Speech at Theatre Conference/ Comhdháil : May/Bealtaine 2017

Comhdháil Aisling Ghéar: Bealtaine 2017

Aisling Ghéar Conference: May 2017

Claochlú agus Drámaíocht na Gaeilge /Theatre and Transformation

Maidin mhaith. Is mise Dave Duggan, drámadóir is úrscéalaí lánaimseartha as Doire, cathair atá céad ciliméadar níos faide siar ó thuaidh uainn anseo.

Good morning. I’m Dave Duggan, a dramatist and novelist from Derry, a city one hundred kilometres further north-west of us here.

Tá péire dráma scríofa agam faoi choimisiún ag Aisling Ghéar. Scríobh mé GRUAGAIRÍ, a léiríodh sa bhliain dhá mhíle is a seacht. Shaothraigh sin gradam ón Stewart Parker Trust dom. Dráma greannmhar é ina gcothaíonn daoine óga cumarsáid ghnó, grá agus gruaim.

I’ve written two plays under commission by Aisling Ghéar. I wrote GRAUGAIRÍ, which they produced in two thousand and seven. That garnered a Stewart Parker Trust award for me. It’s a comedy drama in which young people develop business, love and morose relationships.

Sa bhliain dhá mhíle is a cheathar déag, scríobh mé dráma ficsean eolaíochta, MAKARONIK, dráma ina bhfuil grá agus bagairt ag ciapadh na gcarachtar in ionad sonraí san am atá amach romhainn. Bhí a chéad oíche ag MAKARONIK anseo, in amharclann an Lyric, mar chuid de Fhéile Bhéal Féirste Ollscoil na Banríona. Rinne Aisling Ghéar jab den scoth leis na léiriúcháin sin agus thug siad ar camcuairt ar fud na tíre iad.

In two thousand and fourteen, I wrote a science fiction play, MAKARONIK, in which love and threats torment the characters in a data centre of the future. MAKARONIK had its first night on this stage, at The Lyric Theatre, as part of the Belfast Festival at Queens. Aisling Ghéar did a fine job with the productions and took them on tour across the country.

Tá áthas orm a bheith anseo agus gabhaim mo bhuíochas le Bríd Ó Gallachóir is lena comrádaithe as an chuireadh a thabhairt dom machnamh a dhéanamh ar cheisteanna suimiúla a bhíonn liom agus mé i mbun oibre go laethúil.

I’m delighted to be here and I thank Bríd Ó Gallachóir and her colleagues for the invitation to give some thought to interesting questions that are with me when I undertake my daily work.

Maidir leis na ceisteanna ar mhol Aisling Ghéar dul i ngleic leo, seo an chéad cheann.

As to the questions Aisling Ghéar recommend we engage with, here’s the first one.

1. An gníomh polaitiúil é drámaíocht phroifisiúnta na Gaeilge?

1. Is professional theatre in Irish a political act?

Is é. Cinnte. Go dearfach. Gan aon dabht. Ar an gcéad dul síos mar gur gníomh polaitiúil é tabhairt faoi dhrámaíocht de chineál ar bith, i dteanga ar bith, fiú saothar iomlán 'trádálach' mar a fheictear ar stáitsí éagsúla an West End i Londain, abair.

It is. Yes. Definitely. Without a doubt. In the first instance, because making any form of theatre is itself a political act, in any language, even work that is wholly commercial, as is seen on various stages in the West End in London, for example.

Mar a dúirt George Bernard Shaw tráth: Sé an dráma an ealaíon is poiblí dá bhfuil againn.

As George Bernard Shaw once said: Theatre is our most public art.

Dá bhrí sin, cinnte gur gníomh polaitiúil é drámaíocht phroifisúnta Ghaeilge a chur ar an stáitse agus ní amháin mar go bhfuil an teanga í fhéin conspóideach, dar le roinnt daoine ar fud na tíre, chan amháin anseo, sa tuaisceart.

Thus putting professional Irish theatre on the stage is a political act and not only because the language is controversial, according to some people across the country, not only here, in the north.

Aon uair a deireann ealaíontóirí go bhfuil siad chun scéal a chur os comhair an phobail, ar stáitse agus i bhfoirm amharclainne, tá siad ag baint usáide as traidisiún ársa atá forleathan sa domhan, i bhfoirmeacha eagsúla.

