Liam Carson

Seeing people singing and dancing with joy on the streets of Belgrade and São Paulo is truly inspiring. The forces of darkness can be defeated. There is hope.

Bígí linn! Tá an Hip-hap Gaelach fillte tar éis sárthaispeántais ag IMRAM na bliana seo caite. Cloisfimid roinnt de na rapadóirí tréitheacha a chualamar anuraidh, chomh maith le glórtha úra Gaelacha.

storm wind blowing through oak trees the howl of dying leaves

The Holding Bones is just a lovely poetic show. In an artist’s studio, shadows talk, objects come alive as Niamh Lawlor draws her very bones to overcome loss and celebrate love and the cycle of life. In Wexford on Monday 26 November. Tickets: wexfordartscentre.ticketsolve.com/ticketbooth/...

Dónal Lunny RIP. Ceol na nAingeal go gcloise sé.

Haiku by Garry Gay.

Haiku by Marian Olson.

Scéal faoi IMRAM na bliana seo san Irish Times.

Manic Street Preachers about to take the stage. Geno by Dexy's on the sound system.

So, here's my nine films...

'Sé blas na cólainne an blas is milse'. Nótaí dialainne le Pearse Hutchinson.

D'éirigh thar na bearta le Pygmalion 26 i gCorcaigh aréir, is tá muidne iontach bródiúl as an éacht a rinne Eithne s'againne (agus gach duine sa léiriú).

More poetry book booty from Cork.

Poetry book booty from Vibes and Scribes in Cork.

Gala night of Gabriel Rosenstock's poetry featuring Paddy Bushe, Aifric Mac Aodha, Caitríona Ní Chléirchín, Séamus Barra Ó Súilleabháin & Tristan Rosenstock. Music from Cormac Breathnach, Seán Mac Erlaine & Harshal Desai. Tickets at link below. Join us to celebrate the poet pookah that was Gabriel.

Dán le Pearse Hutchinson.

This cause is close to my heart - please sign: my.actnowni.org/petitions/he...

Deireadh an lae sa Charraig Dhubh.

Daughter Eithne's poetry book pile.

Excerpt from the wonderful verse novel Knockan by Jim Carruth.

My choice for My9albums.

Poem by Friederike Mayröcker, translated by Donna Stonecipher.

You see, I want a lot. Perhaps I want everything: the darkness that comes with every infinite fall and the shivering blaze of every step up. - Rainer Maria Rilke Painting of Rilke: Leonid Pasternak

Maybe poetry is about finding poetry in all things. An elliptical definition. It is also a world to enter. I read Frederike Mayröcker's prose poems; I am in her Vienna apartment , looking out her window, recalling beauty, voyaging into the eeriness of the everyday. She writes, her eyes blaze.

Recent poetry book booty.

Haiku found in fleurs by Frederike Mayröcker woman with hood walking stick and lantern sees the fragile moon-flower on the ottoman a little dog sleeping sparkling stars on the window ample woodland in my writing room i set off on a ramble

Niamh's beautiful show The Holding Bones is coming to Wexford soon.

Haiku found in fleurs by Frederike Mayröcker lies in state on a bit of cloth dead bee early morning already a little bird trills a funeral dirge the bushes begin to wither a swallow flies south the moon rising over rowan woods an inner voice speaks the cosmos is a rosebud yes, my shaman

Haiku found in fleurs by Frederike Mayröcker amidst gravestones nut trees in whose crowns fruit is hanging lightning bolts dash the grass so very damp and soft dark leaves in the sweet deciduous sorrow woods we follow footprints of poesy icicle-land of January

Haiku found in fleurs by Frederike Mayröcker long since withered the cherry blossom branch you gifted me melancholy thought the watch is still ticking on his wrist in the grave polyphonic the golden bird-world early morning in July over your bed in the first light of dawn a swallow flies

Haiku by Sanki Saitō, translated by Masaya Saito.

Current state of the bedside book pile.

I know I believe in nothing but it is my nothing

'A Song for the North': poem for our Ciaran by daughter Eithne.

Nice to meet old pal Seanie Doran at launch of Ciaran's X+Y = K today.

Spotted on lamppost outside Seamus Heaney Centre.

Belfast night on the bouncer's arms tattooed snakes writhe talk in Irish of which spuds are best the flags of Sandy Row Botanic Avenue the swish of taxis in the rainy night

On the Dublin to Belfast train, reading truly beautiful haiku by Thomas Powell.

Léiriú haiku amuigh faoin aer i nGaeilge agus i mBéarla agus rannpháirtíocht an phobail ann. Join us for a haiku reading in Irish and English with Liam Carson – featuring a gingko, or haiku walk, in which the audience will be invited to compose their own haiku.

TOMORROW! A gala bi-lingual poetry reading in Irish and English with Caitríona Ní Chléirchín, Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh and Laoighseach Ní Choistealbha. BAIRD IMRAM AR CHAMPAS: Béal Feirste/Belfast 📅 Déardaoin, 24 Meán Fómhair 2026 🕠 5.30pm 📲 Booking: seamusheaneycentre.com/Events/

My favourite spot on earth when I was ten years old. The book Mecca that was Harry Hall's in Belfast's Smithfield Market.

Nice to meet up with John O'Donnell and swap books at Bere Island Arts Festival.

gone in a puff shreds of tobacco blown in the autumn wind something hides in the bushes the cat's eyes do not blink through the open window shouts from a football match Indian summer night

Tá Eithne s'againne sa phríomh-ról sa dráma seo! Our daughter Eithne is the lead role in this play!

Tá clár na feile litríochta IMRAM 2026 beo anois! Le feiceáil ag an nasc thíos. The IMRAM Irish-Language Literature Festival progamme for 2026 is live now - see link below. imram.ie/clar-imram-2...

Latest poetry book booty.

Bookshops in Belfast, all gone now. They were the heart of the city for me - I could spend the entire day wandering from one to the other. Chess books in Marshall's; Marvel comics and SF books in Harry Hall's; poetry zines and anarchist tracts in Just Books, listening to records in their café.

My old poet pal John Hughes just posted this, from Donna Stonecipher's great collection The Ruins of Nostalgia. It reminded me of how Starbucks took over a lot of independent cafés in Dublin, or put them out of business. I alway laugh at the notion that capitalism gives you choice.

a woman’s voice turns into birdsong music of a summer night woman talks of gathering wool then weaves her song singer’s lament how bears and wolves once walked the land night in Wales high in the mountains where horses once ran wild

wild ponies at the standing stone a white butterfly the sun burns a fly walks up a wild pony’s nose high above the sheep-speckled hill raven flies to the sea