I Everybody knows what the year 1966 meant to Irish people. It was the fiftieth anniversary of the military adventure which gave modern Irish society its present shape. But it was also a year of some importance in the history of modern Irish fiction, for during it, on March 10, Frank O'Connor died. It may…
Dying, the salmon heaves up its head in the millstream. Great sores ring its gills, its eyes, a burning rust slowly corrodes the redgold skin. Great river king, nearby the Nore pours over foaming weirs its light & music, endlessly dissolving walls into webs of water that drift away among slow meadows. But you are…
Mrs. Endsley was paid to keep everyone happy. Her latest project involved composing a Conwoody Convalescent song, something on the order of a school song, but with some of the parts left out. And it was in her line of duty that, on a Wednesday in early May, just before supper, she smacked her little…
She learned again so soon How the body is subdued To all the laws that rule The acorn’s fall and the erosion of tall cliffs. Like one borne away in a dance and veiled She dreamed of a high house with shining floors Where they squatted over stoves And well-shod women held breath in the…
Her long straight uncombed tangled tresses and miscellaneous modern dresses and double chin and sloppy carriage led to her being called a baggage, while he was an outstanding figure somewhat declined in shape and vigour but proud. The Baggage and the Toff: these two were star turns, nothing put them off. He muttered, “Mutton dressed…
Almost overnight the summer had disappeared. The morning I was to leave for the cottage and meet Peter there was a damp, north wind, and constellations of leaves flattened on the sidewalk two stories below seemed strangely three-dimensional. I wasn't sure if I were staring or looking. I had been thinking about one of my…
MASTHEAD Directors DeWitt Henry Peter O'Malley Coordinating Editor for This Issue Seamus Heaney Associate Editor Eamon Grennan CONTRIBUTORS JOHN BANVILLE lives in Dublin, has published a volume of stories and three novels, the most recent of which was Doctor Copernicus. EILÉAN NÍ CUILLEANÁIN teaches at Trinity College, Dublin. Her latest book is The Second Voyage:…
1 In nineteen sixty, in July a husband made his young wife cry. Mr Cordelia, plain and true, God help the poor bitch marries you, your truth that lacks the warmth of lies, the decency to compromise. Watch him this dull and windy day, the seventh of their holiday. There’s been a row, he runs…
Hello my little bluegill, little shark face. Fanged one, sucker, hermaphrodite. Rose, bloom in the fog of the body; see how the gulls arch over us, singing their raucous squalls. They bring you sweet meats, tiny mice, spiders with clasped legs. In their old claws, claws of eons, reptilian sleep, they cradle shiny rocks and…
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