2010

I see Dublin streets and a Honda 50 in the night- now I walk by the Central Park Reservoir and see Kip Kayno, the great 5,000 meter runner and I know Dustin Hoffman imagined the exact same thing in Marathon Man but I imagined the Central Park Reservoir while back in Dublin of a wet Thursday evening walking to an AA meeting in a small room at the back of Donnybrook Church in 1984. The Mail Boat doesn’t exist anymore- rough auld passage some nights to Hollyhead- how did I get from Hollyhead to Liverpool- I see Richman/ Poorman on the tele and build an elaborate fantasy of me as the put upon poet forced to flee- bollox- I could douse the flame and make a bonfire of this imagined life- a burning heap in a field on Guy Falk’s night- cartwheels on a wooden gate whirling mad- painted face- floppy hat- monks robes- cowboy pants- marauding with abandon- the Virginian on the range- trains that never come- the track all pulled up- that track was our World War Two battle ground or navel yard for men on the run- The Fugitive- men who couldn’t sit still- smell my Dads suit- feel warm on a winter eve all snug with jotter and pen believing I was a man- oh God- “That there’s some real big time Love.”