Latest news with #ManchánMagan
Irish Times
17-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Listen to the Land Speak review: A meandering love letter to a half-forgotten Ireland
Manchán Magan has been making television much like Listen To The Land Speak ( RTÉ One, 10.10pm) throughout his career. As a writer and documentarian, his speciality is the rambling, shaggily moreish travelogue that doubles as a meditation on the Irish landscape and its untapped reservoirs of history. He's playing all the hits here as he reels through a long-form love letter to an often disregarded and half-forgotten Ireland – to its untamed corners, its distant gleaming mountaintops, its misty sites of ancient worship. The difference is that this latest feature took shape in the weeks and months after the presenter received a stage four prostate cancer diagnosis. 'The prognosis is not great. I thought I was invincible,' he says of the cancer. 'It makes you think about your role and your future in the world.' Curiously, his health and his coming to terms with his mortality are bought up only halfway through the film. It is one of several odd choices in a beautifully made but sometimes muddled documentary. Magan, to be clear, is a presenter of considerable charm and eloquence, and it is obviously distressing to hear of his ill health. Yet it would be doing him a disservice to claim that Listen To The Land Speak is a flawless work, when it has the woolly quality of an open-ended conversation or an evening pottering across the fields, revelling in the sheer joy of muddy boots and aching limbs. READ MORE This is a film with a lot to get off its chest. It begins with Magan talking about the wondrousness of Irish language placenames – and how they can unlock the keys to our past and (presumably) help us better understand our present. The story then turns to the personal. He recalls leaving Ireland at the age of 19, confused about his place in the world. He explains that he only finally found direction when he acquired farmland in Westmeath. However, there is another shift in tone as he interviews writer Ellen Ryan about the patriarchal aspects of Irish mythology and how the significant women from Irish folklore have been historically downplayed and deserve to be rediscovered and cherished anew. The conversation from there comes around to his health. There is a heartbreaking and gorgeously shot scene of Magan reflecting on life and death as he swims in clear lake waters. 'When you're told you have an incurable illness, it puts everything up in the air. You do not want to google 'stage four prostate cancer'.' He says this ruefully yet defiantly. Cancer is part of who he is now but he will not allow it to define him. [ Manchán Magan: The deeper you dive into Icelandic culture, the more of Ireland you find Opens in new window ] Magan is an intriguing figure and Irish broadcasting would be poorer for his absence; his vision of Ireland as a place where the mysterious coexists with the everyday has an almost Tolkien-esque aura of the fantastical. Why read about Middle-earth when, in a way, it lives and breathes all around us? Alas, Listen To The Land Speak is occasionally too meandering for its own good. It's great fun accompanying Magan as he sets out into the great blue yonder, but there are times his latest documentary is reduced to going in circles with no destination in mind. Listen To The Land Speak is available to stream on RTÉ Player
RTÉ News
17-07-2025
- Entertainment
- RTÉ News
Manchán Magan: "I often think of Ireland not as a country, but as a kind of spell"
Manchán Magan introduces Listen to the Land Speak: A Journey of Return, a new two-part documentary, which premieres on RTÉ One this July. The series unfolds from Winter Solstice to Bealtaine through Reek Sunday to Samhain, exploring how the stories and myths associated with the rivers, mountains and lands around us are crucial to unlocking aspects of how we need to rebuild our relationship with nature today. But it also becomes an unexpectedly personal story as Manchán realises that there is a serious illness within himself that makes him see these ancient sites and beliefs in a whole new light. I often think of Ireland not as a country, but as a kind of spell, if that's not too New Agey a concept—an incantation woven of story, stone, and memory. And yet, for so long, many of us forgot how to listen. We turned away from the wells, the oaks, the cairns, and the sacred threshold sites which are scattered all around us. We forgot that rivers are goddesses, that bogs are memory stores of the past, and that there are songs embedded in the stones. This documentary series, Listen to the Land Speak, grew from that forgetting—and from a desire to remember. Like the book that gave birth to it, the series is a kind