On the last Wednesday of each month for the past fifteen years(!) The Sunflower Sessions has been offering an open mic to the poets of Dublin. I showed up at the Lord Edward Pub, a cute rickety old pub in the center of town which serves as their current venue, and was lucky to make the lineup.
Poetry open mics can be entertaining, though-provoking, dull as a pile of slugs and frequently all three in the same night. The Sunflower Sessions, however, had the most consistently excellent performances and poetry of any open mic I’ve attended. Usually there’ll be some poets who are still learning how to read poetry in public and there’ll be some poets who probably shouldn’t be reading their poetry public but not at this open mic. There must be something in the waters of the River Liffey flowing through this ancient city. The two hours just flew by.
I was in the last set of readers and will admit to being a little nervous as an American trying to impress the Irish with his poetry but am proud to report that they laughed in all the right places and applauded approvingly so I count the night a success.
For the record, I read Practice Fire, Limitless and the poem I’d written the day before, Goals.
When planning your next trip to Dublin, I strongly recommend scheduling so you’ll be here for the last Wednesday of the month just so you can attend The Sunflower Sessions.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
It sounds like you had an incredible time there, and I am glad that’s the case!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I did and am having a great few weeks in Dublin.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s lovely to see the folks keep the poetry tradition and culture going.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Indeed. Poetry is in good hands in Ireland.
LikeLike
👍
LikeLiked by 1 person
So fun Bart. It’s like we’re along with you. You should check out the O’Shea’s Merchant. They have great trad music and food and dancing. I spent my first four days there and loved it. Right on the LIffey.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s not far from my hotel but, according to Google, it’s permanently closed. Ah well…
LikeLike
I envy you—the trip and the poetry reading. I’m one of those who shouldn’t read poetry for an audience. I sound like a hillbilly—which I am.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Nothing wrong with sounding like a hillbilly. You can play to that in your performance and poetry.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, but I don’t have a good speaking voice…some do, some don’t.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Having a pleasing speaking voice in poetry is sort of like being a tall basketball player. It’s an advantage but being short doesn’t mean you can’t play. You just have to work harder.
Performing poetry is just like any other skill. We get better with practice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
True…
LikeLiked by 1 person
There’s ‘nowt wrong wi’ being a Hillbilly. Accents and ways of speaking can enhance recitation. Consider Robert Burns…
To a Mouse
On Turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785.
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickerin brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
’S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss ’t!
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!
But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!
Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
LikeLiked by 2 people
One of my favorites.
LikeLike
I wish to hell, I could go there and see that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It is worth the trip.
LikeLike
Sounds like a great night.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It was a lot of fun. Everyone was very welcoming to me and the other first-timers.
LikeLike
There is something in the Liffey water – my Dad drank Guinness in Ireland, wouldn’t touch it in England.
‘Limitless’ – oh yes.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The Guinness definitely tastes better here than it does in the States.
LikeLike