Any time artists decide to put a story before a public, on stage and in a theatrical manner, they are drawing on an ancient tradition that is widespread in the world, in a variety of forms.

Seans gurb é an cine daonna a mhair sna pluaiseanna a thosaigh an drámaíocht, mar a thuigeann muidne é. Samhlaigh anois: An seilg thart. An béile ite. An tine lasta. Achan duine, idir óg is aosta, compordach agus sásta sa phluais. Ansin, cuireann duine ceist ar an té a mharaigh an fia atá ite acu. Insítear an scéal. Seans nach é an sealgaire a insíonn an scéal. Duine eile. Bean b’fhéidir, a bhfuil buanna ar leith aici. Is breá leis na héisteoirí an teanga, an cur síos agus an fhoirm. Codlaíonn na héisteoirí níos fearr, béile breá ina mboilg agus íomhánna ón scéal mar bhrionglóid ina suan.

It was possibly the humans that lived in the caves that started theatre, as we understand it. Imagine now: the hunt completed. The meal eaten. The fire alight. Everybody, young and old, comfortable and satisfied in the cave. Then, someone questions the person who killed the deer they’ve all eaten. The story is told. It’s possibly not the hunter who tells the story. Another person. Perhaps a woman, with particular gifts. The listeners enjoy the language, the descriptions and the form. The listeners sleep better, a fine meal in their bellies and images from the story as dreams in their slumbers.

Sa gheimhreadh, tagann géarchéim agus níl an seilg comh saibhir is a bhí sé. Anois an scéal ag an bhean, is cuimhne é. Éisteann an dream sa phluais. Seasann fear amháin agus déanann sé aithris ar an scéal le haicsean agus geáitsaíocht agus cora. Anois tá scéal na seilge i bhfoirm dráma. Splancann an tine agus feictear scáthanna an fhir ar na ballaí. Tá scannán againn.

A crisis comes in the winter and the hunt is not so fruitful. Now the story is a memory. The crowd listens in the cave. A man stands and he mimes the telling with action, gestures and turns. Now the story of the hunt is a play. Sparks fly up from the fire and shadows of the man are on the walls. We have a film.

Sin an traidisiún ina bhfuil muidne ag saothrú. Gníomh ar bith ina bhfuil pobal agus maireachtáil i gceist is gníomh polaitiúil é. Agus maidir leis an Ghaeilge, cinnte tá pobal agus maireachtáil i gceist.

That’s the tradition in which we are working. Any act in which people and survival are in question is a political act. And, in regard to Irish, people and survival are certainly in question.

Ceist a dó, mar sin.

Question two, then.

2. An bhfuil drámaíocht i dteanga ar bith ábalta dul i bhfeidhm ar phobal?

2. Is theatre in any language capable of influencing people?

Tá an ábaltacht sin ag drámaíocht, ach caithfidh muid bheith réadúil faoi.

Theatre has that capacity, but we have to be realistic about it.

Tosaím le huimhreacha. Samhlaigh seo: dráma de mo chuidse, The Shopper and the Boy, míle naoi chéad nócha seacht. Samhlaigh arís: mise agus beirt aisteoir in halla ar imeall Ros Liath, ar bhruach abhainn na Finne, chóir a bheith ar an teorainn idir Tuaisceart Éireann agus Poblacht na hÉireann. Ochtar san halla.

Bhí teannas ar leith sa sráidbhaile an tseachtain sin, maidir le morshiúl a bhí le teacht, ag deireadh shéasúr na mórshiúlta. Arbh fhiú dúinn dul ar aghaidh le dráma ina bhfuil an mórshiúl céanna mar théama ann?

I begin with numbers. Imagine this: a play of mine, The Shopper and The Boy, nineteen hundred and ninety seven. Imagine again: me and two actors in a hall on the edge of Roslea, beside the river Finn, practically on the border between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. There are eight people in the hall. There was a special tension in the village that week, because of a march that was to come, at the end of a season of marching. Was it worthwhile to proceed with the play, which had the same marches as a theme?

