Beginning with the self, containing a whole world—Meg Grehan talks with Aoife Riach
by Meg Grehan
Aoife Riach is a poet who starts with the self. She writes about her feelings, telling me she doesn’t write about things bigger than these emotions. But by writing of her experiences she allows her readers to connect to theirs too: I’d say that’s pretty big. Aoife has a Masters Degree in Gender and Women’s Studies and has lived in cities like New York and Vancouver before returning to Dublin. Her poetry may begin with the self, but it contains a whole world.
Her poetry may begin with the self, but it contains a whole world.
Aoife’s work isn’t trying to change the world, but it just might, one poem and one reader at a time. I don’t say this to sound dramatic but because Aoife writes so honestly that you can’t help but open up to emotion—and to mundanity. Perhaps ironically, this is exactly why Aoife never expected to be published in the first place. She tells me her work is a combination of the mundane and the melodramatic, that it’s a little tongue-in-cheek. This is exactly what makes her such a special poet and contributes to her impressively long list of publications, including journals such as Poetry Ireland Review, Channel Magazine, Crannog, Abridged, Ragaire and Impossible Archetype.
It was Lease, her piece in the second issue of Ragaire that grabbed me. It’s a collection of details, a list of happenings. It has her signature style, raw and specific, jumping from moment to moment, second to second but somehow staying rooted and solid. It’s the kind of poem that sucks you in, that you get lost in; you experience it with each of your senses.
‘Eleanor Turning at the Gates’, published in Abridged 0-1816 in Autumn 2023 is a skilful poem, using sound to both unnerve and attract. Once you start reading you soar through the poem; every word is perfectly placed and the last line is a gut-punch. But as always, there’s beauty. The language is smooth apart from when it wishes to catch you, and it will catch you. You will glide and trip and feel all the emotion of the piece.
Aoife tells me she writes when she feels something strongly but can’t express it.
Aoife tells me she writes when she feels something strongly but can’t express it. You can appreciate this in her work—there’s a passion there, a liberated frustration, a release, along with a simplicity that welcomes you and a depth that keeps you reading. Having begun with performance poetry and slams, Aoife’s work containts a wonderful amount of fun. It isn’t always obvious, sometimes it’s lurking under layers of emotion and darker details, but it’s there and it’s gripping. I think it’s this playfulness that made me read every poem I could get my hands on in one feverish afternoon. I simply could not stop. Her work is all about balance: the blend of depth and fun in harmony with each other, the perfectly proportioned merging of darkness and light.
This balance extends to the poet as there’s a confidence and an expertise in the work which is so wonderfully at odds with just how humble Aoife Riach is. She simply loves poetry and it seems to love her back.
Could you tell us a bit about your process?
I don’t have a very structured process (my brain would never allow it) but I tend to follow a pattern. Honestly, I probably use poetry as a form of journaling, so my poems tend to originate from a feeling I’m struggling to unpick or a memory I’m trying to process. When all else fails I’ll come up with a line or a clunky metaphor to express what I’m stuck on. Then I tend to write most of the poem in my head first; I find it easiest when my mind is half-occupied with something else, like when I’m out walking or in work meetings. Along with meeting minutes and to-do lists, my work notebooks are full of weird unfinished phrases and images. Going back to edit is when I actually sit down and intentionally work on a piece. Having a poem I’m working on in the back of my mind is the best feeling.
How does the experience of being published feel for you?
I am always surprised (and delighted!) when a poem gets accepted into a journal. There’s something really special about being part of something collaborative like that, and seeing my work presented beside that of other writers. Having my poem ‘Meet Me in the Charity Shop’ published in Poetry Ireland Review (133, edited by Colette Bryce) was a real highlight. It’s my favourite poem I’ve written so it was particularly cool that it was selected for PIR.
There are so many fantastic journals around these days, run by lovely people and providing platforms for new and diverse voices. Writing can be such a solitary endeavour, so the affirmation and connection provided by being included in a journal is really encouraging. I’m very grateful to the editors who have published my weird little poems. And even though I am quite socially awkward, I do love a launch!
You reference wonderful women like the characters of Shirley Jackson’s books, Emily Dickinson and Buffy. What do these women mean to you?
Discovering Emily Dickinson in school blew my mind. “Tell all the truth but tell it slant” sums up my understanding of what poetry should be, or is to me at least. I’ve been a Queer Emily Dickinson evangelist for a while (she was also funny! and had red hair!) and her hometown of Amherst is my favourite place in the world.
I think what Dickinson, Buffy, Jackson and her characters- particularly Eleanor from The Haunting of Hill House and Merricat from We Have Always Lived in the Castle– have in common is that they are strange, they feel isolated, and they create or reside in fantastical worlds. As a queer neurodivergent girl this has naturally always appealed to me. I’ve loved Buffy since I was eight, so it is a major frame of reference, and comes up a lot in my writing, despite it probably not being the most universal metaphor!
