It’s a surprisingly mild Wednesday evening in February, and a large crowd have gathered at Poetry Ireland on Parnell St to celebrate the launch of Dublin’s newest collection of poetry. Greeted with a wine reception and a quickly depleting stack of Poems 1980-2015, Michael O’Loughlin greets and welcomes his guests warmly with handshakes and hugs, signing each copy of the book presented to him. Entering the main room, guests are visibly shocked by the presence of the previously advertised “special musical guest” who takes the form of Glen Hansard, guitar in tow. It is immediately apparent that we are in for no ordinary evening of poetic embrace.
Dermot Bolger, respected author and lifelong friend of O’Loughlin, introduces the poet with a repertoire of anecdotes and asides from their youth. Bolger gives a humorous account of both their efforts to get O’Loughlin’s first book, Stalingrad, published initially in the 1980s, stating that they “didn’t know about wine and things” but instead purchased a pair of lady’s tights, put them on their heads as balaclavas and kidnapped Lar Cassidy, the Literature Officer of the Arts Council at the time. With the slogan “this isn’t a hold up, this is a book launch”, the enthralled audience broke into raucous laughter. Bolger moves on from the wit of the anecdote to a more serious note, confessing that they “didn’t know what they were doing, but they knew it was something different”. The intimacy of the speech and the articulacy that only a revered author can achieve gave the impression both of friends reminiscing over a pint and a knowledgeable and appreciative account of his friends’ artistic merit as poet.
O’Loughlin takes to the mic, wondering aloud if he is nothing more than a “figment of Dermot Bolger’s imagination”, which garners a laugh from the crowd. He thanks his publishers, apologising for the level of “sullen silence and abuse” he gave them and states that the book was truly an ambitious venture taken on by himself and encouraged by his friend, Bolger. Reflecting upon his constant return to this “tiny corner of Dublin” following a lifetime of emigrating to various European countries, he says he feels as though he has come “full circle”. O’Loughlin begins the launch by reading the first poem of the book, which is also one of the first poems he ever wrote, “The City”. With a lilting rhyme, the poem addresses the second person “you” and mulls over how the subject of the poem will never truly leave Finglas. He finishes by saying “I’ve often regretted writing that poem”, as it seems to be true that he always returns home.
The second poem he shares with the crowd, “Parnell Street”, was inspired by Italian poet Cesare Pavese and the final line from one of his diaries: “Death will come, and will have your eyes”, which he re-imagines as death finding him in a dingy alleyway in Dublin, “wearing your eyes”. The threat of what might have become a sombre mood after that final line is quickly dispelled when one audience member exclaims in the silence “ah Jesus, that’s good”, and the mood is immediately lightened as applause rings out. The following poem, “To a Child in the Womb”, is read to embarrass his daughter Sara, likening birth to falling over the world’s edge. O’Loughlin goes on to introduce “Elegy to a Basset Hound”, inspired by their dog Arturo and his own fascination with dog being God spelled backwards.
Quoting author Marie Heaney’s biting quip “there’s no such thing as a poetry reading that’s too short”, O’Loughlin invites friend and fellow poetry lover, Hansard to the mic to perform. Hansard divulges that their first conversation was about Seamus Heaney, which got them off to the wrong start – O’Loughlin shouts that he maintains he was right. As the laughter dies, Hansard sings Woody Guthrie’s “This Land is Your Land”. The crowd joins in, and the noise swells until not one voice is left silent. Following O’Loughlin’s reading of his poem “Tallit”, which details orthodox burial traditions, O’Loughlin introduces his wife, writer and professional singer Judith Mok, who is Hansard’s singing teacher, and Dublin-based soul singer Loah to the mic. They begin a rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Who By Fire”, with Mok singing the original hebrew version in a beautiful operatic tone as the crowd falls completely silent. The eventual mix of both the English and the Hebrew create a wonderful ambiance, and many members of the crowd are visibly touched.
Reflecting on his old friend, the next poem “Psychopomp,” which in Greek mythology is the guide of souls to the place of the dead, is dedicated to the recently departed Mary Tierney. With a bleak closing line that mulls over life after death, or lack thereof, O’Loughlin asks Loah to return to the stage, who treats us to a beautiful song that tackles the idea of “not letting yourself die with your music still inside you”. Her dulcet voice perfectly complements the poetry that preceded it. O’Loughlin confesses after that when he hears that song, it makes him realise that “all poets really want to be singers”, and how he believes poetry is really a form of music.
The final poem of the book, and the closing poem of the evening “A Hospital in Amsterdam,” deals with the effects of antibiotics as well as the idea of the whole world being sung by itself. It ends with a line about trying to sew back on Vincent’s ear, suggesting the futility that life can sometimes hold. Hansard takes to the stage once more to close the event out, with an homage to Leonard Cohen who was referenced continuously throughout the evening. “Passing Through” begins, and by the end every member in attendance is either humming, singing or clapping along. The atmosphere is electric, a harmony abounds and huge applause and yelps of praise are heard. It is the ideal way to end a special evening and one that echoes the strive for originality of their first poetic heist in 1980.
