”We have tested and tasted too much, lover-/Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.’. The opening phrase of one of my favourite Patrick Kavanagh poems. He may have been an auld crank if stories of him ring true, but man could he nail the human condition, and moreover the Irish condition. Advent sees Kavanagh at a critical juncture in his life. He is questioning how far he has come, and what direction he may go from here. He…
I always had a small head. Having always been small, I guess it was proportionate. In the nineties, as I was entering my teens, this tiny noggin was nearly always adorned with a big, red, Chicago Bulls hat. This served to dwarf my features even further. Such was the fever created by Michael Jordan & Co., I was more than willing to ignore this difficulty for the sake of fashion, not for the last time either. Jordan fever had swept…
”Ruairí!! ….Don’t kick the furniture”, is not a sentence that my fiancée expected to ever have to say in our home, but such is the fervour that Liverpool F.C bring out in me, it was a sentence that had to be said all the same. Today is my…
”Why do we have to study poetry anyway?” is probably the most frequently asked question in my English classroom, usually accompanied by a tone of exasperation. It is the question which has the tendency to set me off on a spirited defence of what, to me, is the purest and most engaging art-form. I do this generally ignoring the irony in trying to instil a personal appreciation of the power of poetry, whilst asking them to look past the fact…