SCC ENGLISH

Junior Poetry

2012-05-31T08:57:00.001+01:00

Two more poems from the recent entries to the 2012 Junior Poetry Prize:-

'Time is a Notion' by Kirsten Higgins (I)
As we traverse the milky way
Bound to our sun
23 kilometres per second they say.
Fast enough for any bay.
　

Our axis spin is timed in segments
Broken down into simple seconds
Our moon hauls round the other way
Slowing us down each year they say.
　

We lose the moon eventually
We change our speed of spin per day
The seconds get longer of course.
So what is time?
　

True space travellers we already are
Round the sun in one earth year
Round the Milky Way takes time
Combined, our time is truly fine.

　

'Time Means' by Thomas Lyster (II)
Time means having time to enjoy.
Time means patience.
Time means tolerance.
Time means not having to rush.
　

Time means not having to push.
Time means having time to gaze.
Time means having time to laze
Time means relaxing.
Time means what we want it to mean.
Time can mean anything.
Time can be precious.

　
Time is precise.
Time is significant.
Time is extraordinary.

　
Time is strange.
Time goes too fast.
　

Time goes slowly.
Time means everything.

TY English Evening 2012

2012-05-30T07:40:00.000+01:00

Last night our Transition Year came to the end of their course, with the annual presentation evening to pupils, parents and staff, which featured the usual mixture of pupils' work and an address by a distinguished guest. We were delighted this year to welcome the well-known journalist and author Tom Doorley (pictured), who taught History and English at St Columba's in the early 1980s.

Six varied pieces of writing from the Work Portfolio were read out: William Wood opened up with a powerfully-delivered reading of Rebekka Kehrwald's vivid 'Being Underwater', followed by:- Pia Gromotka's letter from a grandmother, passing on an heirloom to a granddaughter; Brendan Dickerson's vividly imagined 'In the Aliens' Zoo' (read by Ugo Onwurah); Sadhbh Sheeran's declaration of her feminism (prompted last week by this article from the Irish Times, '10 Good Reasons to be a Feminist'); Jessica Scott's reflection on her very busy and productive Transition Year (read by Molly Dunne); finally there was Helene Peters's half-comic, half-horrific and scarily-delivered piece imagining the thoughts of a deranged individual with 'a plan'. Some of these pieces will be posted on this blog in the coming weeks.

Tom Doorley opened his remarks with attentive, perceptive and complimentary comments about this small selection of the work done this term, including a comment that Helene Peters's piece would not have been out of place on Radio 4. He then reminisced about his teaching life at St Columba's, with many highly entertaining anecdotes much enjoyed by all. He said that the College has a special spirit and a particular sense of community, and that although he left teaching in the 1980s, he still misses the particular rewards of the classroom. Tom's career has taken him to advertising, copywriting, journalism and authorship, and he emphasised to the pupils the importance of using language precisely, and of reading widely. You have to be able to write in a variety of forms and about many subjects (he told us that later in the evening he had to sit down to write an article on broccoli...).

Tom concluded by urging pupils to join Twitter and learn the discipline of writing effectively in 140 characters - no better way to start than by following the man himself at @tomdoorley. Coming soon: his new website at http://www.tomdoorley.com/.

Finally, congratulations to the four pupils out of 56 who were given Premier Awards (80% or higher): Siobhán Brady, Alexandra Owens, Helene Peters and Sadhbh Sheeran.

Voices of Poetry 2012

2012-05-28T23:42:00.001+01:00

Last night in the Big Schoolroom, we had one of the highlights of the year, the annual Voices of Poetry evening. As Mr Swift said in his introduction, it is the 'essence of summer'. The well-tried format worked its magic again in a warm Big Schoolroom illuminated only by a single spotlight. The evening provides us each year with a particular kind of mental space at the busiest time of all.

