About Me
I'm a writer and editor from Sligo, northwest Ireland. I mainly write poetry,
fiction and songs, though I also dabble in non-fiction and articles. My
interest in writing began over 20 years ago, studying the Leaving Cert English
course in Summerhill College, Sligo, reading Shakespeare's plays, studying
poets such as Yeats, Kavanagh, TS Eliot, Thomas Hardy, Emily Dickinson and
others. The subjects I find myself returning to most often are nature, sport,
creativity, mortality/death, growing older, people/characters and society as a
whole.
My first book of poetry, Evidence of Freewheeling, was published by Salmon Poetry in 2015 (available here). My second collection, Breeding Monsters, was published in 2018 (available here on paperback and Kindle), followed by my third, No Small Thing, in 2023 (available here).
If you'd like to have me read at an event, please email me here.
If you'd like feedback on your writing, email me here with details.
In 2009, I completed the MA in Writing at NUI Galway. My poems and short stories have been published in magazines and anthologies in Ireland, England, Scotland, Austria, India, Germany, Singapore, the US, Mexico, South Africa, Canada, Malawi and Australia. My poems were translated into Spanish for the Mexican journals Cuadrivio and Periodico de Poesia. I have read my work at the Tozeur International Festival of Poetry in Tunisia, along with the Belfast Book Festival, Cúirt International Festival of Literature (Galway) and such events as Over the Edge (Galway), Ó Bhéal (Cork) and Stanzas (Limerick).
In 2023, I released my first music album, Story Checks Out (available on Spotify, YouTube, SoundCloud and other outlets). It features all original songs written and performed by me. Galway singer Sandra Coffey also appears on some songs. Sandra also brought out an album of my songs (performed by her) in 2013, titled Morning Zoo.
In 2023, I released my first music album, Story Checks Out (available on Spotify, YouTube, SoundCloud and other outlets). It features all original songs written and performed by me. Galway singer Sandra Coffey also appears on some songs. Sandra also brought out an album of my songs (performed by her) in 2013, titled Morning Zoo.
Have a listen:
1. I Hear the Muse
2. Don't Be a Stranger
3. The Impossible
4. Caroline (Duet for the Modern City)
5. Nothing to Declare
6. Won't Ya Have Another Drink?
7. Immune
8. Well, Well, Well
9. A Fossil of You
10. Native
My Books
No Small Thing
Most recently (2023), I self-published my third poetry collection, No Small Thing. As with my second collection, I set up a crowdfunding page to get the funds required to produce, distribute and launch the collection. The collection is centred around my experience of parenthood, along with related themes such as the home, domestic chores, DIY and family. It's available here from Amazon in paperback and Kindle.
Colin Dardis had this to say about the book: "we find ruminations on laundry, child-rearing, cooking, cleaning and other domestic demands. It is within this endless machination that Conway gives us his richest descriptions: minced beef cooked until "all its red heads are dulled," "nappies full as the shell of a snail," the emptying of a wheelie bin "taken like fish in one gulp," or a television set that "jabbers like a senile uncle." There is beauty in mundanity here, and Conway excels at reimagining these tasks through language into things of affection and astonishment". The full review is available here.
Sample poem:
Men at Work
She will watch a saw thrust and retreat,
sure as a snake bite,
repeating its noisy endeavour,
and, as sawdust drizzles to the floor by her little feet,
she’ll reach out a finger.
When a nail disappears into timber
under the force of three measured strikes,
she will smile,
looking at its head, level with wood,
as if she knows this is what a nail most likes.
She listens for hours
to saw-sigh and timber-fall,
the nervous rambling of an old drill,
tuned anew to how the world is made –
by silent men with God-like powers
and tools like toys bent to a stubborn will.
But does she know that women, too, can do such things?
And will she learn by observation
that men can excel at cleaning and baking,
the rehabilitation of dirty clothes,
that anyone’s pen is for writing?
She sees that work is an art,
but she’ll learn that art is work too.
When I sit at the desk to make my start,
she sets me the task of slicing bread;
I watch the crumb-fall as she chews.
Buy No Small Thing here
Breeding Monsters
In 2018, I self-published my second poetry collection, Breeding Monsters. I set up a crowdfunding page to get the funds required to produce, distribute and launch the collection. The book is based around the idea of fear, reaching deep into the recesses of the human mind. It tackles uncomfortable thoughts and emotions, revealing how fear can act as a motivator, as inspiration. It examines a writer’s fear, a father’s fear, the anxiety of a woman jogging alone on a dark street and other subjects. It's available here from Amazon in paperback and Kindle.
