Paul Durcan (*16. October 1944 de.wikipedia en.wikipedia
“Ah, he was a grand man.”
“He was: he fell out of the train going to Sligo.”
“He did: he thought he was going to the lavatory.”
“He did: in fact he stepped out of the rear door of the train.”
“He did: God, he must have got an awful fright.”
“He did: he saw that it wasn’t the lavatory at all.”
“He did: he saw that it was the railway tracks going away from him.”
“He did: I wonder if…but he was a grand man.”
“He was: he had the most expensive Toyota you can buy.”
“He had: well, it was only beautiful.”
“It was: he used to have an Audi.”
“He had: as a matter of fact he used to have two Audis.”
“He had: and then he had an Avenger.”
“He had: and then he had a Volvo.”
“He had: in the beginning he had a lot of Volkses.”
“He had: he was a great man for the Volkses.”
“He was: did he once have an Escort?”
“He had not: he had a son a doctor.”
“He had: and he had a Morris Minor too.”
“He had: he had a sister a hairdresser in Kilmallock.”
“He had: he had another sister a hairdresser in Ballybunion.”
“He had: he was put in a coffin which was put in his father’s cart.”
“He was: his lady wife sat on top of the coffin driving the donkey.”
“She did: Ah, but he was a grand man.”
“He was: he was a grand man…”
“Good night, Father.”
“Good night, Mary.”
The Flight into Egypt
Peter Chapter 2
I am a living stone, rejected by human beings
I live with my parents on the right bank in an up-market suburb of Bassano Veneto.
My parents are respectable upper-middle, middle-class
myself as per usual I am bored out of my mind
In my bedroom in our comfortable hygienic villa
fronting the river
when suddenly gazing out the window I glimpse a family
of travelers on the far bank on the
stony hill under the high wood they're a
notorious family of tramps-refugees-illegal immigrants...
The morning after the night
The roof flew off the house
And our sleeping children narrowly missed
Being decapitated by falling slates,
I asked my husband if he would
Help me put back the roof:
But no – he was too busy at his work
Writing for a women's magazine in London
An Irish fairytale called Raymond of the Rooftops.
Will you have a heart, woman – he bellowed –
Can't you see I am up to my eyes and ears in work,
Breaking my neck to finish Raymond of the Rooftops,
Fighting against time to finish Raymond of the Rooftops,
Putting everything I have got into Raymond of the Rooftops?
Isn't is well for him? Everything he has got!
All I wanted him to do was to stand
For an hour, maybe two hours, three at the most,
At the bottom of the stepladder
And hand me up slates while I slated the roof:
but no – once again I was proving to be the insensitive,
Thoughtless, feckless even, wife of the artist.
There was I up to my fat, raw knees in rainwater
Worrying him about the hole in our roof
While he was up to his neck in Raymond of the Rooftops.
Will you have a heart, woman – he bellowed –
Can't you see I am up to my eyes and ears in work,
Breaking my neck to finish Raymond of the Rooftops,
Fighting against time to finish Raymond of the Rooftops,
Putting everything I have got into Raymond of the Rooftops?
Isn't it well for him? Everything he has got!
Have you ever saved hay in Mayo in the rain?
Have you ever saved hay in Mayo in the sun?
Have you ever carried above your head a haycock on a pitchfork:
Have you ever slept in a haybarn on the road from Mayo to Egypt?
I am a hay-carrier.
My father was a hay-carrier.
My mother was a hay-carrier.
My brothers were hay-carriers.
My sisters were hay-carriers.
My wife is a hay-carrrier.
My son is a hay-carrier.
His sons are hay-carriers.
His daughters are hay-carriers.
We were always all hay-carriers.
We will always be hay-carriers.
For the great gate of night stands painted red—
And all of heaven lies waiting to be fed.
Nessa
I met her on the First of August
In the Shangri-La Hotel,
She took me by the index finger
And dropped me in her well.
And that was a whirlpool, that was a whirlpool,
And I very nearly drowned.
Take off your pants, she said to me,
And I very nearly didn’t;
Would you care to swim? she said to me,
And I hopped into the Irish Sea.
And that was a whirlpool, that was a whirlpool,
And I very nearly drowned.
On the way back I fell in the field
And she fell down beside me.
I’d have lain in the grass with her all my life
With Nessa:
She was a whirlpool, she was a whirlpool,
And I very nearly drowned.
Oh Nessa my dear, Nessa my dear,
Will you stay with me on the rocks?
Will you come for me into the Irish Sea
And for me let your red hair down?
And then we will ride into Dublin City
In a taxi-cab wrapped-up in dust.
Oh you are a whirlpool, you are a whirlpool,
And I am very nearly drowned.