of pilgrimage: a journey through ritual landscapes and ancient stories, and through my own reckoning with life and death. I never set out to make a film about cancer or mortality. I set out to celebrate the ecological and mythological consciousness embedded in our land. But what emerged is more intimate. The land doesn't shy away from the dark. In collaboration with director Maurice O'Brien and producer Zlata Filipovic, we set out to visit some of the sites where I believe the true soul of Ireland can be found. At midsummer light, at the largest stone circle in Ireland beside Lough Gur in Co. Limerick, something shifted. I was drawn out of myself, as if by design. I wonder were such sites imbued with that precise intention—to pull us into communion with the sun and the self? I set out to celebrate the ecological and mythological consciousness embedded in our land. But what emerged is more intimate. The land doesn't shy away from the dark. These ancient places were not mere shelters or forts. They were sites of celebration, revelation, connection. Take Dún Aonghasa on the Aran Islands. Mainstream archaeology tells us it was a Bronze Age fort. But when you stand there, with the Atlantic opening before you and the sun sinking into its depths, the sense in your bones is that it was surely built for worship, for revelry – maybe even, for raving. The series moves in seasonal cycles, as our ancestors did—from Imbolc to Lúnasa to Samhain to Bealtaine. These are not just names on a calendar. They are invitations to align with rhythms deeper than clocks. Each one offers its own truths: the stirrings of spring, the gratitude of harvest, the shadowy threshold of Samhain, the ignition of Bealtaine fire. In Irish, our words describe not categories but qualities. A spider is "damhán alla," a little ox of the wall. A snail is "seilide," a little spit thing. These aren't quaint oddities. They're insights into a world seen with reverence. As we filmed the series I was also facing my own mortality. The brokenness in our culture, our estrangement from the land, mirrors the brokenness within us. Healing—of soil or soul—requires attention, humility, love. There is something healing about returning to oak groves, sacred wells, rituals. One woman I spoke with has visited over 1,400 holy wells. These are not relics. They are active sites of devotion. Each well holds its own spirit. Climate collapse is real. Cultural loss is real. But so is this surge of remembering. That's why I think of these films not as documentaries but as invitations. If we can listen—truly listen—then the land will speak. It already is.
Irish Examiner
16-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
'It's a new awakening in Ireland': Manchán Magan on his new TV series
There's a moment towards the start of Manchán Magan's inspiring two-part documentary, Listen to the Land Speak, in which – great etymologist that he is – he addresses his name, Manchán, which means 'little monk'. By his own admission, he reeks of the priesthood. 'Just take one look at me,' he says, 'I was obviously a priest in every single incarnation until this one. I will always find a little cell, the smallest hole that I can be in to write or to live in. Manchán was originally a pagan name, Mongán. He was the son of Manannán mac Lir. It had been a pagan deity, which was taken over during Christianity.' Magan's latest gospel, which underpins the documentary, and the award-winning book its based on, examines the ancient, binding ties the Irish landscape, including its rivers, mountains and caves, has with the stories and myths we tell ourselves; and what he argues is a yearning at large – perhaps accelerated during the Covid pandemic lockdowns – to reconnect with nature. 'Is it true to say that our myths and stories are linked to the land?' wonders Magan. 'If we go out into the land, do we get to understand the stories? Can we unpack the insights and wisdom in them in a more meaningful way? I was aware of that as a concept from the songlines in Australia, from reading about Apache elders in New Mexico, or the work I'm doing with Cree elders in Edmonton and the Tsleil-Waututh in Vancouver, Canada. 'They've great tales and legends. When they go out on the land, they tell them in place. The land becomes alive. You suddenly see deeper levels of wisdom contained in the stories. A great example in Ireland is the Keash Caves. When I went up there with Marion Dowd, the expert on caves from University of Sligo, she unpacked it, and it wasn't academic anymore. 