things that I want to address the world and the problems and realities which, I believe, the twenty-first century has forced. Consumer culture and the loss of the individual’s sense of individuality is one of these pressing forces. I have tried to explain that through the desire for all things material we have allowed ourselves to be consumed by the society we live in, leaving our lifestyles to be decided on by ‘decrees of state’. My own attempt of finding poetic truth has been hindered by what Nietzsche has drawn attention to:

 “humankind, where deception, flattery, lying and cheating, speaking behind the backs of others, keeping up appearances, living in borrowed finery, wearing masks, the drapery of convention, play-acting for the benefit of others and oneself — in short the constant fluttering of human beings around one flame of vanity is so much as the fact that an honest and pure drive towards truth should ever have emerged in them”[5]

 With this in mind, there is a fashion of living in large expansive housing estates where all the homes are the same design and shape and colour. In Ireland, near my home town, this is particularly the case, where huge stretches of field have been turned over to construction companies who have built thousands of houses which, to me, have little or no character, with even less public amenities; except for a small green patch in front for the children to play on when it is not raining. Lives and the deep, deep reality of life have been clouded over by the competition between neighbours’ own vanities. Art holds a responsibility to present realities at face value and to present to open the eyes and minds of those that are clouded over.

In saying this, art can have its own personality and avoid the politics of society. Poetry is a voice, art is a vision, what is heard and seen depends on where one looks.

Poetry as an art is concerned with the moment, one which deals specifically with the present, asking questions and presenting answers about moments which are not distinguishable from the repetitive nature of human life. Both situations may in their own right be unique, but the solutions are not. Sentimentality has little function in matters of the heart. Understanding the very motions of existence from start to finish, realizing their significance, and reacting to them, are more important than waking and running to work. Waking up in the morning brings with it a total change in the way we have perceived the world, from dream state to conscious state. The emotions brought about by change and then the sickening feeling of reality can do more damage to the subconscious, yet at the same time it can have little benefit to the individual as it will not return and it will not change. Poetry is a means of expressing the reality as it is, and diminishing the effects of trauma which comes from realization of the conformity which humanity subsists itself to.

I have presented poetry which has been inspired by the situation, the moment, and the occurrence which can only be true for the moment which it is speaking of; be it feeling, a true story, or an imaginary creation. My intention has been to prove that it does not matter what words are used, but what they say, how they are used and what they present to the reader. I want my poetry to be understandable for what it says, and for the words to interpret the poems for the reader[6], and not the other way around.

Language and literature are inseparable. It is only through this connection that we can use language as a way to express and commit our thoughts into expression.

 

[1] Susan Sontag, ‘Against Interpretation’ pp.7

[2] Friedrich Nietzsche, ‘On Truth and Lying in a Non-Moral Sense’ pp.878

[3] Charles Bernstein, ‘The Objects of Meaning’ pp.60

[4] Ibid. pp. 61

[5] Nietzsche, pp. 875

[6] David Antin ‘Some Questions About Modernism’ http://writing.upenn.edu/library/Antin-David_Some-Q-Modernism.html

 

 

Guest Post: Davy’s Day Cometh


Everybody needs a hero, whatever walk of life they’re in. Sporting ones seem to hold an especial one in people’s lives. I’ve been very fortunate to have befriended many of my heroes over the years. People like Noel Meade, Trevor Brennan, Colm O’Rourke and Graham Geraghty. Heroes are particularly important in a sporting context – they inspire the next generation.

Three days after Dublin regained Sam Maguire, photographs were got with the grand old trophy after Bernard Brogan Snr stopped into a local hostelry while passing through the area. The joke on the night being that it’ll be the occasion a Meath man will hold Sam for a long time!

Not too much would be wagered on that being the case. Not only because of the progress Meath have already made and the talent that’s already coming through. Also due to some of what transpired on the local club scene of late. Now, unfortunately, circumstance deprived yours truly of the opportunity to see any action on the said weekend, but in the space of 24 hours Meath heroes of yesteryear Ray McGee, Donal Curtis and Geraghty – all either in or heading for their fourth decade – turned in inspirational displays for their clubs.

Seeing them still so effective at this stage tells you just how blessed we are as a county were to have them in their prime. Any youngster lucky enough to see them in action – even now – will surely have been inspired. Just as Clare hurling captain Pat Donnellan admitted he had been inspired by Ger Loughnane and his team from the 1990s.

Croke Park in Dublin: where many a hero is made, and where plenty of characters have played. (imagae courtesy of Wikipedia)

Maybe there’s no explanation for it, but, ‘colourful’ characters are generally the greatest heroes of all. Brennan, Paul O’Connell, Paul Carberry. Davy Fitzgerald though, is the king of them all. He was the first goalkeeper I can recall coming up and scoring. After he did so in the 1995 Munster final – and won his race back between the posts – there was only going to be one winner.

Then there was his outstanding save against John Leahy towards the end of the ’97 All Ireland. Similar result ensued. Davy Fitz is different. For example, where most would cower at the thought of facing down Henry Shefflin from close range, Davy thrived on it. Yet, it’s that very diffence that makes him one of the greatest characters the GAA has ever seen.

Davy is, in a sense, like Roy Keane – either love or loathe him, no grey areas allowed. This of course is a fanciful thought, but personally he’d convince me to run barefoot across The Burren in mid-November. Indeed, chances are he makes his current Clare players do it!

It’s indicative, however, that they’d most likely do it for him. Unfortunately, there’s an element out there that like to snipe and sneer at the great man from Sixmilebridge. Viewed from a fairer angle, he has to be one of the most passionate and inspirational people many of us have seen. His passion is infectious.

Davy Fitzgerald giving it socks! (Image courtesy of breakingnews.ie)

It must be said, mind you, that he has been extremely fortunate to have an exceptional bunch of players to work with. Talented underage sides from recent years yielded players such as Cian Dillon and John Conlon and Darach Honan. Add in that the county has put U-21 titles back to back fuelled by the likes of David McInerney, Colm Galvin, Tony Kelly, Podge Collins and Shane O’Donnell and that they have the McCarthy Cup for the winter shouldn’t be a shock.

Still, great players turned respected coaches such as Ger O’Loughlin and Anthony Daly saw their native team come up short under their care. When the Davy Fitz factor was added, for the majority of the season, it was a long, long way from Clare to everybody else! And as was said when Dublin won the football recently it may take quite a bit for other teams to get where they are.

With Clare, the evidence may be even more obvious. Factor in that stars of the most recent underage success Seadna Morey, Cathal O’Connell, Niall Arthur and Peter Duggan couldn’t break into the senior team and Loughnane’s assertion that they could dominate for years isn’t hard to believe. If Davy Fitz is guiding the ship it should be an unforgettable voyage to utter greatness.

This post is a guest post. For more on guest posts and how to submit please follow this link.

brendan boylan

Brendan Boylan has been writing since he as 14, professionally since 2001. He ahs been a freelance journalist for all of his adult life, specialising in all things Irish but mostly on sport. His greatest enjoyment comes from the sport he holds most dearest which is gaelic games, or as we Irish call it, The GAA, and a close second would be his passion for horse racing. He always dreamed of beinga  farmer, and this year that dream came true. His next goal is to get into writing about farming on a regular and professional basis.

Visit Brendan’s website boylantalkssport.com or follow him on twitter @BrendanBoylan