Ireland's premier fiction and poetry magazine since 2002
Fiction and poetry
Crannóg acknowledges the assistance of:
Arts Council of Ireland and Galway City Council.
Site design: www.wordsonthestreet.com
Crannóg for Kindle
To read Crannóg on the Kindle click here.
Due to the Covid-
We hope to post audio/video readings in a virtual launch shortly. Check back soon.
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Crannóg is a project funded by the Arts Council of Ireland and Galway City Council. It endeavours to provide support to writers, artists and associated literary events.
The Crannóg Questionnaire
We interview writers on their thoughts about the writing process, their writing routines and other matters.
For issue 52 we’ve put together the work of 42 writers, 8 short stories 34 poems
Plus we talk to Danielle McLaughlin about her work and writing life.
Cover art Dreams Glasses by Carlota Gómez Touet
Launch of Crannóg 51 videos.
For more videos of Crannóg launches click here …
Out March 27th!
Don’t You Want Me
I see you sitting on the bench outside Tesco. You are looking up, around, and then down at your phone again because your friends are also playing on their phones. I can hear the ding-
You lean forward, then back. You don’t know if you should look bored and calm, or interested in what your friends are saying. You tug at your school skirt which you had asked your mam to hitch up for you in first year. You wish you hadn’t asked, because now people can see your knickers when you sit down. I can see your knickers now. You want people to think you are a thong kind of girl but your knickers are big. They are big with red polka dots on them. When you cross your legs you offer me a good look at your upper thigh. I walk forward, towards you.
Read excerpts from Crannóg 52:
At the Sink
Karla Van Vliet
A woman stood at the sink, her hands in the
warm sudsy water washing dishes. She
yearned for a thousand merciful touches,
imagined a mighty swarm of bees descending
over her bare arms, her collarbones, the long
stretch of her neck, the wing-
like the breath of a lover. A thousand stinging
bodies. Her own body’s reaction, apoplectic,
madness being a kind of rage. Her mind, vibrant
with the whir, with the will, with the wanting,
drink of the gods, nectar of the bee, the long
glass neck of the bottle she clutched in her wet
hand and turned toward heaven.
Gooseberry Island at Sunset
There isn’t a beach, just rocks the size of small
regrets. They’re flat and long enough for two.
The water’s deep, and swimming, as we knew,
would be a danger. Instead, we stumble, crawl
along and find our spot. Like snakes, we ball
together, gather warmth amidst a slew
of crying gulls, and watch the sun fall through
its day to meet the ocean near the seawall.
This is our quiet place. We’re not too old
or stubborn to repent for our misdeeds.
We’re not afraid of words, the bitter or harsh.
Our fangs have dulled, and we’ve made tiny toeholds
on the slipperiest of rocks. Our needs
are simple. We’ll sit here until it’s dark.
Coming in July
To celebrate Galway 2020, Galway’s designation as European Capital of Culture we are publishing an anthology of Galway writers published in Crannóg since its foundation eighteen years ago.
Since 2002 Crannóg has published the work of almost 120 Galway writers.
Crannóg 2020 features fiction and poetry by writers who were based in Galway at the time of publication and are resident in Galway now, hence the subtitle, Galway then, Galway now.
Crannóg 2020 will be launched during the Galway Arts Festival in July.
Look out for it.
Unnecessary Pressure of Early Intervention
Act fast! Your child is blowing away,
their buggy has wheels and the pavement is slick,
at least they are strapped in,
this is both good and it is bad,
a strong gust is carrying them off
across a grey expanse, like in a dream.
You don’t blink but your child is still gone.
You try to run after but your legs are gone.
You never see yourself in dreams.
You could be anyone. All you know
is what you feel, your teeth falling out,
the wind around your naked skin,
the sense of distance, the child you thought
you had becoming a puncture on the horizon.