'Suddenly, you see these caves as an entrance way to the other world and hown, say, the goddess Anu, or Áine, is this land sovereignty; she's a representative of pregnancy and the fruitfulness of the land. She's this abundant, life-giving force. Lough Gur is the classic example, how her pregnant belly is there, rising up from the lake in Lough Gur. Her breasts are down the road in the Paps of Anu. It's all there." Manchán Magan on Listen To The Land Speak. Magan recalls his days as a backpacker in Peru or Bolivia, where he was shown goddesses in the landscape, etched out. "I didn't think I would find the same in this modern island on the edge of Europe,' he says. Magan's own personal journey, bubbling away in the background of the documentary, puts a different hue on the story he tells. Towards the start of filming in 2023, he was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. In his own words, it's 'a beautiful irony' that he has spent years as a writer and storyteller focused on healing, convincing people that ancient Irish culture and the Irish language can be saved, that it's not dying, while at the same time his oncologist is telling him that his cancer is, ultimately, incurable. He's finished a year of hormone treatment and radiation and feels 'brilliant' now, but awareness of his mortality is addressed in the documentary. 'I talked about my cancer a few times in the documentary, but the place that really got me was on Inis Mór,' he says. 'I'm standing in the middle of a graveyard beside a church and the church is being swallowed up by the sands and the land. It was hard not to be aware, 'Oh, wait, we are all here for the shortest possible time.' 'I've always had that connection with the spirit world since I was a young child. That's always meant more to me, it's been more real to me than reality. I could slip away from this earth at any time, all too easy. I don't have kids depending on me so it's easy for me to say that.' Listen to the Land Speak is stunning to watch, full of dramatic, star-soaked cinematography. Ireland has rarely looked so beautiful. Filmed over four seasons, it concludes with a raucous Samhain parade in Clonakilty, Co Cork, a time to celebrate the wildness in us, as winter creeps in. Magan ends on a hopeful note. Even though darkness is looming, and people will die over winter, there's always a glimmer ahead. At some point, the days will get longer, and the grass will grow again. 'The land in Ireland is alive,' he says. 'It wants to teach us things. They call the Burren 'the learning landscape'. The landscape is a manuscript of old knowledge about how to connect with woodlands, rivers and animals, and how all of those are important. They're connected with the rising of the sun, the seasons, the equinox, and the solstice. All of that is everywhere you look – in the place names, in the landscape itself and the stories. It wants to communicate with us. I feel that strongly. 'When I speak with elders from other cultures, they say the same. They say we've lost so much of our old songs, our stories, our knowledge, but it's still in the landscape. All we need to do is go out and walk it, and redo the old rituals, even in an awkward way. It somehow sparks ancestral resonance inside of us and makes us feel better. Even if that's just walking, cycling, hiking or swimming, going back out into the landscape somehow nourishes us.' The first episode of Listen to the Land Speak is on RTÉ One, Thursday, July 17 at 10.10pm Ireland is a woman Manchán Magan presenter of Listen to the Land Speak. Picture: INPHO/James Crombie One of the striking aspects of Listen to the Land Speak is the prominent role that women – goddesses rivalling the best of Greek or Norse mythology – play in Irish identity. There's St Brigid, of course, patron saint of childbirth and brewing – she once brewed a lake of beer; the Cailleach, a hag who shaped Ireland's mountains, rivers and landscape; and Áine, a goddess of fertility, invoked by farmers hungry for a good harvest, who, it was said in the nineteenth century, used to lure the best musicians from around the county to her palace underwater in Lough Gur, Co Limerick. 'It's a new awakening in Ireland,' says Magan. 'For a long time, we thought Ireland was about Cú Chulainn and Finn McCool. Pádraig Pearse was very keen on that – the only way to keep [ancient Irish] culture alive was by fighting, by blood sacrifice. His time emphasised the male warrior – to go out and fight for freedom. Once we had that, then we were able to look deeper into our stories and that's what myths do. A myth is not a single narrative at a particular place. That's the beauty of myths – they change for each year. 'So, around the world, this idea of a more sensitive consciousness, a more Earth-based idea, if you were using naff language you'd call it the age of Aquarius, is rising again. It is only natural cultures will remember that they did once have a more female-centric, matriarchal culture. It's happening in Ireland, and it's happening in indigenous cultures around the world.'