Douglas Boyd Crotty opened with Blake's 'Jerusalem', which he recited in the Poetry Aloud semi-final; he was followed by Samuel Clarke, with his poem 'It is Time', winner of the 2012 Junior Poetry Prize. Then came the first batch of foreign language poems - Italian (Dante, from Albert Kyd-Rebenburg), Latin (Catullus, from Friedericke Wagner), Spanish (Sophie Lamotte), French (Quirin v Blomberg). Hollie Canning read the first Irish poem of the evening, and then Primary as a group performed Rosemary Dobson's 'Folding the Sheets'. The first staff member to read was Mr Jameson, with Billy Collins's 'More than a Woman' (video link of Collins himself reading it, with commentary).

Noelle Knight read excellently a poem in Jamaican patois, followed by Bethany Shiell (Portuguese) and Russian (Ilya Zyzlaev). Two unusual languages followed - Azeri (Ricki Barnes) and Farsi (Aoise Keogan-Nooshabadi). Further eastwards we went - Chinese (Julia Xie) and Korean (Sun Hee Hwang). Then back to English - next year's tennis captains, Hamish Law and Kezia Wright performed Roger McGough's shape poem '40-love' as 'players'. Shannen Keogan, Second Prefect, chose a Máirtín O'Direáin piece in Irish. Mr Girdham contributed Sylvia Plath's poem about parenthood, 'You're'. Poems in German (Helene Peters) and Catalan (Anna Herrero) followed before the final cluster - Senior Prefect Jack Cherry contributed Rudyard Kipling's 'If' and a poem by his pal Angus Johnson from some years ago. The winner of this year's Peter Dix Award for Poetry (pictured), Sadhbh Sheeran, read 'Solstice', for a good friend lost recently. Finally, Chance Gustafson ended with American English.

Many thanks to Mr Swift for again providing us with another memorable evening.

'Solstice'

2012-05-28T23:39:00.000+01:00

Another poem from Sadhbh Sheeran's winning portfolio for the Senior Poetry Prize 2012, one about a dear friend lost recently, 'a beautiful person' as she said at the Voices of Poetry evening, when she read this out:-

'Solstice'

Not even standing room, so we gathered outside,
Unconscious of the cold.
Hundreds of people, well known faces,
Yet each of us alone.
Hands touched my back but all was numbed.

I couldn’t see,
It didn’t matter.

All was broadcast to us by speakers,
The penultimate moments, projected to the world.
Harsh.
I focused on the backs of heads in front
Of me, following the voice.

Couldn’t see,
Didn’t matter.

The scent of flowers passed me, made my stomach churn.
Mother pulled me round and we followed
His family.

Could it matter?
Didn’t I see?

A hillside, lined with people,
Each to their own.

Tight against the graves of others,
All faced one.
I stood below his open grave.
Hands deep in my pockets,
Feeling the cold now.

Didn’t matter,
Could see.

Sounds of mourning fled the hillside,
No longer a need for speakers,
I searched for friendly faces,
Not brave enough to look to those i knew best.
I found two, far up the crowd,
Recognised them well, they projected the hope.
The relief was great, softening the loss.

Seeing matters.

It was Winter Equinox
Growing dark, on the hillside lined with people ,
For one it would be the last time the darkness grew.
But the hope was there, within us all,
The people on the hillside.

See, it matters.

'Calendar'

2012-05-26T12:20:00.002+01:00

Joanna Tottenham received a Commendation for her recent entries to the Senior Poetry Prize. Here is one of her poems (inspired perhaps by Sylvia Plath's 'Mirror'):-

Calendar

I am precise and square. I do not forget

When I am told, I remember

Untainted by my preconceptions

I am an elephant. I never forget.

The mind of an academic, ink stained.

I pass my days collecting dates.

I am ordinary. I have taken so many.

I think I will explode. But it changes:

Months and days end with a band.

Now I am afresh. A new face appears,

Exploring my seasons for a time.

Then she succeeds and blesses me

With a note. She smiles and leaves.

I am her time keeper

Every day she visits me and stares.

I tell her the secrets and remember hers.

Her memory and mind are mine.

She grows and soon will be out of reach.