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Creative Writing |
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Prison Magazine,
Avlona, Athens |
Creative Writing affords students the opportunity to give expression to
their thoughts and emotions. This is of particular importance in a
prison setting where freedom, including freedom of expression, is
otherwise curtailed. Prison school magazines, collective anthologies and
literary competitions provide an outlet for such expressive writings. In
an Irish context,
the Writers in Prison scheme enables
teachers to invite published writers into their Education Centres. The
writer might perform a reading of his or her work, hold a workshop or
engage in drama work. This poetry page provides a further opportunity for
prisoner writings to reach a wider audience. |
Anthology, Irish Prisons |
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Cuirt International Festival of Literature |
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Cuirt
International Festival of Literature is based in Galway. This year,
2007, the
festival ran from the 24th to the 29th of April
and included four writers reading their work in Castlerea Prison.
Writer and
ex prisoner, Erwin James visited the prison on Wednesday the 25th
for two readings in separate parts of the prison. He was tremendously
well received and in the Main block of the prison the students provided
some music also. A reporter from ‘Village Magazine’ accompanied Erwin
on his visit that day and subsequently published a report in the May 17th
edition of Village magazine. Erwin’s books, 'The Home Stretch' and ‘A
life Inside’ proved very popular with students – as did Erwin himself.
It was a real pleasure to meet him and to hear about how he coped doing
a life sentence in England.
On
Thursday the 26th, three writers travelled from Galway to the
prison. The first of these was a ‘war-poet’ called Brian Turner
who
served
in the U.S army for seven years and was posted to Bosnia and Iraq.
Coupled with his previous studies in Creative Writing at the University
of Oregon, this made Brian a fascinating man and writer for the
prisoners to meet. His poems generated a lot of interest and curiosity
and response from the students and Brian kindly left us lots of copies
of his book as did Erwin the previous day. Since then several students
have told me that they have been inspired by his work.
Nick Flynn
a U.S poet and writer read from his brilliant memoir, ‘Another Bullshit
night in Suck City,’ where he recounts
growing
up without having met his father - only coming face to face with him in
a homeless shelter where Nick worked. Again his story was relevant and
pertinent to lots of people here as it also delved into issues
surrounding addiction. Nick read in the Grove Area of the Prison.
John
Healy, author of a memoir ‘The Grass Arena’ was our final visitor that
day. John’s parents were Irish but he grew up in London.
After some time as an amateur boxer and some time spent in the army,
John drifted into the drinking scene and eventually into the parks in
London - hence the ‘Grass Arena’. He describes the brutal violence of
life on the streets and the horrors of drinking - he drifted in and out
of prison eventually being accused but not charged (he was innocent)
with the death of another man in the park. During one of these spells
in prison John learned to play chess and his life took on a different
direction. He immediately stopped drinking and put all his efforts into
refining his game. He went on to become an international chess champion
and still plays today. John read from his book the excerpt concerning
the incident involving the death of one of the drinking gang in the
park. The style is straightforward and stark and the incident ugly and
brutal. John recounts the incident through the fug of alcohol. It was
great to hear John read and his story and miraculous discovery of the
game of chess was fascinating and inspiring to the students in the
crowded classroom that day.
Also
included in the festival programme was a discussion which took place in
the town Hall in Galway on Friday the 29th
on the topic of
'Writing
in Prisons'. Speaking at the forum were Dermot Healy, Sunny Jacobs,
Erwin James and myself. The discussion was chaired by John Bogue,
lecturer in psychology in University College Galway. The discussion was
well attended and generated a lot of discussion from the audience.
The school
would like to sincerely thank the festival’s programme director,
Maura Kennedy for organising the visits and for her
constant
encouragement in support of Creative Writing in the prison. Maura has
subsequently visited the prison for a ‘Performance and Art‘ afternoon
and there invited the students to put forward any suggestions for
writers to be possibly invited for next year’s festival. So, thank you
Maura and roll on next year! |
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Bernie Butler,
Co-ordinator 'Writers in Prison Scheme', Castlerea Prison, Ireland. |
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MAC (Irish Language)
Beirithe, lá deireanach de Nollag
dáta bheidh buan i mo chuimhne,
Buachaill arsa an bhanaltra le cnag
díreach roimh dó dhéag a chlog,
bhí an oíche sona gan cheal
Ospidéal Chluan Meala chomh geal.
Baistithe i sean-sheipéal an pharóiste
Cathal, ainm an gráthoír tír,
An sárfhear Cathal Brugha
Chómh bródúil, chómh fíor.
