John Farragher

John Farragher

My love story 

I see so little of love nowadays,

I need to go retrace my ways

My magic and romance. 

Less morose or melancholy, 

Or fear to enter the fray

And say in a peaceful way 

I believe our fated love story

In mind and body. 

Love should still be something sacred, 

Something more spiritual than real, 

That I cannot quite capture, only know, 

Only feel with every beat of my heart, 

Every breath I take, 

Every look upon the creation

Curled up in bed 

Like a fairy.

I once upon a time found

sleeping next to me who I awoke

From some romantic dream

Who so softly spoke and disappeared

before it could be captured 

I search the sheets in vain

Still feel now the pain

Cheated many times 

By the loveless features of my age 

Still seeking creature comfort

Like some lonely girl or boy 

To fill this lovelorn page

With the hope and joy

to awake one day

My dream to stay


The poem I wrote yesterday doesn’t seem so great the next and perhaps that’s a natural reaction when the intensity is no longer there. It can be improved and I hope it will be over the coming days.

I woke at 4am this morning because it was cold so I got up and made myself some Ovaltine, gave a drop of warm milk to the cat, went back to bed and read the introduction by John Guest on the life and works of Oscar Wilde. I sometimes think that we bring about our own destruction and perhaps we need to fall for others to rise. There certainly can be no level playing field in a society with so much disparity.

I think we are entering into a new age of decadence only rather than the individual attitude and aesthetic movement that formed around Oscar Wilde with its excesses I think we need or should I say I need to move towards a larger measure of self control, frugality and socialism not merely because economic circumstances requires it but because it is the right thing to do.

In Wilde’s restless times there was a growing sense of individual freedom and responsibility but according to Guest it seemed couple with a recklessness, not in keeping with Victorian morality however hypocritical it may have been with its laissez faire standards leading to the mechanisation of Britain at the expense of the poor and working classes. 

The part I find interesting in this introduction is that ‘Imagination, fantasy and romanticism, which had been restricted from excess by the decorous tone of the previous period, took their head, and a new aestheticism, claiming to be a law unto itself, sallied forth unhampered by moral restrictions. ‘Beauty had existed long before 1880’, wrote Max Beerbohm. ‘It was Mr. Oscar Wilde who managed her debut[…] Wilde was the focus point of a spirit, ready and anxious for release, rather than a prophet in a hostile land. In leading the dangerous way toward new experiments, he had no lack of applause.

Throughout his writings one finds rapier thrusts at established codes of thought and behaviour: ‘There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. That is all’; ‘The first duty in life is to as artificial as possible’; ‘I can sympathise with everything except suffering’. […] There was an underlying seriousness of purpose but his own decadence or moral falling off led to his critique of society to also being rejected. His own artistic or personal lust for experience went beyond the limits: ‘sensation is no sooner satisfied than stranger and rarer fruits are demanded to stimulate the jaded palate.’

The party was over and the individual held accountable was in jail. 

Despite Wilde’s own belief that ‘an artist should create beautiful things, but should put nothing of his own life into them’ he would perhaps have avoided censure if he had curbed his aesthetic life in accordance with what undoubtedly rings through in his social satire.

It is hard to know what is the most effective way to communicate with the masses but I personally believe I must live the kind of life I’d like others to emulate and that must be a life that is not artificial but sincerely reflected in one's work.



It occurred to me that I should perhaps volunteer to give an online course in the art of storytelling on our local radio so that among other things to activate my activism in the community this year.



It's a battle at times to get out of bed in the morning, when I'm still yawning and though I don't have to do it while still dark it's still cold. The stillness and silence on a crisp misty morning is magical and melancholy.

It's the perfect time to brood on what one's done this year and live in hopeful fear that next year you'll break free from the monotony of unexplored life.

I love the quiet and the comfort of fire. The evening games and spark of desire as we perspire and conspire together to create a community.

I'll laugh and smile with ladies looking for the cold comfort of a shuttle cock beaten to death by a racket:

our feathery or plastic friend depending on the level of competition.

I'm in it for the fun and the company of friends and false foes on the cold battle field we call a gym

Barnacarroll being the community. Badminton the performance

The festivals are flowing thick and fast. Feile Na Tuatha is just over and ours is less than a month away. 

The scarecrow festival run by the men's shed Claremorris is also coming up. We were promoting it yesterday and boy did those kids scare me! They nearly pulled me a part but twas all part of the fun of feile na tuatha.

more to come.

Summer is festival season so we’ve no reason to be sitting at home stuck on front of a screen and yet here I am once again on my own staring at my words staring back at me.

We’ve worked as part of the technical team at the most intimate and friendly festival in Italy Il Giardino delle Esperidi and then on to Avignon. So we’ve seen the intimate and chaotic up close. Rubbed shoulders with the stars and seen how things come together behind the scenes and believe you me theatre is an artistic journey not to be taken lightly. The labour that goes into the leisure industry: the crews, the technology, the time and money makes me wonder if theatre the most spiritual of artistic practice hasn’t been tainted by materiality and monetary concerns.

I've often felt like I've a mission in life and I guess it comes down to sharing my vision. We all have dreams and visions or imagine ourselves playing various roles upon planet Earth but for me much of what I do is related to when I'll be six feet beneath the dirt or ashes in an urn or blown by the wind out to sea. There are many ways of imagining where my final resting place will be but perhaps what I'm looking for in life is a form of immortality or at least to be fondly remembered by friends and family and my community.

I feel like I've reached a stage in life where I feel free from the burden of my ego and the pressure of society and have achieved some understanding of me. Enough at least to be able to do something I believe in and am willing to commit my time and energy freely.

It's a releif to be able to work and play at the same time without having to prove anything to anybody and just enjoy the process. 

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