Before, I moved to Inis Chléire my apartment had shrunk. The walls encroached upon me. Ideas reverberated, pinging back and forth from wall to wall. Stale air hung in the room. On rotation, I inhaled and exhaled the same three thoughts.
Two months on Inis Chléire was a tonic. The small island felt expansive. The ocean was everywhere! People were not! I could breathe - and so could my thoughts. The first few weeks, I did just that. I explored, observed, jotted down notes. I picked blackberries from hedgerows, and looked up the Gaeilge for their neighbouring species. I watched the sunset.
I had hoped, upon embarking on the residency, that I would interact with the young people on the island, and that this would inform my writing - cén chaoi a mbíonn siad ag caint? / céard faoi a mbíonn said ag smaoineamh? - but as the Covid-19 restrictions increased this became more and more difficult.
Instead, I focused my attention on the island’s natural life. I was greeted each morning by a field of weary cows. I met Ed Harper who, because of a vision impairment, knows each of his goats by touch. I was introduced to Séamus Ó Drisceoll’s goat who was given medicine to stop his horn from growing, that only turned it curly instead. I visited an abandoned seal pup each day for a week.
Most of all, I was captivated by the island’s bird life, and was inspired by this to write a children’s story about a bird who is ‘beag agus buí le ceoilín binn’. This story weaves influences of the island’s rich folklore, landscape and placenames, and carries feelings of both belonging and aloneness; a tale of the island experience. I am grateful to Steve Wing from the Bird Observatory for taking time to speak to me on this subject.
I was fortunate to read this story to the pupils of Scoil Náisiúnta Inis Chléire. This took place from a distance, outdoors, on a cold November’s day, but an attentive audience nonetheless. Following the story-telling event, the pupils drew joyous pictures of the charachters a thug gliondar dom chroí.
After nine weeks, I fluttered back to Dublin. I was surprised to see that the walls of my apartment had grown since I had I left.
Please note, the accompanying audio story you can enjoy on this page is a first draft
Go raibh maith agat as éisteacht
Íomhánna ó na daltaí ó Scoil Naisiúnta Chléire
While I was in Inis Cléire, I continued with my regular Irish Times column. The following two pieces were inspired by the move to, and life on, Cape Clear;
In these pieces, you will once again notice these themes of claustraphobia and breadth, and the impact of the island’s folklore on my writing.
When you experience the night sky in Inis Chléire, the piseoga no longer seem daft or of-the-past. The consuming depth of the darkness is truly fearsome, and what may linger in that profund abyss is truly unknown.
