THE FLY HAS LANDED

Here's Jimmy the Butler with the almost life-sized bumper edition of the stinging fly

Yip, da new fly (always eagerly awaited in dis castle) was brought in by Jimmy yesterday.It took him a bit longer than usual as it is now a whopping 128 pages.In these hard days of funding cuts it's testimony to the sterling work Declan and the gang are doing that their funding actually increased this year- fair play to them. as the arts council put's it 'The Stinging Fly punches well above it's weight and has been prioritised on the basis of it's extensive and intelligent supports for writers and it's commitment to developing audiences for contemporary, high quality Irish literature.'

THIS JUST IN FROM THE FLY THAT STINGETH

Hello everyone,I'm delighted to announce that Orlaith O'Sullivan is the winner of the 2008 Stinging Fly Prize. Orlaith's story 'A Tall Tale' appeared in Issue 10 Volume Two (Summer 2008) of the magazine.Poet Sinéad Morrissey who judged the award had this to say:'While there was evidence of strong work in abundance throughout all three issues, in both genres, nothing surprised me as much as Orlaith O'Sullivan's 'A Tall Tale', a suicide-story in the voice of a small boy born with primordial dwarfism (MOPD Type II). I was drawn, without even being aware of it, into the boy's mind from the opening sentence, and stayed with him to the end, forgetting where I was, the reason I was reading the story, the time of day etc. I experienced that intoxicating dissolution of boundaries between reader and author that all writers dream of and that very few achieve. Which can only come about when the machine is so carefully put together, its running is flawless and we don't even notice the mechanism.'The Stinging Fly Prize consists of €1,000 and a residency at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmekerrig, County Monaghan. It goes each year to a writer who has published work (poetry or fiction) in the magazine and who has yet to publish a book. Read Sinéad's full Judge's Report here:http://www.stingingfly.org/stinging_fly_prize2009.html
Orlaith O'Sullivan is originally from Dublin and now lives in Baltimore, County Cork. She has been writing full-time since 2006 and is in the process of finishing a novel, while also writing more short stories and a screen adaptation of The Female Quixote by Charlotte Lennox. Her website and blog are at www.orlaithosullivan.com.
Copies of Issue 10 Volume Two still available:
http://www.stingingfly.org/issue10vol2/index.html
Meanwhile…
The latest issue of The Stinging Fly, now with more pages than ever, is out this week. Copies are now on their way to subscribers, patrons and contributors.
While adding 16 more pages, we've kept the cover price and our subscription rates the same—giving you more new writers and more new writing.
The Stinging FlyIssue 12 Volume Two / Spring 2009ISBN: 978-1-906539-06-1€7.00, 128 pagesSpecial Feature: On First DraftsColette Bryce, Mia Gallagher, Dermot Healy, Nuala Ní Chonchúir, Philip Ó Ceallaigh and Peter SirrFirst PassionsJoseph O'Connor on The Catcher In The RyeMy Struggle…to grow up to be a writer by Colm Liddy, author of 40 Fights Between Husband and Wife (Penguin Ireland)Featured PoetMonica Corish (six poems)New StoriesAlistair Daniel, Michéal Donnellan, Michael J. Farrell, Martin Hayes, James Kelman, Alan McMonagle and Máiríde WoodsNew Poems Liam Aungier, Enda Coyle-Greene, Patrick Deeley, Roderick Ford, Peggie Gallagher, Liam Guilar, Aileen Kelly, Edward Lee, Pat Maddock, Paula Meehan, Judith Mok, Sinéad Morrissey, Louis Mulcahy, Gerry Murphy, Michael O'Loughlin, Matthew Sweeney and Brian TurnerPoetry in Translation A poem by Knut Ødegård translated by Brian McNeilReviews David Wheatley reviews Connemara: The Last Pool of Darkness by Tim RobinsonDenis Kehoe reviews My Father's Wives by José Eduardo Agualusa and A River Called Time by Mia CoutoGrace Wells reviews Self-Portrait in the Dark by Colette BryceBilly Ramsell reviews Slipping Letters Beneath The Sea by Joseph Horgan and Lost Republics by Alan Jude Moore
To buy the issue:
http://www.stingingfly.org/current.html
To subscribe:
http://www.stingingfly.org/subs.html
Subscription Rates:
One Year: Ireland €20/Overseas €25
Two years: Ireland €36/Overseas €45
More anon… best wishes,
Declan
-- Declan Meade

LANGUAGE IS THE POET'S NEMESIS - ABONFIRE OF OUR VANITIES

Words, they are the enemy, never trust them to say what you mean. At best they are limited approximations.Always trying to catch you out ,trip you up. The world is Pamplona thewords are the bullls and we are the twats trying to show how brave we are.26 lousy letters in the alphabet-hardly a cornucopia, sure great things have been done with them ,but this is against the odds ,fighting the enemy, containing,constraining, merely hinting at waht you feel ,what you want to say.There is only one solution, one absolut,one truth, one way ahead ,forget words ,paper ,books ,keyboards, computer screens- the future, the truth ,is telepathy .Telepathic Poetry my friends you read it here first.Can you tell what I'm thinking , can you feel it burn , the intensity , the rage , the anger ?A picture can only paint a thousand words , telepathy is beyond words, as infinite as the cosmos. Embrace it or (creatively) die.

Ye WAITS FER AGES FER A BUSSO WIT A MESSAGE ON IT AND DEN 7 ARRIVA AT ONCE!