Irish Times
29-05-2025
- Politics
- Irish Times
Eager achiever: Frank McNally on introducing the beaver to Ireland
Not only are they cute and cuddly to look at, beavers are among the heroes of the natural world. Known for their prodigious work ethic, especially in the construction of river dams, they always bring their projects in on time, at minimal cost. But they're not just great builders. In the era of climate change, beavers have also become recognised as ecological engineers, with a track record of helping to reduce floods, restore wetlands, and promote biodiversity in and around rivers. So it's hardly a surprise to find that a coalition of environmentalists is working quietly to introduce the beaver to Ireland. Or preferably to re introduce it, although that would require proving it was ever here in the first place, which is a challenge. Wary of the potential of new species to go forth and multiply with unforeseeable results, like grey squirrels and rhododendron, a working principle of the National Parks and Wildlife Service is 'not in the past, not in the future'. READ MORE This doesn't mean the beaver could never be introduced on its own merits, as a first-time migrant with special skills. But it would boost the case if beaver bones or DNA were found somewhere. Failing which, even linguistic or folkloric fossils might help. This is where Manchán Magan comes in. A member of the movement's language and folklore wing, he's been in correspondence with a benign conspiracy of ecologists on ways the beaver cause might be advanced. Hoping to broaden the net this week, he copied me into the correspondence. A possible link between a Welsh word for beaver, afanc , and the Irish placename Avoca is one of the group's lines of inquiry. Another animal of interest, meanwhile, is the otter, which already exists here, but curiously is called by two different words in Irish, onchu and dobarchu . Both occur in an old poem, translated by William Wilde (Oscar's father), about gathering up all the wild animals of Ireland. Two pairs of otters are found, described variously as 'dá onchoinn' and 'dá dhobran'. Might one of those couples have been beavers instead? Well, onchu seems to have covered a very broad range of animal life in the past. Our old friend, the lexicographer Dinneen, tells us it meant primarily otter but was also 'variously translated [as] ounce, lynx, leopard, wolf, wolf-dog, a standard or ensign; (and figuratively) a hero, knight, or warrior.' Further complicating the picture, Onchu is inextricably connected with a mythical Irish creature known in English as the Enfield. Not to be confused with the town in Meath, the Enfield is like an animal designed by a committee that couldn't agree on anything. It comprises the head of a fox, claws of an eagle, chest of a greyhound, hindquarters of a wolf, and a bushy tail. Sometimes it has wings too. You won't find the DNA of that anywhere. It exists mainly in heraldry, as a symbol of the O'Kelly clan, one of whose forebears died 'fighting like a wolf dog' at the Battle of Clontarf. But onchu has also been translated as water-dog or sea-dog, which may be more helpful to the beaver cause. Speaking of the sea, beavers are formidable swimmers. A Norwegian study suggested they can travel at least 15km through water, which could almost get one from Scotland to Ireland, although other studies show the species doesn't like salt water. I reminded Manchan of a curious detail in Ernie O'Malley's War of Independence memoir On Another Man's Wound. As well as being a travelling IRA organiser, O'Malley was a bit of a naturalist. Of his manoeuvres near my hometown once, he wrote this: 'I wondered for months through the small lakes and little hills of Monaghan. I saw sieges of heron in the weeds and waited for bat-tailed otters near Carrickmacross where they are said to pass through when going from one lake to another.' You see a lot of strange things around Carrickmacross, it's true, but bat-tailed otters I had never heard of before. And when I first Googled the term, the only reference to it anywhere was from O'Malley's book. There are now at least two references, because I then mentioned it in An Irishman's Diary, appealing for readers' enlightenment. Five years later, I'm none the wiser. The bat-tailed otters were hardly beavers, either way, unless there was a short-lived smuggling racket in the species. But the failure to find the animal's bones or DNA anywhere in Ireland to date doesn't mean it's not there. It may just be that there are better places to look. Improved understanding of the animal's habits may help. In this vein, as if beavers were not heroic enough already, it appears they also sometimes bury their dead, in river dams or elsewhere. So, I'm told, writes British rewilder David Gow in his book Bringing Back the Beaver (while trying harder than me to avoid anthropomorphism): 'When beaver kits die…there is even evidence that their mothers will on occasion try to bury their tiny cadavers if they can. We have no knowledge as to why…but recent footage from Switzerland demonstrates that they undertake this task with extreme care. While it may not be prompted by 'love', it is a sentient act that is moving in the extreme.'
RTÉ News
05-05-2025
- General
- RTÉ News
How are the 'vital ecosystems' that are Irish peatlands protected in law?
