Monday, March 21, 2011

In memory of my friend Christopher Daybell. ~ Irish poet.

This is a poem by a prolific poet who was definitely under-appreciated, while he was alive. He was a man of the times, a voice of the people. Yet, if you go into a book shop in his home town, you cannot buy his art. He is interesting because he gave up his job as a lawyer very early on in his career, to become a full time poet. I used to meet him in the street where he would be busking his poems. He always had a friendly smile, and a kind word, a real gentleman of the old school. Blonde curly locks down to his shoulders, blue eyes, and the classic tan colored corderouy lapelled jacket. His name was Christopher Daybell, born in 1939, died, much too early, in 1990.

Recently I have become semi-obsessed with finding this man's collections and my investigations lead me to the National Library in Dublin. I was delighted to discover that he had been a prolific writer and found approximately seventy-two booklets and journals all containing his works.

Once I got over the feeling that I was spying in on something which hadn't openly asked to be spied upon, I found my self relaxing into reading the poetry. I was so impressed that I managed to allow the librarian to talk me into looking into the publishing rights. This was completely unprecedented, considering the fact that originally all I wanted to do was to replace my lost magazines.

Here is one that I particularly liked, as it seems to match the mood of the other poetry I have been reading recently, and my minor obsession with Nietzche quotes.

Illusions
Intense unity is parting,
The essence is change.
Would it not weary you
If I was always beside you?

What would we do with completeness
But secure it.
In the illusion of safety
The rock that never was.

Through ambivalence we see
The simple destroys,
The complex includes.
We could both part or stay.

Indifference can be positive
Not neglect.
I watched your face from the train.
The rain came on the way.

The times of danger
are the times of hope,
For them most people
will believe in anything.

Is anything more false
Than the single truth
Explaining everything
When nothing is explained.
By
Christopher Daybell






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3 comments:

  1. KatleyMarch 23, 2011 at 5:27 PM

    a lovely tribute. Unfortunately, poets are often unappreciated while they're still living.

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  2. RodakApril 7, 2011 at 9:56 AM

    It's a good thing you're doing, Fiona! As a lover of books at the end of his career, who now finds himself working (at long last) in a library, I salute you for going to the source and finding what your heart desired. And I salute you for sharing it with the rest of us.
    I recently came across an obscure poet through my friend Julia. And I retrieved his only book from the stacks of books in the limbo of storage at our Annex facility. It hadn't been borrowed since October, 1981. I will be sharing something from that book on my blog--following your lead.

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  3. FiocleApril 10, 2011 at 10:26 AM

    Yes Katley, so true for many artists... everyone deserves their 'fifteen minutes of fame'.

    Rodak, I have often dreamed of being a librarian. Thank you so much for your words of encouragement. I am resolved to do this though the process may take a while. I am looking forward to reading something from your obscure poet's only book. I feel there is something magical about finding a lost tome :)

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