The  S T R O K E S T O W N
i n t e r n a t i o n a l
P O E T R Y  P R I Z E S

Féile Idirnáisiúnta Filíochta Bhéal Áth na mBuillí  

What is heartening in reading through so many poems in a competition like this, is the natural human spontaneity towards poetry, which is in severe contrast to the version of people we get in the media. And what impresses about this natural spontaneity towards poetry is that it usually possesses a sense of its own identity, a sense of its own form and content, and a sense of something of importance coming through from a place, which is not quite this world but which transforms this world, in one way or another, no matter how small, with its coming into being. In short, this is a sense of poetry knowing perfectly well how to make its entrance into our lives. It arrives not only with what looks like an effortless birth, but with authority and panache. 

I suspect that anyone who has experienced poetry coming into his or her life will know all about these things. How much effort was required, for example, to give the impression of effortlessness. And how easily authority and panache pass from the mysterious origins of poetry to the poet’s self-esteem, self-respect, self-regard, self-conceit, and ego. The downfall goes like this: Such poetry happened to me, therefore I must be it. But poetry is not the property of the ego. It is certainly not to be thought of as any person’s property. The very variety of it, both in our own times and stretching through the ages, indicates a protean liveliness and potency, which are akin to intelligence in its most naked form.  

I would say this is true in all the arts, for by ‘poetry’ I do in all conscience mean ‘art’. And because the artist is the conduit of art, it stands to reason that ‘art’ is by any reckoning a superior spiritual form to ‘artist’. I am sure all artists worth their salt are aware of this. The trouble is, if recognition is meted out in a manner deeply offensive to a genuine artist, then retribution in the form of ‘poetry wars’ is certain to be the case. 

To judge a serious international poetry competition, such as the Strokestown, means rising above such factions. It also means having a firm grip on what poetry is, how it is rooted in our ancestry, and what it means for it to make contact with mankind. For poetry is much more than rhyming on a Valentine card or chanting a favourite verse in a springtime field. It is anciently the formation of the right form of mind in the tribal atmosphere. It articulates what a people is.