Kevin Higgins on Breeding Monsters:
"Having published his first collection with Salmon, Trevor Conway has taken the courageous decision to self-publish his second, Breeding Monsters, which, in every way, looks as good as the books currently emerging from any of the main Irish poetry publishers. The fears Conway tries to confront in these poems are indeed the big ones...With this collection Conway establishes himself as the antithesis of Mary Oliver – the recently deceased American poet of everyday uplift. His poetry has some of the grim wit of Philip Larkin".
Sample poems:
Play Razor and Sink
I could never escape goalposts: To choose the cheek
between the pillars of brick walls, or the sloping chin:
the shadows of bridges built for trains, this face is a hackneyed land.
the wooden frames of a house-in-progress.
I dread the jaw, its blind turn,
Like a dog distracted, the ridge that rises below the nose.
I wandered off, became Marco van Basten, A tilted head shows fear to the world.
eyeing a long ball, assessing my angle.
I was Cantona once, my school collar turned up. Dip and tap – floating rafts
of fuzzy, clotted hair
Freed by the confines of tar and lines, arrive at lathered islands.
I’d sweat at the sight of a metal frame
designed to keep caravans from car parks. Each clean stroke is a massacre,
One time, I was tackled by a puddle. curt and precise
or wide as an autumn harvest.
Now, I’m a danger as I drive through towns,
where pitches flaunt their green allure Slick skin is a curious thing.
and Gaelic posts, thin as stalagmites, A thin thread of red about the neck,
wobble high over grey walls. and I await the sting.
A ragged web shivers by my window, I could be a bearded man,
as though a ball had burst the net. but then, I wouldn’t feel my face
At the desk, I play, someone else for a while. rinsed of its errant ways.
The book closes: I’m me again.
The world reverberates to the song of tapped sinks.
Buy Breeding Monsters here
Evidence of Freewheeling
In November 2015, my first collection of poems was published by Salmon Poetry, called Evidence of Freewheeling. It's a collection of poems on various subjects (including sport, nature, language, creativity/writing, death and more). I really believe in the value of variety in writing, rather than relentlessly pursuing one style or subject, so I tried to make each poem very different from all the others. If you're interested in checking it out, the book is available here.
Kevin Higgins on Evidence of Freewheeling:
"The fantastically titled Evidence of Freewheeling (Salmon Publishing) is Trevor Conway ’s much anticipated debut poetry collection. Reading it, the first thing that struck me was many of Conway’s poems have a surface impersonality of which TS Eliot would approve. He is certainly not a this-is-what-happened-to-me-last-week type of poet. Several poems are observations of a somewhat philosophical variety. In ‘Inspired’ he tells us “I have no great theory,/Just words,/Like an old friend/Returning in new clothes.” ‘Trimester’ is a rigorous time bomb of a poem ...Some poets are content to feed the chattering classes nice sounding morsels, the intellectual equivalent of comfort food; in contrast Conway is a big poet. Long may he continue to quietly disturb the peace".
Sample poem:
Canines At the Ready
Creeping
Slowly,
Staring
Intensely,
Stepping,
Stopping,
Stepping.
You
Chew,
I
Am riveted,
Cloaked
In the silence
Of camouflage.
I value you in protein,
Lust
For your flesh –
It is my right
To take you.
Stepping,
Stopping,
Stepping.
Still oblivious,
Still chewing,
Unlistening.
I
Come closer,
Ready
To strike.
I pounce,
Wrestle,
Open my mouth –
There’s daggers in my smile.
Welcome
To
My body.
Buy Evidence of Freewheeling here
Canines At the Ready
Creeping
Slowly,
Staring
Intensely,
Stepping,
Stopping,
Stepping.
You
Chew,
I
Am riveted,
Cloaked
In the silence
Of camouflage.
I value you in protein,
Lust
For your flesh –
It is my right
To take you.
Stepping,
Stopping,
Stepping.
Still oblivious,
Still chewing,
Unlistening.
I
Come closer,
Ready
To strike.
I pounce,
Wrestle,
Open my mouth –
There’s daggers in my smile.
Welcome
To
My body.
Buy Evidence of Freewheeling here
Videos
Awards
Royal Victoria Eye and Ear Hospital & Research Foundation Poetry Competition
In 2020, I was awarded second place in the Royal Victoria Eye and Ear Hospital & Research Foundation Poetry Competition. The poem chosen was "Marrow", the first poem in my second collection, Breeding Monsters (see further down the page for more details on the book).
Marrow
A bone spoke to me this morning,
one of my ribs.
“Some day, you’ll be dead,” it said,
“nothing left of your flesh,
just rags of skull and brittle sticks.”
