
windows at Aras an Phiarsaigh
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A Seasonal poem by John McGrath
In Ballyegan Bog
In Ballyegan Bog the cuckoo’s tune
has changed to mark the turning of the year.
Through summer’s haze the lark sings loud and clear
and soars above the dancing ceannabhán.
Where lines of neat turf-tepees strut and seem
to mock neglected neighbours with disdain,
sad strips of black spaghetti wait in vain
for willing hands. The bog-land trampoline
beneath my feet springs back as I march on,
remembering those summer days long gone
when life was sweet as heather-scented air
and feet were bare and fleet as childrens’ are,
when time endured and even work was play
and skylarks sang the live-long, lark-song day.
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A Summer Laugh

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+Mickey MacConnell R.I.P.+
I had the privilege of photographing Mickey MacConnell often, mostly in John B.s. I am a great admirer of his talent. His legacy is significant and vast.

Mickey MacConnelll could turn a phrase better than most writers I know. He was more than just a super songwriter, he was a consumate master of the English language. He could craft a piece of writing in prose or poetry to evoke any emotion he chose. He was unequalled as a storyteller in song.

Mickey was a great observer of people and he had a unique skill for presenting us with characters we all recognised from our own lives. I know a man who drank the farm. There is one in every second parish in Ireland.
As a balladeer he was superb. He told us stories in such a relateable way that we were there with him. We travelled west on Friday nights with Mickey and we were back in our early twenties drinking supermarket wine and living on our wits.

Mickey had a knack of taking us behind the scenes and showing us the human side of people who we only knew in their warpaint and public personae. He showed us the politician speaking in clichés, the magician’s assistant whom he sawed in half “one time too many”, the clown who died with his painted smile on his lips, the students happy to have The Leaving behind but for them “the leaving’s just begun.”
“Hocus, pocus, focus, folks”
Mickey MacConnell was a gentle satirist. He had first hand knowledge of the Ireland of “The Troubles”, when “follow the flag was a game”. He knew well the boys of the Byline Brigade. He wrote about people he knew and he brought them to life for us. He held the mirror up to us too as we lost the run of ourselves buying into stock from the big German retailers.
As a writer Mickey MacConnell had the ability to evoke every emotion. He could walk in anyone’s shoes, it seemed. We laughed with him and cried with him in equal measure.

Photo taken at the unveiling of the John B. Keane memorial in the Garden of Europe.
As well as writing the songs, Mickey was a great interpreter of a song. His ‘Footsteps of John B.” has become a local anthem. His regular sessions in John B.s and other local hostelries will be greatly missed. Listowel won’t be the same without him. I hope someone writes a Ballad of Mickey MacConnell to keep his memory alive.

with John Molloy
As well as writing songs. Mickey MacConnell was an accomplished journalist. His regular columns in The Kerryman were a must read for me. I would love if they could republish them as a tribute to his memory.

Photo with Maura taken in Allos where Mickey was posing to have his portrait painted by artists on a residency at the Olive Stack Gallery.
His loss to Listowel is great but far worse is his loss to Maura, Kerry, Claire and their families. May he rest in peace.
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A Fact
The workhouse in Listowel was completed in 1842 but no paupers were admitted until February 1845.
(Source; Michael Guerin)
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