A reminder that art isn’t just for show – it can make a difference

All of this, of course, reinforced the compelling message I had picked up in Stronge’s bar. That all of us can access meaning through art.

For the Maple poets, it was a weekly poetic communion. For the prisoners, it came as an ingenious and effective form of rehabilitation.

A SHORT break in an unfamiliar rural spot can be a tonic in more ways than one. Visiting a friend in East Galway and discovering the charms of Lough Derg’s shores provided welcome relief from city pressures. One tends to associate sophistication with cities. This writer was put right by a short stay with friends near Portumna last weekend.

A party thrown by our hostess, Margaret Hickey, an English travel writer and wine buff, decanted an eclectic collection of guests . Artists, poets, teachers, farmers, lawyers and even a kilted Scots old Etonian who played the bagpipes . The sun shone on the flat landscape until late evening when the sunset was replaced by roaring gypsy fires.

Next morning, a boat provided with our rented cottage prompted a magical sail through the reeds and wildlife of the west shore of the lake. Swimmers emerged from the silken waters bearing water lilies in their teeth. Books were read, stories told and memories shared of friendships spanning 30 years. The remains of wine from the party provided a hearty coq au vin dinner for 15 in our cosy cottage.

But the best was yet to come. Our hostess had another treat in store for us; an invitation to the Maple Poetry Group session in Stronges Bar in Portumna. There was a buzz of excitement in the little pub as we arrived, poetry books in hand. The chairwoman, Noelle Lynskey, a pharmacist who formed the poetry group ordered the proceedings sensitively ; there was even a bog oak lectern and a microphone.

One by one people read their own poems or recited the works of others. Each read with precision and sincerity, some from little notebooks, others from printed sheets or books. The work ranged from a raunchy rendition of Rudyard Kipling’s Ladies by Eamon Hayes, to original works by a cross section of authors: teachers, tradesmen and bachelor farmers. A young teacher, Mark, read his own poem dedicated to the two unborn twins murdered at Omagh. His wife also a teacher read a specially-requested poem for one of our English guests entitled The Hare by Seamus Heaney.

A german lady, Wiltrud, performed a favourite piece of her own entitled Trapped. Our hostess Margaret – herself the convenor of the Baffle Poetry Group and festival based in Loughrea (www.bafflepoetry.org) – read Thomas Hardy’s Darkling Thrush.

Pints were ordered in the seven-minute breaks ordained by Noelle, who took the opportunity to encourage shy folk at the back. Nobody was bounced into it.

So seductive was the atmosphere that one of our English visitors, Pete, launched into the Yeats poem Aedh Wishes For The Cloths of Heaven in a surprise gesture of enduring love to his mortified wife Mandy, who blushed like a bride for a full ten minutes after the dedication.

The two-hour event was as moving as it was enjoyable. It set me thinking about how poetry and writing can be rewarding on so many fronts. This was a gathering of ordinary people deliberately convened for the purpose of sharing a love of the intellectual.

It was low key, modest and sincere. It was professionally conducted in an ordinary pub and although not everyone there was part of the poetry group, there wasn’t a single interruption. Later when the group dispersed the usual alcohol-fuelled banter and singing resumed. The poets and pen pushers went on our way, musing on these matters and marvelling at the energy of women like Margaret and Noelle for organising art in their communities.

Then, as if by magic, while driving back to Dublin the following day, I chanced upon a wonderful documentary on the radio. Not about poetry but about the redemptive power of music on inmates in Cork prison.

A music teacher, Noel Shine, who had taught in Cork prison for 28 years, spoke with great modesty and intelligence of the impact of music on some of his prisoner students over the years. There were interviews with current and former inmates, men who were serving long sentences and who had found stimulation, relief and inspiration through song-writing and playing guitar.

They told of how they had been taught by Noel to write songs and play the guitar and how through music they had overcome despair and addiction. Some of them sang and played their original songs with confidence and pride. Many had kept up their music when released and it had often provided them with work and self respect on rejoining the outside world.

All of this, of course, reinforced the compelling message I had picked up in Stronge’s bar. That all of us can access this inner vision and meaning through art. For the Maple poets, it was a weekly poetic communion. For the prisoners, it came as an ingenious and effective form of rehabilitation. I wanted to hear more about Noel Shine and his students. The politician in me saw the endless possibilities to salve the sadness and desolation in Mountjoy and other prisons.

Our prison population is growing and set to escalate with poverty unemployment and frustration in these hard times. With an annual cost to the State of €93,000 per inmate and with high rates of reoffending, value for money is questionable. We have to find a more civilised and progressive approach to prisoner rehabilitation. The only time I felt ashamed to be a TD was when I visited Mountjoy and saw a young man crying like a baby, lying naked save for a prison blanket in a padded cell. When I challenged his conditions with the warden, I was told it was for his “own protection.” It is a memory which has haunted me over the years.

This week saw the publication of the latest report of the Inspector of Prisons. Our prisons are overcrowded and drug infested, none of which is news. Of the inmates of Loughan House, a supposedly drug free and low security centre, 44 percent had tested positive for illicit drugs.

The Inspector called for an audit of drug abuse in all prisons and an increase in the provision of treatment for drug-addicted prisoners. Judge Reilly, the Inspector, also expressed concern at the very large numbers of prisoners “on protection” who are locked up for 23 hours a day due to concerns for their own personal safety.

He said about 25% of young offenders at St Patrick’s Institution were “on protection”. Just like the pathetic boy I observed 15 years ago. The Inspector concluded: “It is a sad reflection on society that the lives of boys as young as 16 are under threat whilst in custody by reason of their involvement in the gang rivalry that has manifested itself as a sub-culture of modern Irish society”.

Is anyone listening to the Inspector? Does the Minister know about Noel Shine’s amazing music therapy or appreciate how a little art can transform lives?