I rubbed my finger slowly over
its subterranean mountain range,
sure I couldn’t have heard it,
but it spoke again –
at parks and junctions, the rusted railings of an old warehouse.
Leaning on a gate before a field,
I pictured my flesh dropping to a pool,
trickling down a country road.
Tell me, body, what would you do
if your bones deserted you?
I’ve always imagined my ribs
wrapped round my organs like the wings of a wounded bird,
as if our bodies began with imperfection.
In bed, I hear my collarbone whisper,
its two halves fused with a knot of mutant bone.
“You’re fragile,” it says. But I always knew
that bones are vulgar footnotes to death.
I tell that mangled twig:
“I broke you once on a football pitch.
I never felt more alive.”
Leitrim Guardian Poetry Competition
In 2018, I was awarded first prize in the Leitrim Guardian Poetry Competition, for my poem "April", about the death of my nine-year-old uncle, whom I never met, and its effect on my mother. The poem is given below, and it's included in my first poetry collection, Evidence of Freewheeling, published by Salmon Poetry in 2015 (see further up the page for more details on the book).
April
In memory of Pearse Devins
(1958-1967)
February crawls.
March stands up.
April moves at a jog.
I hardly remember the white breath of winter,
Waking each day as vigorous as a river.
There’s always been a sadness in my mother,
This time of year,
Days like these
Seen through wistful eyes.
I never realised why
Till now:
It was a day like this
Pearse died.
I’ve seen his face in pictures,
The uneven sweep of his curls,
The charming grin
Of a nine-year-old boy.
The football rolled
Across the road.
He followed.
Mum became the youngest child.
She never let us play out the front,
Said it was for the flowers.
But I knew what blooms she sought to protect.
By curling balls and bending legs on sunny days,
We brothers fought and loved.
Flat balls still litter the edge,
Orange bladders like open wounds.
Pearse would be a man now,
Too old for games,
His curls withered,
Chin stubbled,
Driving to Ballyshannon.
Mum sometimes kicks the ball.
She smiles, though her chin hangs low.
When I kick the ball in April,
It goes faster than any car.
The Cathal Buí Poetry Competition
In 2022, I was awarded third prize in the Cathal Buí Poetry Competition, for my poem "Saturday", about cleaning a house. The poem is given below, and it's included in my second poetry collection, Breeding Monsters, published in 2018 (see further up the page for more details on the book).
Saturday
Some know the rattle of grit
up a hoover’s metal shaft
– a sound like children playing –
till one hand gauges suction,
gloving a tune against the palm.
They run a cloth
along the curves of skirting boards,
alert to how sunlight fixes
dust like a thin tide
on dark surfaces.
A rubbed bulb can draw a quiver,
and at that heady height,
the thickness of grime on a curtain rail
can shock them into action,
stepping on chairs to gather its blackness.
They may choose the brush
to herd dirt into corners,
sending its shaft under structures
like a piston, probing.
Others prefer the choreography of furniture.
When water bleeds from a mop,
devoured whole in a bucket’s jaws,
they watch strands of steam rise
like the tendrils of a jellyfish,
and bleach, to them, smells like perfume.
Some Publications Featuring My Work
Poetry
Over the Edge - The First Ten Years: An Anthology of Fiction & Poetry (Ireland)
Poetry Salzburg Review (Austria)
New Contrast (South Africa)
Ink, Sweat and Tears (UK)
Cuadrivio (Mexico)
Periodico de Poesia (Mexico)
FUSION (USA)
Leopardskin & Limes (Germany)
Eunoia Review (Singapore)
Nthanda Review (Malawi)
Nine Muses Poetry (Wales)
Crowstep Journal (India)
Duck Head Journal (Canada)
The Artistic Atlas of Galway (Ireland)
HeadStuff (Ireland)
Inclement (England)
A New Ulster (Ireland)
The Galway Review (Ireland)
Decanto (England)
Read This (Scotland)
Sixteen Magazine (Ireland)
Gravel (USA)
The Lake (UK)
Poetry NI (Ireland)
HCE Review (Ireland)
Skylight 47 (Ireland)
The Pedestal Magazine (USA)
Boyne Berries (Ireland)
Measured Words (Ireland)
The Sharp Review (Ireland)
Allegro (England)
Poetic Expressions (England)
Live Encounters (Ireland)
The Gown (Ireland)
Fiction
The Literary Yard (India)
Wilderness House Literary Review (USA)
Squawk Back (USA)
Impinspired (UK)
Weber: The Contemporary West (USA)
Crannog (Ireland)
Flash (UK)
Poetry & Fiction
ROPES 2008, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 & 2016 (Ireland)
Bicycles With Umbrellas (Ireland)