7 months dating poems
It appeals because, big eejit that I used to be, I once had a tendency to fall for the likes of Lily. Technique is neither here nor there, he said: when you read Galvin’s My father Against the victories of age Would not concede defeat He dyed his hair And when my mother called He said he wasn’t there.
My mother, too Fought back against the years But in her Sunday prayers Apologised to God.
In 1990 it was revealed Lily was NKVD agent 15073 and had been informing the authorities about his disillusionment with the regime of that nice Mr Stalin. I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams I have no cause to wake or trouble you. Louis de Paor As it gets harder to tell the ventriloquists and their dummies apart, it helps to remind myself I’m from the same place as Jimmy Barry-Murphy, Rory Gallagher, Seán Ó Ríordáin and Patrick Galvin: no fake; no lie; no excuse.
The poem was left as a note when Mayakovsky shot himself in 1930. Ó Ríordáin said Galvin’s poems were “fíochmhar, neamhscrupallach, contúirteach” [fierce, unscrupulous, dangerous].
Someone else has felt like us and has actually survived to write about it. It aches with loneliness and longing and is short but unforgettable.
My father died, my brother too, They passed like fleeting dreams, I stood where Popocatapetl In the sunlight gleams.