Got this from http://intendednot2b.blogspot.com/ Barbaras Bleeuugh. Ooutragedanaoffenedby/jealous of shockin releegus mesagges on da soides a busos in Londinium Atheists have been fightin bak wid screed o der own kreed (or lak o it) and why not .some is carryin da hod for God and some is labourin under a different gaffer altogether et quelque avez keine gaffer at all.I Wunder do da conflicting messages mean busos race each other and try to bump each other off da road and doda busso drivers that beleeve in God drive the releegus message buses and do only Atheistz drive d'udders, do they have a row and duffy each other up at tea break?Now ye too can have a go makin yer very own red Londnon busso message innit. Ye Kan ave a go if ye is Atheo or Religio , we iz al gods chillun after all But ye will hsave to go ta B's blog te do so coz I int able to master the computer chemistry witchcraft to set it up here. Have fun,I wunder does it take sweary woids?
As fer me and my views which side do i follow? ? Well I have to confess that it really does sound a lot of mumbo jumbo and I don't really believe there is such a thing as an atheist at all ;)

EVEN THE SACRED SEA IS SCARED . AN ANAGRAM OF MODERN MORES

BY of late walking the walk to the briny, feeling good ,lokin alive,ponderin the past by ways of figurin the future , the thin veil lifted, the other world on the doorstep of the mind.And it's been grand ,a full moon to guide me in the way of the light. A poachers moon to be precise (and me with a flock o valuable Haggi!)Anyway nothin comin fer me through the trees coz I can see them from the wood in this lunar light.And the briny, when I reach it , is calm, gentle ,benign ,a mild lippty-lapping of the rocks the sole manifestation of it's might and I'm gazing straight ahead ,a pathway o silvery gold caresses the black pond from mooon to me and back again.No matter how I move ,all shimmering paths feck Rome and guide all to me.The Silvery spoon (Moon) in front, the Plough to the left of me ,Bull to the right of me (Fire , Fire , Fire!) and from his hoof back 120 degrees to Jupiter burnin bright as mini-moon-me. So it means everything -and nuttin.Days or nightys later I cant see dat in front o me face(holdin finger 6 inchos in front o visage) walkin de same route and I'm thinkin O me father, nineteen summers old ,brave as fuck, walkin the fields o North-West Tipp to visit neighbours apres midnite and him keepin cool company wit da Banshee and she keepin comany wit him ,no malice aforethought, not a bother to either. Then I'm feelin sumptin followin me ,then i reach da sea and she is ahollerin,roarin ,wailin , coughin her lungs up onto da beach terrified ,methinks, o da dark.And I can't see her ,tis pitch ,but i still have dat feelin, I'm thinkin of all the ghost stories told by the auld fellas round Aunt mary's turf fire, I'm thinkin of how I loved listenin to them -till I needed a piss and had to head out into the black-alone and not so brave. I'm thinkin too ,years later, o the noise the cows made in the fields on the walk back from *******'s bar.I'm thinkin all these things , then I sees a too-tall fella with a top hat blockin me path and I'm startin to panic and he doesn't just go -worse than that -much worse ,he dissappears! And I'm not walkin now ,I'm feckin runnin ! I know every bramble, every dog turd and yet see everythin in the nuttin . Molly, me devoted dog, is strugglin to keep up and Im for once wishing it wasthecrazeebigballedif it movesbiteitBosco wit me,the old heart iz poundin, da lungs collapsin, then I reach the safety o sodium glow. There's a passer-by , and I says a too cheeryrelievedhello and dey hurry off and I'm on da home stretch but I'm still lookin over da shuloder fer fear o da too-tall dude in da top hat and then.............

MY FUNNY VALENTINE

Dinner with her ex.


New-fangled fancy chilli-vinegar bottles,

I have to say in my defence,

my absolutely necessarily,

absolutely completely deliciously,

rat-arsed defence,

can- almost, in a certain seductive light I swear,

be virtually visually indistinguishable from red wine.

But try telling that amid his histrionic spurting, gagging,

the frantic back-slapping, ruined tablecloth, her

‘I’ll deal with you later’ glancing glares, and me

wondering when I’ll be sufficiently sober to care.


-

FECK,FECK,FECKITY FECK !

Hurried this evening to buy Mrs Beautiful EEjit a Valentino card in Eason and, once I'd barged me way to the front, found a rale booty wit hearts n flowers and a luverly toon when ye opened it.Before I rushed off to the cash desk I glnaced at the code on the back(They're too wise to price dem) and compared it to da code on da pricey list and came fierce close to a full blown hearty tack, me cardio vascular system whent into spashm and me knees went alls a wobble, EIGHT YO YO's, yes, eight of your earth euros for a square o feckin card wit a musical jingly-me-jangle in it.
'Well feck this' says I aloud , ' I'm off to ye olde pound shoppe in da main straight' and off I went in as close to a huff as I can manage in wellos covered in Haggi shite. I parks de Gullardo on doublers yellers as it's roit outside da poundo an I'll be only a minute-or two.Five minutes laythur I'm back to de kyarr wit 2 valentinos cards fer 2 yo yo's (one fer Mrs B. EEjit und ein fur moi from meself ta keep her on her toes) only to find the trafik wardo has desecrated me Lambo with a parko tickets fines of FORTY euros.So da Total feckin EEjit has saved himself 6 euros at the cost of 40.
Total cost of Valentinos cards 42 euros , the love of a good woman? - Priceless.

ROSES ARE RED VIOLETS ARE BLUE

For all ye romantics out dere.

Roses are red , violets are blue
we loves dese songs
hopes yez likes dem too

MOLLY