An beart a rinneamar ná dul ar aghaidh, i ndiaidh an cheist a phlé leis na daoine a thug an cuireadh dúinn bheith ann. Bhí na haisteoirí toilteanach dul ar aghaidh. Daoine proifisiúnta, díograiseacha is ea iad. An teannas a bhí sa sráidbhaile, bhí sé linne san halla. Bhí an teannas os comhair an lucht féachana, idir na carachtair ar an stáitse agus idir na carachtair agus an sochaí ina raibh siad tumtha.

We decided to proceed, after discussing the question with the people who invited us to be there. The actors were willing to proceed. They are peerless professionals. The same tension that was in the village was with us in the hall. That tension was presented to the audience, between the characters on stage and between the characters and the society in which they were immersed.

Ag an deireadh, bhí sé soiléir go ndeachaigh an dráma i bhfeidhm ar an lucht féachana, leis na léirmheasanna a thug siad dom. Bhí spás faighte acu le hábhar conspóideach a mheabhrú. Chuala siad teanga úr, teanga fhileata agus dhrámatúil, neamh-réadúil, le hathbhreathnú a dhéanamh ar argóint domhan. Bhí próisis phríobháideacha agus phoiblí ar siúl i measc phobal an tsráidbhaile agus, anois, bhí taithí chomhchoitianta acu. Sea, grúpa beag de mhuintir na háite, ach daoine gafa go smior sna fadhbanna ab ea iad.

It was clear, at the end, that the play had affected the audience, given the reviews they gave me. They had enjoyed a space to consider controversial matters. They heard new language, language that was poetic, dramatic and non-realistic, in order to re-assess a deep argument. A shared experience was added to public and private processes that were underway among the people in the village. Yes, a small group of the local people, but people deeply engaged with the matter.

Ceist maidir le huimhreacha. Ochtar? Arbh fhiú é?

A question about numbers. Eight? Was it worth it?

Ag cloí le huimhreacha. An dráma raidió is déanaí liomsa, bhí sé sa bhliain dhá mhíle is a trí déag, ar BBC Raidio a Ceathair. Bhí cúpla réalt i measc na foirne – Amanda Burton agus Bronagh Gallagher. Dúirt an léiritheor liom gur éist cúig mhilliún duine leis. Sin uimhir. An ndeachaigh an dráma i bhfeidhm orthu? Cén dóigh?

Sticking with numbers. My most recent radio drama, in two thousand and thirteen, was on BBC Radio 4. There were a couple of stars in the cast – Amanda Burton and Bronagh Gallagher. The producer told me that five million people heard it. That’s a number. Did it influence them? How?

Rith smaoineamh liom, maidir leis na samplaí sin agus an taithí atá agam le scannáin agus teilifís, sa saothar s’agamsa: ní aon iontas dom go bhfuil drámadóirí ag díriú fuinnimh ar an raidió agus an scáileán seachas an stáitse. Ach caithfimid bheith cúramach maidir le tionchar.

A thought struck me, given those examples and my experience with film and television, that’s it’s no surprise dramatists are putting energy into radio and screen instead of the stage. But we have to be careful with regard to effect.

Tá ceist a trí i bhfoirm ráitis.

Question three is in the form of a statement.

3. Is tríd insint ár scéalta a chuireann muid cruth ar an stair idirphearsanta agus phoiblí. Tá cumhacht ag an phróiseas seo chun ceiliúradh, chun comóradh agus chun cóiriúchán a dhéanamh.

3. It is by telling our stories that we put shape on inter-personal and public history. There is power in this process for celebration, commemoration and for the making of arrangements.

An focal is útamálaí domsa sa ráiteas sin, ná ‘ár’. Tá ‘insint’ intuigthe go leor. ‘Scéalta’ fiú, cé gur coincheap domhan é, tá sé soléir a dhóthain. Ach an focal ‘ár’; osclaíonn sé conspóid láithreach. Cé hiad an ‘ár’ seo? Cé hiad ‘muidne’ agus cé hiad ‘sibhse’? Nó ‘siadsan’?

The word that is most disturbing to me in that statement is ‘our’. ‘Telling’ is understandable enough. ‘Stories, even though it is a deep concept, is reasonably clear. But the word ‘our’ opens controversy immediately. Who is this ‘our’? Who are ‘we’ and who are ‘you’? Or ‘them’?