Am tosnú ar scoil
mar bhuachaill bhí tú cliste,
rógaire ag luascadh an chamáin
Íosa, go réidh a Chathail nó béimid briste!
Tú chómh láidir le damh ag rugbaí
bruigh tú na leaids arais ina mbosca,
iontach ag dornálaíocht, mar tháirní crua
ag bua ar chondae agus ar chuige fosta |
SON (English Translation)
Born on the last day of December
a date easy to remember,
A boy said the nurse with a knock
just before twelve o’clock,
what a happy night
Clonmel Hospital so bright.
Christened in the old parish chapel
we gave you the name of patriot, Cathal,
The great Cathal Brugh
so proud, so true.
Time to start school
As a boy you were cool,
a rogue to swing the hurley, it is said
Jesus Cathal, easy or we’re dead!
At rugby strong as an ox
you soon pushed the lads back in their box,
excelled at boxing, as tough as nails
winning county and province over all the
Gaels. |
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PÓD, Portlaoise Prison, Ireland, 2005
Winner in Listowel Writing Competition,
Irish Section, Writing in Prisons. Writer
also won in 2006 and 2007 |
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INTO
THE FRAY
Another day escapes
from beneath the sheet of night,
into my bedroom slowly creeps
its waking shafts of light,
the silence slowly broken
by
the closing of a gate,
that separates my waking time
from my subconscious dreaming state.
Another
morning beckons
its promise I'll explore,
the morning light a doorframe
that surrounds the open door,
to
endless possibilities
of
happenings and chance,
and passing o'er the saddle
into enchanting life I dance. |
UNTITLED
Love leaves,
Autumn damp spirit,
Dying, eddying in the breeze,
Careless as a winter storm.
Stricken,
As by lightening.
Cold and empty,
As the space between the stars.
More distant than infinity,
More cruel than a child’s grave.
Mercilessly triumphant,
As a desert sun.
Deadlier,
Than the grim reapers scythe,
A lovers scorn. |
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F,
Arbour Hill Prison, Ireland |
PM,
Arbour Hill Prison, Ireland |
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GESCHREVEN (Dutch Language)
Schrijf in zand degene die je pijn doen.
Vergeet ze zonder pijn.
Want wat geschreven staat in zand
zal morgen verdwenen zijn.
Schrijf in steen wat je ontvangt
aan plezier, vriendschap en geluk.
Want na vele jaren later
geeft steenje de herinneringen terug.
Schrijf in je hart iedereen waar je van houd
dichtbij of heel ver bij je vandaan.
Want wat geschreven staat in je hart
zal voor altijd bij je staan. |
WRITINGS (English Translation)
Write in sand those who hurt you.
Forget them without pain.
Because what written is in sand
will be gone tomorrow.
Write in stone what you received
of joy, friendship and luck.
After many years the stone
will still give you the memories back.
Write in your heart all who you love
close by or very far away.
Because what is written in your heart
will be with you forever. |
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RS, Wheatfield Prison, Ireland |
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FOR
WHEN THE RAIN COMES |
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To the drones of falling
Hey boss boss they call
The morning stroll
Along the temple wall
With about two months left
I kept it strapped tight
The wad I’d saved
Working the land with the great bight
So without a thought in the world
Of my past troubles in life
Off to blow the rest
On the life I like
Until down came the rain
And forced me to stall
I ran for cover
Opposite the temple wall
A childish giggle
Directed towards me
When I turned to sight it
I thought Jesus the powers do be
From where the rising sun
Lights the cherry blossom tree
With the same blooming glow
Satchico she revealed to me
Mario I replied
Can I have this seat
Please please she offered
We were both eager to meet
Well the effort I tell you
It didn’t exist
Have you ever had it
Where everything just fits
The conversation just rolled
Without any thought to flirt
Peacefully natural
As if friends from birth |
I know that place
What life like, what things you do
And she began to sing
With or without you
At that the rain quenched
As if its job was done
And off we strolled together
Under the south-east sun
We drifted the streets
Till the evening came
Through the bustle and lights
And lady boys on the game
Then that moment
And I began to worry
But she kindly relieved me
Unless I was to follow, she was in no hurry
That might alone
We denied each other none
Gave our bodies, hearts and spirits
And both became one
Early the next morning
I’ll never forget
As the sun stroked her body
And her head on my chest
Well sitting here now
Wondering where she might be
Hardly rolling dust
On lock down like me
But no need to worry
Because I’ve seen and remember
Rain does come good
And Bangkok in December
Mario, Castlerea Prison, Ireland
Second
place – Listowel Writing in Prisons competition, poetry section, 2007. |
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