Tuam Library Children’s Book Festival prizewinners 2014

Exhibition in Galway City Library

Galway’s Great Read event in Ballinasloe Library

Galway’s Great Read event in Ballinasloe Library i

 John Boland reads from Sebastian Barry’s A long long way, the book chosen for Galway’s Great Read.

Mary Clancy, NUI Galway discussed the sources of information available on WWI, she talked about life-stories and examined the involvement of Galway women in various aspects of World War I.

Sam Angus, Children’s author talks about the influences that brought about her characters in her books; Soldier Dog, Hero and Captain

Sam Angus talks to children from two local schools –Laurencetown NS and Ballinasloe Gaelscoil, about her books and about writing.

Polar Express arrives in Galway for Christmas

Christmas Trees in Galway City & Tuam Libraries

Galway Libraries 2nd 'Galway’s Great Read Creative Writing Competition Winner'

 Dualgas Dhónail

Pádraic Ó Giobúin

Sea chuala Dónal, i dtaobh na hóráid’, a thug Mac Réamoinn ar an Woodenbridge,   

gurb é leas na Fódhla, i dtús an Fhómhair, a ghabháil chun catha don sean namhaid. 
Go mbeadh féin rialtas, le fáil mar íocaíocht, nuair a thabharfaí an Bheilg slán,   
go mbeadh deireadh choíche, le ansmacht rithe, ‘s go mbeadh lán saoirse ag feara Fáil.

Thug Dónal aird, ar cheann an pháirtí, gur chuir síos a ainm ar liosta an rí,                                  

 is bhí a chairde, teacht le cosa in airde, le fonn a gcuid a thabhairt don tír.

Shroich siad ceann scríbe, anseo sa trinse, is dhírigh gunnaí ar an dream úd thall,            

 ba sa sruthán draoibe, gan díon ná dídean, a bheadh siad feasta i dtír na nGall.

Bhí tú lán le imní, ar feadh na hoíche, is níor chodail néal nó gur bhreac an lá,                  

an boladh nimhneach, i mbarr na gaoithe, a chuirfeadh iompú ar an laoch is fearr.           

Thosaigh gunnaí brúchtaíl, is an talamh ag luascadh, bhéic an ceannfort amach an gháir,

chuir an fheadóg tús, leis an ionsaí fuilteach, is chuaigh sibh suas is amach thar barr.

Bhí na sreanga géara, ag breith ar ghéaga, is na poill ‘cur bac leis an sodar mear,               

bhí gunnaí scréachadh,  ‘s ag déanamh réabadh, ag fágáil bearnaí sna buíonta fear.              

gurbh éigin casadh, gan an líne a thrasnú,  is filleadh ‘rís ar an bportach láib’                    

ach mo chéad faraor, bhí cuid mhaith feara, nár thug na cosa leo slán ón ngábh.

Bhí na francaigh ramhra, ag teacht chun tórramh, ‘s a cothú  scéin’ agus uafás mór,            

is a Dhia na Glóire, tabhair dúinn fóirithint, sin í impí Dhónail i ngleann na ndeor,           

mar tá Seán ar iarraidh, ‘gus níor fhill Diarmaid, níl tásc ná tuairisc le fáil ar Dan,              

ní sheasfadh ciaróg, leis an bpléascadh síoraí, atá baint croitheadh as no man’s land.

Is fada an ród é, go Tiobraid Árann, is an cailín álainn, ‘d’fhág tú  Sliabh na mBan,            

is dá bhfaighfeá, do chead amárach, níl aon rud ab fhearr leat, ná bheith léi sa ngleann,

ach tá an t-ordú faighte, tá an focal ráite, níl aird ná luach ar an saighdiúir bocht,

níl aon rud le rá ad, pé ar bith tá i ndán duit, ag an maor sa gcathaoir tá an focal scoir.

Ba ag geataí Ypres, a chríochnaigh d’íobairt, le píosa srapnail go domhain sa gcnámh,        

bhí tú gonta spíonta, ‘gus ar leath-chos sínte, is seoladh ar ais thú go críocha Fáil.          .                 

Ní raibh romhat aon fháilte, ní raibh glóir san ár seo, agus níl do náisiún beag fós saor,                     

tá do mhisneach caillte, tú gan mórán cairde, do chuimhne lán den íocaíocht dhaor.

Galway Libraries 'Galway’s Great Read Creative Writing Competition Winner'

The first of  this year’s winners of  Galway Libraries Galway’s Great Read Creative Writing Competition is Michael Gallagher with this poignant piece entitled First light. Congratulations Michael.

