Who is Seumas O'kelly

Seumas O'Kelly (1881 – 14 November 1918) was an Irish journalist, fiction writer, and playwright.Born in Loughrea, County Galway, O'Kelly was educated locally and began his career as a journalist with the Cork newspaper Southern Star. He moved from The Southern Star to the Leinster Leader in Naas where he remained as Editor until he went to work in 1916 for Nationality, the Sinn Féin party newspaper. Michael O'Kelly more militant brother took over at the Leader in 1912, but was interned after the April 1916 Easter Rising. Seumas returned to the Leader for a brief stint. There is a plaque in his honour outside the Leader's offices which reads "Seumas O'Kelly – a gentle revolutionary". He wrote numerous plays, short stories, and novels. His short story "The Weaver's Grave" is among the ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Seumas O'kelly

God 1 Red 1 Soul 1 Place 1 Door 1 Tear 1 Roof 1 Gold 1 Devil 1 High 1


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Comments about Seumas O'kelly

Jjohnfoyle: not in the exhibition, estella solomons ' portrait of seumas o'kelly, 1881-1918. further proof that he's not the o'kelly who is in the photo from 1902, featuring james joyce, about which i'm doing a bit of research.
Polmag2016: an scríbhneoir seumas o'kelly... author of waysiders, shuiler's child, weaver's grave...
Boucher_clare: how have i not heard of seumas o’kelly before? ‘the weaver’s grave’ is a stunning short story/novella. strongly recommended.
Noonofday: an earlier book with artwork by micheál mac liammóir is seumas o'kelly's collection of short stories 'hillsiders' of 1921 for which he illustrated the cover & frontispiece. mac liammóir was then only his in early twenties & still signing his work under the name michael willmore.
Nearfm: from last week donie speaks to mairdhia ni mhurchu about the annual remembrance of writer seumas o’kelly
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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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