Analysis: Protecting and restoring Ireland's peatlands is not only a legal or technical challenge but a delicate balancing act Irish peatlands have taken centre stage in recent years for their vital role in tackling climate change, thanks to their ability to store vast amounts of carbon. Despite covering just 3% of the world's surface, peatlands store 'twice as much carbon as all the forests in the world'. Given Ireland's extensive peatland coverage - about 20% of the land - the country has a key role to play in protecting them. However, land-use activities like peat extraction and agriculture have damaged Irish bogs, releasing stored carbon back into the atmosphere. With growing concerns about rising carbon emissions due to peatland decline, one might wonder: How are these vital ecosystems protected by law in Ireland? Understanding how peatlands are protected begins with three key points to keep in mind. First, there is no single law dedicated specifically to peatlands. Instead, a patchwork of different laws - not designed with peatlands in mind - influences how they are managed and protected. Second, Irish peatlands were largely unregulated for much of their history, and many of the current protections have been introduced in response to EU environmental policies. Third, only a small percentage of Irish bogs are publicly owned, which means that the rest is fragmented among multiple private landowners with competing interests, making efforts to protect and restore them more complicated. From TG4, Manchán Magan explores our complex relationship with the peatlands of Ireland In this context, the main legal tool for safeguarding peatlands has been the designation of Special Areas of Conservation, which are sites recognised for their ecological importance, under the EU Habitats Directive. The National Parks and Wildlife Service is responsible for designating them on the basis of ecological criteria, assessed through surveys and site visits. So far, 110 bog sites are Special Areas of Conservation in Ireland. This approach to managing peatlands has created a divide between peatlands that are designated and those that are not. Overall, designated sites benefit from stronger legal protections. The State is expected to take action to maintain or restore their ecological condition and to restrict activities that could cause damage. For example, peat extraction on designated sites has been banned here. However, enforcing this ban has proven difficult, with extraction continuing despite the restrictions. On non-designated sites, protection depends on whether proposed land use activities are likely to cause significant environmental harm. This is assessed through the national planning system, using a procedure called Environmental Impact Assessment, which is required under the EU EIA directive. Whether an assessment is required depends on the size of the peatland site, with smaller sites typically exempt. If required, the process begins with a report prepared by expert consultancies on behalf of the developer. This is then reviewed by local planning authorities or An Bord Pleanála, which are the bodies responsible for carrying out the assessment. The aim is to identify both the direct and indirect effects a project could have on the environment, including its climate impact. As a result, greenhouse gas emissions from degraded peatlands must now be considered before a project can be approved. Despite these regulations, Irish bogs are today in poor condition and suffer from deterioration, also driven by difficulties in enforcing regulations. As climate change has moved higher on the political agenda and the climate value of peatlands is now better understood, there have been growing calls to restore these ecosystems to reinstate their role as carbon sinks. In response, the EU adopted its first-ever Nature Restoration Law in June 2024, setting targets for restoring degraded ecosystems with the highest carbon storage potential, like peatlands. But what does restoring peatlands actually mean? Essentially, it involves rewetting the bogs to bring them back to functioning ecosystems. Given the ownership challenges mentioned above, EU lawmakers also agreed that meeting these targets does not imply an obligation for farmers or private landowners to rewet their land, as this remains voluntary. While Ireland has not yet adopted a restoration plan - something to watch for in the near future - restoration efforts are already underway as part of other initiatives, such as the Climate Action Plan and the Biodiversity Plan. Having covered the key legal aspects of peatland protection and restoration, a few final thoughts that are worth highlighting. While restoration is increasingly seen as essential for achieving climate targets, it should not be considered a simple fix. In some cases, restoration may not be enough to fully recover a bog's ability to absorb carbon, especially if the ecosystem has already become significantly impacted. Rather than treating it as a one-size-fits-all solution, the law should support more site-tailored approaches, especially given the ongoing uncertainties surrounding the condition of many Irish peatlands. Also, the different laws that apply to peatlands can clash. For example, Irish bogs have at times been proposed as sites for wind farms in an effort to accelerate the energy transition and meet climate goals. Yet those same climate goals also depend on protecting peatlands as carbon stores, revealing a tension between two climate strategies. Finally, Irish bogs are not only valuable as carbon stores or natural habitats; they are also lived-in landscapes. Local communities have long relied on these areas through land uses that are deeply tied to their way of life. Securing the participatory rights of these communities is fundamental to inclusive decision-making on the future of peatlands. As Ireland strives to meet its climate targets, protecting and restoring peatlands will not only be a legal or technical challenge but a delicate balancing act between environmental needs and community voices.
