This article is more than 1 year old

This article is more than 1 year old

The seanchaithe were Ireland’s traditional storytellers, itinerant poets, entertainers and historians who travelled the island regaling audiences with ancient lore.

They thrived for centuries, repositories of a rich oral tradition, before petering out in the era of radio and television, their spell broken, their services apparently no longer required.

It turns out that wasn’t the end of the story: the seanchaithe are back. A new generation of poets, spoken word performers and rappers has emerged with tales for and about modern Ireland, creating a new oral tradition.

They perform on stage and TV and in streets, pubs and clubs, some reaching vast audiences through social media and viral videos.

“There’s definitely a renaissance. You can really see it around the city,” said Cian O’Brien, the artistic director of Dublin’s Project Arts Centre. “It’s the younger generation trying to find a way to tell their stories in a way that makes sense to them and their audience.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Emmet Kirwan’s Dublin Oldschool. Photograph: Ros Kavanagh/Culture Ireland

Spoken word performers electrified audiences, he said. “It brings an extraordinary different audience to the building that we don’t normally get, which is young men. They’re interested because they see themselves or representations of their lives on stage.”

The multiplying voices and venues hark back to the wellspring of Irish poetry which was people gathering around to hear stories, said Maureen Kennelly, director of Poetry Ireland, a non-profit supported by arts councils in the Republic of Ireland and in Northern Ireland.

“It’s absolutely real. On any given night in Dublin you’ll find an open mic night or slam night energetically attended and with no shortage of performers.”

In addition to festivals and concerts, spoken word performers are being invited to address sporting and political events and to appear on TV chat shows. Unlike ancient seanchai who often served Gaelic chiefs, however, the new generation often rebukes and excoriates Ireland’s leaders.

Beneath a booming economy and social liberalisation some see a venal, unequal society ruled by hypocrites.

“Since the [2008] crash, a slew of poets are being more dissident. They’re distrustful of government, of old structures,” said Emmet Kirwan, 38, a writer, actor and social activist. “It’s become much more political – class struggle, deprivation, poverty. There is an anger to it, an articulated rage.”

Monologues titled Heartbreak and Just Saying performed by Kirwan, expositions of raw, lyrical urgency filmed on Dublin streets, have racked up hundreds of thousands of views on YouTube and made him a revered figure to younger performers.

Stellar GDP growth, a gay taoiseach and referendums legalising same-sex marriage and abortion give outsiders an impression of an affluent, enlightened country but political elites cosset bankers and big tech while ordinary people endure a housing crisis and dysfunctional health system, said Kirwan.

“Poetry is the new medium that gives voice to the voiceless. Poetry is our version of the Paris riots. Young people here don’t burn cars, they write poems, they bring a rhythm and an energy to political ferment.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Stephen James Smith has a new book of poems, titled Fear Not. Photograph: Rory Carroll for the Guardian

Stephen James Smith, 36, a leading spoken word performer, recently published a book of poems, titled Fear Not, completed a tour of Britain and Ireland, and has a huge fanbase – yet can barely afford Dublin rents, so couch surfs at friends’ homes.

“You have to see beyond the [government’s] PR spin. For a small nation, we could probably do more with the resources we have. If you’re given a platform, you should use it.”

The muse is not always political. Smith, who is on a US university syllabus, is just as likely to write about family, landscapes, sex, bus journeys and mental health. A recent poem concerns a Portuguese custard tart.

An editorial in Poetry Ireland Review by the journal’s editor, Eavan Boland, hails the “democratic sparkle” of performers who have widened the sense of who is a poet, who can be a poet and who looks like a poet. “New energies have come to the threshold of an old art,” it said.

Rap and hip-hop in particular have upended the image of Irish storytelling with acts like Mango and Versatile, from working-class north Dublin, and Rejjie Snow, Celaviedmai and Jafaris, children of immigrants from Africa and the Caribbean.

Outsiders are taking note that the land of Yeats, Joyce and Heaney is producing a new type of wordsmith. A New York Times headline this year marvelled at “hip-hop with an Irish lilt”.

London’s Barbican Centre will, at the end of January, host a concert of words and music exploring Irish life in England, the last event of GB18, a year-long focus on Irish arts in Britain sponsored by Culture Ireland.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Felicia Olusanya on stage. Photograph: Culture Ireand

In contrast with the Gaelic seanchaithe, who spun folklore tales, the modern variants tend to be more personal.

Felicia Olusanya, 22, a spoken word performer who was born in Nigeria and had her adolescence in County Longford, said her themes were about growing up and discovering life.

“There’s a nakedness that I feel whenever I step on stage. There a rawness. I get to tell the truth to my audience and to myself.”

Olusanya, who performs under the name Felispeaks, started performing after attending a poetry slam event at Maynooth University, County Kildare.

Self-expression on social media, even Twitter, inspired her, she said. “The conversations bring up topics, ideas. It’s like a fuel pump, a brain pump.”

She performed on behalf of the campaign to legalise abortion and recently co-authored a spoken word play about a Nigerian man’s coming of age.

“I’m enjoying the duality of being Nigerian and Irish because storytelling is important to both traditions. That’s how we share secrets, that’s how we comfort each other.”