Leis na ceisteanna sin romham mar ealaíontóir, seachnaím an ‘ár’ sin. Deirim liom féin gur baol dom an iliomad ‘ár’, nuair atá mé ag scríobh. Níl ann ach mise. Níl ionam ach glór aonarach, uaigneach. Cibé macallaí a aithním ó na haillte ár-sa tharam, is macallaí iad agus gan a thuilleadh tionchar acu orm ach mar a bheadh ag puth gaoithe ar eilifint.

As an artist, with those questions before me, I avoid that ‘our’. I say to myself that too much ‘our’ is a danger to me, when I’m writing. There is only me. I’m but a lone, lonely voice. What ever echoes I recognise from the cliffs of ‘our’ around me, they are but echoes and without as much effect on me as a puff of wind would have on an elephant.

Murach sin agus uilig, tá achan rud i gcoimhlint sa sochaí seo. Cá bhfuil mé, mar dhrámadóir? Cén intinn a ghlacaim? Lárnach? Imeallach? An féidir an dá intinn a bheith agam? I lár an aonaigh agus ar an chlaí, mar go bhfuil mé mí-shocair leis an focal sin ‘ár’?

However, everything is contested in this society. Where am I, as a dramatist? What position do I take? At the centre? On the edge? Can I have the two positions? In the heart of it and on the sidelines, because I am uncomfortable with the word ‘our’?

Ní minic a aontaím leis an drámadóir poncánach David Mamet, ach téann an méid atá scríofa aige ina leabhar Three Uses of the Knife i bhfeidhm orm, go háirithe nuair a deireann sé

I don’t often agree with the American dramatist David Mamet, but his writing in the book Three Uses of the Knife has influenced me, in particular when he says

What you and I want from art is peace.

Agus

And

Artists don’t set out to bring anything to audiences or to anyone else. They set out to cure a raging imbalance.

Ach cén mhíchothromaíocht atá i gceist domsa, nuair a thugaim faoin ghníomh polaitiúil sin, dráma a scríobh? Táim ag iarraidh an mheá a threisiú i dtreo na cóire agus na cirte, ach ag an am chéanna chan i dtreo statach.

But what imbalance is in question for me, when I undertake that political act, the writing of a play? I’m trying to strengthen the balance in the direction of justice and right, but at the same time not in the direction of stasis.

Táim ag lorg meá bhogach, luascach. Bíodh cothromíocht solúbtha ann, mar athraíonn achan rud i gcónaí. Cothromaíocht mhísheasmhach, ag bogadh go nádurtha gan srian. 

Agus i gcónaí i dtreo na cirte. Sea, cothromaíocht cheistiúil, ina bhfuil cumhacht agus suímh ina bhfuil cumhacht lonnaithe faoi chaibidil agus faoi cheist go riachtanach.

I’m seeking a swaying, moving balance. Let there be a flexible balance, because every thing changes all the time. An unstable balance, always moving, without cease. And always in the direction of rightness. Yes, a questioning balance, in which power and the locations where power is situated are, of necessity, under discussion and in question.

Sé an t-easaontú an uirlis is úsáidí i mbosca uirlisí an scríbhneora atá tiomanta leis an dearcadh sin.

Dissent is the most useful tool in the kit of the writer who is determined to hold that view.

Mar a dúirt Susan Sontag

As Susan Sontag said

I too have an horizon of hope.

Is i dtreo léaslíne an dóchais sin atá mé a dhíriú.

I am heading in the direction of that horizon of hope.

Aontaím leis an úrscealaí Nadine Gordimer nuair a dúirt sí

I agree with the novelist Nadine Gordimer when she said

I can’t see why contemporary writers can’t write about power.

Agus mar fhreagra ar an téama ‘cóiriúchán’ atá romhainn, lig dom ‘iniúcadh’ a chur leis. Mar gur drámadóir is úrscéalaí mé, beidh aird ag an iniúcadh sin ar thaithí an phearsa. Anois, nuair atá mé ag amharc siar ar mo shaothar proifisiúnta, feicim gurb í nó é an duine aonarach i ngrúpaí beaga mar chlann, nó suíomh oibre nó squad mileata, sáite i gcomhthéacs stairiúil, poiblí, a mheallann mé. Níl mo ghlór comh haonarach, uaigneach sin, dáiríre.

