The Young Writer Delegates Reflect on Cúirt 2026 (Part 2)

Every April for the past forty-one years, lovers of literature have travelled from across Ireland, and the wider world to Galway, for the Cúirt International Festival of Literature. In 2026, the festival ran from 21-26 April, and alongside a packed programme of literary events, attendees were blessed with a rare sight in the West of Ireland – the sun.

Among those who flocked to Galway were our Irish Writers Centre/Cúirt Young Writer Delegates. The five writers chosen this year were: Liam Carton, Luke Condon, Eddie Critchley, Shauna Murphy, and Sadhbh Valentine Carton. As well as attending the wide variety of panel discussions, performances, and open mic nights around the city, the Delegates also performed at their own showcase to a packed audience in the O’Donoghue Centre for Theatre, Drama, and Performance. Their local writer-mentor Alan McMonagle was in attendance, and acted as MC on the day.

Each year, the delegates attend events of their choice and write a review of their experience; here are the reviews our delegates wrote up for Cúirt 2026!

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Shauna Murphy

There is an undoubtedly magical essence to Cúirt. This thought was constant throughout the week of the festival. Now, when it comes to summarising the experience as a whole, it is difficult to know where to begin, middle, or end. I do not believe that there are any words within my arsenal which could truly encapsulate how immersive and eclectic Cúirt was. Try as I might to summarise it, know that no review could depict the joy itself of being involved.

A particular characteristic that I would like to delve into, and praise, is the sheer versatility of creative expression. The abundance of it. Across the six days of Cúirt, not a single day was like the one before. No event resembled any prior to it. Each moment of Cúirt felt purely singular and so special. It is difficult to narrow down aspects of particular interest, and so instead, I present you with a round-up of a few that cannot go without discussion:

 

An Asylum for my Affections, Nuns Island Theatre

This was the first event of the week which I attended, and it set a tone for the high standard of talent to come. Discussion of Maeve Brennan, her lifeworks and being, was addressed so tenderly and with such admiration by the panel. Molly Hennigan discussed her first memoir and family history, sharing honest discussions of Irish women; their mental health in the not distant past. Carrying into the modern day with Jessica Traynor and Niamh Campbell each discussing the range of influences on their writing: from girlhood in the nineties to post-natal depression. Anecdotes and readings with such enticing chats in between made for an enthralling experience.

As a young Irish writer, this conversation between such intelligent women reminded me that there should be no shame or isolation attached to these subjects. That we should find comfort amongst each other in discussing what the women before us may not have had the privilege to. As artists, we can also choose to take advantage of our emotions to transform them into something solid and lasting.

Open-Mic, Electric

Cúirt hosted a night of open mic poetry and performances upstairs in the beautiful garden of Electric. There was a great turnout and delicious cocktails – happy days. Mars Duignan was first up, and I can still hear their lines in my mind a week later. Fellow delegate, Sadhbh-Valentine, and I decided to participate as a kind of warm-up for our own showcase the next day. It went brilliantly and we also got to enjoy everyone else’s performances! Some tears were shed and giggles were had. It was an incredibly comfortable and encouraging environment, for artists and appreciators alike.

 

Filíocht ó Bhéal & Ceol na nGael, an Taibhdhearc

Níl mé líofa, ach tá cúpla focail agam faoi an imeacht seo. Shroicheamar san amharclann ag an nóiméad deireanach. Bhí an t-ádh dearg againn agus chuamar isteach. Is áit iontach é an Taibhdearc agus ní raibh mé ann ríomh – Shuigh mise agus Eddie i gcathaoireacha ghorm compordach agus baint mé taitneamh as an tráthnóna álainn lán de filíochta, ceoil, agus lena daoine freisin. Rionn an slua agus na ealaíontóirí taithí phearsanta. Is rud an-speisialta í Gaeilge, go háirithe don filiíocht agus liriciúlacht. Tabhair aire dár teanga.  

Beginning with Amano De Londra Miura’s groovy music set, she crossed so many genres seamlessly. She was an absolute vision twirling around the stage in her long pink dress. She spoke to the crowd so softly and blew us away with her strong vocals. Ciara Ní É has such a commanding presence, full of quip with an emotional insight. She was beautifully accompanied by Liam Óg Ó hOistin, James Ó Grálaigh, and Gabriel Gonzales, who all interpreted her poetry intuitively through its rightly musical form. The use of strings, percussion and wind instruments as punctuation along with the spoken word was so well orchestrated. The three lads also performed a set of their own containing a mix of original songs and classic Irish tunes which capped the evening off beautifully. Their cover of Dúlamán was foirfe amach is amach.

 

Tribute to Manchán Magan , Town Hall Theatre

Personal essays; musical performances; poetry and even teaching the crowd some Gaeilge to take home. Such a vivid depiction of Manchán Magan came naturally in the minds of the audience through the loving words of the artists who honoured him. They captured his character within their phrasing and so kindly shared it with us. The passion that Manchán Magan had for nature, language, and all that is good, seeped through the stories told of him.

The inspiration that the writers and musicians had drawn from knowing him was a testament to the kind of otherworldly wisdom he offered to people. He seemed to be an extremely kind man and appreciated friend. The theatre was filled with grá for Manchán and his innate magic. It was such an intimate and emotional event which warmed every heart in the building. Seán Ronayne read the most beautiful piece, having us all crying with him. Not a dry eye in the house. The tribute was an exceptional whirlpool of emotions which left us all with a lot to think of and appreciate.

