Translating the Wild Atlantic
I return to Ireland to see dear friends, hear literature, walk on the craggy cliffs and seaweed strewn beaches. As I again glimpse life from the other side of the Atlantic, I am reminded about how insular we can become. Parallel lives move forward in other places and we are unaware.
In Ireland, I was awakened by noisy crows each morning. One evening we held a literary salon featuring writers Geraldine Mills, Alan McMonagle, Ted Deppe, Annie Deppe, Hedy Gibbons Lynott, Pat Lynott, Pete Mulllineaux, Moyo Roddy, and Aideen Henry. As we shared work, drank wine, ate smoked salmon and goat cheese, I felt that enchantment that I find in reading a good book–the sensation of being transported somewhere else. The genres ranged from narrative poetry to fiction to memoir. Round one moved to round two and those who could stay read some more. How lucky we all were to have the time to listen, pause, and listen again.
I return to Ireland because Ireland is now a part of who I am as a writer. I can’t imagine my life without the brightly colored villages, buskers in Galway City, Kennys Bookshop, and friends I miss when I must board a plane for what is home for now.
When I go back, it will be to launch my collection of short fiction Growing a New Tail published by Arlen House and distributed in the United States by Syracuse University Press. My writing is yet another translation of the world in its dark meanderings and sudden bursts of emotion.
Literary Imaginings by Lisa C. Taylor 