And in response to the word ‘arrangement’ before us, allow me to add ‘investigation’ to it. Being a dramatist and novelist, the attention of that investigation will be on the experience of the person. Now, when I look back on my professional work, I see that it is he or he, the individual person in the midst of small groups such as a family, a work-place or a military squad, itself deep in a public, historical context, that draws me. My voice is not so lone and lonely.

Is dóiche gurb é an bogadh sa mheá sin atá do mo spreagadh nuair a deirim go bhfuil radharc todhchaíoch agam ag tabhairt faoi mo dhrámaí. Tá mé ag iniúcadh na míshocrachta atá ionaim agus sa phobal. Sin a chuireann ag scríobh mé, go háirithe leis an saothar stáitse is déanaí uaim, DENIZEN. Ghlac mé glór líofa, fileata chugam chun scéal na míleatach poblachtánacha sin a rá go poiblí i ndráma atá scríofa i bhfoirm véarsaíochta, le bealaí politiúla gan foréigean a iniúcadh.

I think it’s perhaps the movement in that balance that impels me when I say I have a future orientated view when I set to write a play. I am investigating that discomfort in me and in people. That’s what sets me writing, in particular in my most recent stage-work, DENIZEN. I used a fluent, poetic voice to tell the story of that republican militant publicly, in a play written in verse, that investigates political routes away from violence.

Léiríodh i hallaí na cúirte sa tSráth Bán agus i nDoire é, sa bhliain dhá mhíle is a cúig déag.

Feictear DENIZEN é fhéin, os comhair na cúirte, foilseáin óna shaol aige, á dtaispeáint dúinn. Tá dearcadh todhchaíocht aige, ní aon ionadh é.

It was produced in court houses in Strabane and Derry, in two thousand and fifteen. We see DENIZEN himself before the court, showing us exhibits from his life. He has a future-facing view, it is no surprise.

Exhibit Q. A future metaphor?

I am the Hare, speedy as the Leopard,

Brave as the Lion, guileful as the Wolf,

Some day sure to be as old as the man.

Exhibit Q. A future metaphor?

I am the Hare, speedy as the Leopard,

Brave as the Lion, guileful as the Wolf,

Some day sure to be as old as the man.

Lig dom filleadh ar an ‘ár’ sin arís, le machnamh a dhíriú ar shiamsa sa dhrámaíocht.

Allow me to return to that ‘our’ again, to direct some thoughts on ‘entertainment’ in theatre.

Ach bímis amhrasach. Éist leis an rabhadh a thugann David Mamet dúinn, arís óna leabhar Three Use of the Knife

But let’s be careful. Listen to the warning David Mamet gives us, in his book, Three Uses of the Knife

In entertainment, we, as a culture, change from communicants to consumers.

Arís, ‘ár’ eile.

Once more. Another ‘our’.

An féidir linn an caidreamh idir an drámaíocht agus an lucht féachana a choinneáil ar leibheál an rannpháirteachais seachas an caitheamh? Sin dúshlán agus deis iontach dúinn mar dhrámadóirí. Cad é a chiallaíonn siamsa nuair a bhíonn ceisteanna polaitiúla, cumhacht, scéalaíocht agus claochlú romhainn?

Can we maintain the relationship between theatre and the audience at the level of participation instead of consumption? That’s a challenge and an opportunity for us as dramatists. What does ‘entertainment’ mean when questions of politics, power, story-making and transformation are before us?

Ag saoineamh ar mo shaothar fhéin, ritheann sé liom go bhfuil ‘siamsa’ bunúsach san obair mar go dtugann sé uchtach do dhaoine.

Uchtach agus faoiseamh, sa doigh is go bhfuil muid in ann an claochlú a chonaic muid ar an ardán a thabhairt linn isteach inár gcroíthe agus inár saolta fhéin. Siamsa san teanga; sa scéal a úsáideann an scríbhneoir; siamsa i scileanna na n-aisteoirí, na dteicneorí is an stiúrthóra. Is íocshláinte í an drámaíocht. Sin an bealach a théann sí i bhfeidhm ar dhaoine. Mar shiamsa, ach go háirid.