 

Rita Ann Higgins: Jiving with Wasps , Mick Lally Theatre

This was the final event of the week and the one which I had been looking forward to the most. Rita Ann Higgins is one of a kind. She began waving at familiar faces in the crowd on stage and quickly turned it into a bit- she blessed each stand like a priest during communion. Gas woman. The conversation between her and Edel Coffey was such a joy. Higgins read some collected works along with some new poems which, of course, all went down a treat. Her humour thrives and cuts deep where need be.

It was truly the highlight of my week to get to speak with her (after geekily asking her to sign three books) and discuss her work. She asked me about my own poetry after she saw my artist badge. I think the high of that should keep me going and inspired to write for quite some time.

 

Cúirt managed to remind me of the vast range of stories to be told. Both out in the world and from our densely talented little country. The variety of mediums that can be implored for creative expression feels endless. The individual experience does not feel so isolating or encompassing when there are so many vibrant artists ready to share their vulnerability. It also feels absolutely necessary to admire the amount of pure love that the Cúirt team put into the festival this year. The other Young Delegates and I could not have wanted for a better experience. Us young ones do not usually get such free reign on attending arts and culture events due to our student budgets. It was extremely surreal to be surrounded by so many kind and like-minded appreciators of all things literary.

As I finish up my ramblings, it feels right to share the current reads from my pile of pickings which I gathered throughout the week of Cúirt. Quickly, While They Still Have Horses by Jan Carson is making me fall back in love with short story writing and imagining new realms of my own. Her writing is so vivid and encapsulating: pure enchantment is woven through her narrations. John Patrick McHugh’s non-fiction essay, Voice, Voice, Voice in the newest issue of Tolka has made an unsteady student of creative writing feel extremely seen. Going into and throughout the week, I was also reading All the Good Things You Deserve, a book of poetry released by Elaine Feeney at the festival last year. These poems are what gave me a good start going into our experience at Cúirt and inspired me to make the most of it. It was an absolute pleasure to be a part of the festival thanks to the Irish Writers Centre. I hope and fully intend to be back again,

Le Grá,

Shauna Murphy

 

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 Sadhbh Valentine Carton

When I was a kid, I often physically existed between the walls of my closet. I saw through the glare of an orange night light, I exhaled with the turn of a page, every italic ‘oh’. In my mind however, there lived a library filled with the books and contracts of this existence. There were sections stuffed and overflowing with a messy intricacy that encompassed all I had experienced, all that I knew.

There was, and still is, a contrasting emptiness to the upper floors that awaited what I may become. On cold evenings dressed like dusk, below the vaulted ceilings and sunlight that glared a golden glow upon the dreary state I was, my palms enclosed around the only homes I truly knew. It started with a particular fondness for ‘Coraline and other stories’, proliferated into a love for novels, trilogies, expanding book series. The thing about writing is that there are always other stories. Ones that you recognise, ones that taste foreign but encourage you to swallow them. Stories that compel you to keep listening, stories that inspire, stories that grieve, sentences that mean something different each time you read them and ending lines which once alluded you gaining clarity as you grow to see them from another perspective. Cúirt allowed me to experience each one and more.

Six days felt simultaneously, albeit contradictingly like six months and six minutes. The endless talent and personality within the delegates I had only just met became inherent parts of people I felt I had understood and appreciated for years and would (hopefully) continue to doso. I sat in the theatres of Mick Lally, Nuns island or perhaps the Town hall and was forced to relearn a posture I used to know well: the slight silt toward expectation, the exhaled laugh, the catching breath, the forceful blink, the constant reach for more. Every writer has an urge to make something beautiful, thought provoking, lingering— every performance that I had the honour of attending achieved all three before I could blink. Whether it was the starkly unique performances in the Oil slick showcase that illustrated the power of grief and remembrance, discussions with Alan Davies that tentatively explored what it means to be kind to yourself and acknowledge traumatic experience, the poetry of climate and renouncing of capitalism with editors of the
Stinging Fly, the accompanying strings of a violin, the spark of a flame within pyromania, the expectations weighing on the bloom of girlhood or even the understanding nod that is triggered by watching a spectator google the word ‘perspicacious’ during a discussion event. I understood the world of writing in a language made up of pressure and not sound, observed the meaning that comes from taking everything personally, from
looking for something in everything, from refusing to yield and realising that survival is not an event but a
condition.

I arrived at Cúirt largely unsure of what I would be inhabiting for the week or who with and left wishing I had another two to spend in the company of every phenomenal administrator that went out of their way to accommodate the delegates and myself (thank you Mars, truly), every artist, every supporter, every poet and musician, every tech organiser, every mentor like Alan, every inspiration and mostly, every other delegate.
From the moon to the meatgrinder, the origins of language to the fragility of self-conception amidst dust storms, I realised that the truth of these stories comes from one (probably inadmissible) fact. That the sun rises, glares its light upon cruelty and tenderness, grief and acceptance with the very same indifference, and somehow this becomes the writer’s instruction: to live without the guarantee of meaning and yet insist upon it.