I remember sleep. I am however afraid to venture forth into its duplicitous arms, for I know what awaits me there. My sleep is scarred by the faces of the dead, the screaming of the shells and the cries of dying men. Sleep has become but a stepping stone from one vision of hell to another. Of late, Private Joe Kearney skulks in the shadows of my dreams, ready to step into the limelight, to replay the savage agony of his death one more time before we go.
Joe and I grew up together. We set sail for England together. We joined up together. He died alone. His life was stolen away on a soft summer morning last week. A victim of the ugliest weapon of this war, the flame thrower; a recent addition to a hellish armoury already desperately overstocked.
Consumed by the flames, Joe Kearney fell to his knees, raised his arms to the heavens and beseeched some higher being for aid that would never come. And for several terrible moments, it was as if the crude pandemonium of the battlefield settled in volume so that I might better imprint the sickening drama of Joe’s cruel demise on my memory. Joe Kearney’s screams will remain with me until the day I die.
That day may not be as distant as I might wish. At first light I will step once more into no man’s land.
No man’s land.
An aptly named place if ever there was one, for no man should be forced to set foot on such God forsaken soil. The numbing omnipresent fear in the trench is merely a warm up for the terror that lies beyond. Once you climb the ladder and step out onto the battlefield there is only a carpet of tattered, blackened corpses, barbed wire and malevolent flying death for company. There is no mercy in no man’s land. There are no heroes in no man’s land; there are only the dead and the temporarily reprieved.
The bombardment has already begun. It is but the precursor for what will come at first light, another bloody attack. The ground shakes, my hands shake, even the rats that cower in the corners of the trench have been driven half mad by the ugly thunder of the shelling. The night is alive with the pulsating fury of a thousand tons of TNT raining down upon the enemy. I would revel in the majesty of the lightshow if I believed for one
First Light 3
moment that it would put an end to the Hun. Nothing should survive the ferocity of such a high explosive assault, but survive they do. No matter how long, how intense the bombardment, they are always there, manning the machine guns with a vindictiveness worthy of the devil himself.
This is truly the death of civilisation. It can only be the end of the world. The stench of rotting corpses, latrine buckets, cordite and sweat permeates everything. The sights, the sounds, the stink, every sense is polluted by the brutality of this infernal conflict. We have been banished like criminals to a disgusting wasteland where mayhem, savage violence and cold hard steel are king. It is indeed a long way to Tipperary.
I am not a coward but my courage has been poisoned over time by the intolerable trauma of battle. A wound would be a blessed relief. How much of myself would I be willing to sacrifice to gain a reprieve from the ongoing insanity of this wretched place? Would an arm be payment enough to buy me a ticket home?
And should death come to call, how will it choose to spirit me away? Will my demise torment the dreams of another like me or will I meet my end like Lanky O’ Rourke?
Lanky simply stumbled and fell in no man’s land like he’d tripped on an untied shoe lace. He collapsed face down into the unremitting mud and stirred no more, an unremarkable passing. Over time I’m sure he disappeared into that mud, the relentless clinging mud that holds a hundred thousand comrades, brothers, fathers and sons in its embrace.
I am surrounded now by the threadbare ranks of our original unit, our numbers shored up by raw recruits who arrive to fill the boots of our fallen comrades. We veterans ignore these inexperienced replacements. Why get to know someone who may well be filleted in obscene ruin on the field of battle within twenty four hours. I have lost enough friends already. I will lose no more.
The shelling has ceased. The familiar post barrage stillness hangs in the air. It is an ominous silence, heavy with the weight of what will come at dawn. I might wish it so but this night will not last forever.
First light is on its way.

Ballybane Library - 'Interactive read aloud with Kayla'

Picture from today's 'Interactive read aloud with Kayla'

Kayla Williams student teacher from Galway Educate Together as part of her community outreach experience.

'Galway's Great Read' in Tuam Library

Gort Vibes Cinema Club will be screening The Lunchbox in Gort library

Gort Vibes Cinema Club will be screening The Lunchbox in Gort library at 8pm on Thurs. 4^th December.
Some romances are written in the stars. Others, it would seem, can be chalked up to a misread street map. When a lunchbox painstakingly prepared by Ila (Nimrat Kaur) for her emotionally distant husband is mistakenly delivered to Saajan (the wonderful Irrfan Khan, Life of Pi), the under-appreciated Mumbai housewife and lonely accountant strike up an intimate correspondence. Continuing to use Mumbai’s legion of lunch couriers as their go-betweens, they share increasingly involved letters detailing their inner thoughts and life stories. The tinges of disappointment and regret that punctuate these missives reflect the enticing soulfulness of Ritesh Batra’s debut. In turn, there’s exhilaration to be had watching these characters realize that their futures are unwritten. But will they put down their pens and overcome the obstacles keeping them from one another? - Vancouver International Film Festival 2013