In regard to my own work, it strikes me that ‘entertainment’ is fundamental to the work when it gives encouragement to people. Encouragement and relief, so that we can we can take the transformation we witnessed on the stage into our hearts and our own lives. Entertainment in the language: in the story used by the writer; entertainment in the skills of the actors, the technicians and the director. Theatre is a balm. That’s a way it influences people. As entertainment, in particular.

Éist anseo le Phelim, ó mo dhráma GRUAGAIRÍ. Is iománaí é agus déanann sé féinchraoladh ar a ghaiscí imeartha.

Have a listen here to Phelim, from my play GRUAGARAÍ. He’s a hurler and he self-broadcasts on his playing prowess.

Anois, seo Phelim ar an chliathán, an sliotar greamaithe go dlúth ar a chamán. Tá sé dochreidthe an cúrsa a d’aimsigh sé fríd na cait fhiána sin. Ach is cuma le Phelim, tugann sé aghaidh díreach ar an chúl agus sluaite de na stríoca dubha is ómra ag titim uaidh. Cad é a thriailfidh an fear lár páirce anois? Iarracht thar an trasnán? Pas isteach go dtí na lántosaithe? Ó, ní hea, ní hea. Urchar millteannach do-stopaithe díreach isteach in eangach Chill Chainnigh agus cúl eile faighte ag Phelim, síol Chú Chulainn féin. Phelim. laoch na himeartha sa chluiche ceannais seo, gan dabht.

(A speech by Phelim, a character in Dave Duggan’s play GRUAGARAÍ, in which Phelim riffs on his own hurling prowess.)

Teanga, scéal, an duine aonarach i ngrúpa beag, iniúcadh ar intinn fireann. Le greann.

Language, story, the lone person in a small group, an investigation into the male mind. With humour.

Nó seo iad Diarmuid agus Gráinne, oifigigh ardleibhéil na hImpireachta, ag foghlaim Ghaeilge go deifreach. Gráinne ar dtús agus ag an deireadh, i gcomhrá le Diarmuid, ó mo dhráma MAKARONIK.

Or here we have Diarmuid and Gráinne, high level officials of The Empire of the future, hurriedly learning Irish. Gráinne first and at the end, with Diarmuid.

Ja Ja. Sin é. Cad é mat atá fú?

Go maw. Dusa?

Sillysilly. Iontich. Thar flarr. Ríméadach. Go maw, go raibh matt agat. Better much. Ar muin na puice. Togha, a stócaigh. Lúchárach. Spleodrais.

Ceart go leor. Tá Gaeilge agat, a Ghráinne.

Tá tú mo mhagadh anois.

Níl. Tá mé …

Tá tú comh teann le bindeal linbh.

Níl mé teann. Tá mé …

Tá tú amhrasach. Cad chuige?

(A dialogue between Diarmuid and Gráinne, two characters from Dave Duggan’s play MAKARONIK, who are hurriedly learning Irish.)

Arís, teanga, scéal, cumhacht á iniúcadh. Agus spleodar.

Once more, language, story, power under investigation. And exuberance.

Mar achoimre ar mo fhreagraí ar na ceisteanna a chur Aisling Ghéar romhainn, bíodh áilleacht seachas gránnacht againn, ord seachas éagruth. Bíodh claochlú agus easaontú, cóir agus ceart san obair.

As review of my responses to the questions posed by Aisling Ghéar, let us have beauty rather than ugliness, order rather than chaos. Let transformation and dissent, justice and right be in the work.

Lig dom treoir amháin a thabhairt chuig mo shaothar fhéin arís, treoir a bhíonn mar mholadh domsa lá i ndiaidh lae, i mo shuí ag mo dheasc, ag glacadh peann nó méarchlár chugam. Bíodh mo shamhlaíocht aibí agus ar bís ionam, go dtabharfaidh mé faoin chumadóireacht le borradh na raithní a chur in achan bhriathar agus dóchas an earraigh in achan mhaidin oibre.

Go raibh maith agaibh.

Let me take one direction into my own work, a direction that is with me every day, sitting at my desk, taking a pen or a keyboard to me. Let my imagination be ripe and impatient, that I might undertake composition, with the speed of the growth of the fern in every word, and the hope of Spring in every morning’s work.

Thank you.                                                     © Dave Duggan 2017